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.DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
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 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ., 
 
 ▲ITTHOR OF "THK WOODMAN," " GOWRIE," "THE CONVICT," " THK FOBaKBr," 
 "THIBTY YEARS SINCE," " EICHELIKU," &C., &C. 
 
 V^'rrft 
 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 82 CLIFF STREET. 
 
 1850. 
 
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 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 FRANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AMBOISE. 
 
 There is a solitary hall, ceiled by a vaulted roof, with five 
 tall windows looking to the south, through which the moon- 
 light is pouring on the floor. It is, perhaps, forty feet in 
 length, and somewhat less than thirty in width, with the walls 
 destitute of ornament, and the furniture scanty, though rich. 
 A long table occupies the center of the hall ; seats are ranged 
 on either side ; but no guests, for the moment, tenant the 
 chamber, and the only light is that afforded by the bright 
 planet as she wanders further and further to the south. 
 
 Hark, a door opens. It is that of ihe ante-chamber ; and 
 the wind which it admits shakes the door of the hall, and 
 makes it rattle on its hinges. Other sounds find their way 
 in also ; those of voices laughing and talking. They are soon 
 excluded, as the door of the ante-room is closed again ; and 
 then a man, in the dress of a servant, enters, bearing a lighted 
 taper. His step is slow and quiet ; and one by one he lights 
 the candles in the sconces, arranges the seats more orderly 
 round the table, and retires. 
 
 A few minutes after there comes a buzz, and then the noise 
 of opening doors, and steps ; and then the end of the hall is 
 thronged by some twenty or thirty men, all entering together. 
 They pause ibr a moment, as if waiting for some one, ere 
 they take their seats ; and a harsh, grating sound, like that 
 of a key turning in a lock, is heard from the ante- room. The 
 next instant, passing through the midst of them, as they draw 
 back to give him entrance, comes the lord of the Castle of La 
 Ferte himself Somewhat less than the middle height, but 
 beautifully and gracefully formed, with a face of almost fem- 
 inine beauty, and a world of nre and intelligence in his bright 
 
4 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 black eyes, dressed "v^ith exquisite taste and neatness, and with 
 a free and dignified carriage, he advances toward the head of 
 the table, looking and feehng the prince. 
 
 " Be seated, noble sirs, be seated," said Conde ; " I crave 
 your pardon for detaining you ; but it is better that an empty 
 room shouLi he between ourselves and Ustening ears. All my 
 people are doubtless honest ; but yet I am fond of having a 
 lock between them and my counsels." i 
 
 One by one they took their places round the table. The 
 first — who seated himself on the right hand of Conde — was 
 dressed iji a scarlet robe, with a broad edge of lace. He ad- 
 vanced with a quiet, gliding step, a graceful air, and a coun- 
 tenance the general expression of which was mild but shrewd. 
 The features were good, the forehead broad, the eye quick and 
 clear, and there was a bland and pohshed smile about the 
 mouth which was wondrous wiiming. 
 
 It was the Cardinal de Chatillon. 
 
 The next who appeared was a powerful man of the middle 
 age, with thin, white locks, and somewhat shaggy eyebrows. 
 The brow was broad and massive, the lower part of the face 
 square cut, the chin somewhat prominent, and the lips and 
 teeth compressed, as if he feared his thoughts might have too 
 ready utterance. He was plainly dressed in a dark brown 
 suit, and across the back of his large, bony hand was the scar 
 of an ancient wound. His steps were peculiarly slow and 
 considerate, each one faUing firm upon the floor, and seeming 
 to take hold of it, before another was advanced. It was a 
 very characteristic step ; and those who knew the Admiral 
 de Coligni, could tell his approach by his footfall long before 
 they saw him. 
 
 Next came his brother, D'Andelot, somewhat taller than 
 CoUgni, with his hair much darker and his forehead higher, 
 but not so broad. His movements were lighter and more 
 free, and, though the features of his face were stern, there was 
 a bold and open frankness in the expression, and a somewhat 
 sarcastic turn of the lip, which diminished the likeness be- 
 tween himself and his brother. He advanced quickly to his 
 seat, cast himself down upon it abruptly, and swung his arm 
 over the tall back of the chair. < 
 
 Some eighteen or twenty more made up the parly ; and 
 among them, as they ranged themselves round tbe table, 
 might be seen many a dilierent set of features, many a difier- 
 ent expression. There was the hard aj^d stern, the hght and 
 gay, the dull and heavy, the look of thoughtless simplici- 
 
FRANC E— A M B 1 S E. ,5 
 
 ty, aud the keen and fox-like glance of the shrewd i^ncf cun- 
 ning. 
 
 As soon as they were all seated, the Prince de Conde looked 
 to Coligni, as if expecting him to speak ; but Coligni was si- 
 lent ; and the prince then began the consultation himself, by 
 saying, with his eyes still turned toward the admiral, 
 
 *' I think we are all agreed that this is to be borne no 
 longer, and that immediate steps must be taken for wrench- 
 ing the staff of riile out of the hands which usurp it, for re- 
 storing it to our sovereign, from whom it has been virtually 
 snatched, and for freeing France from the oppression of the 
 house of Lorraine." 
 
 Coligni bowed his head slowly ; and the prince went on in 
 the same rapid manner to paint, with a few sharp, decided 
 touches, the state to which he said France was reduced by 
 the family of Guise, and ended with a laugh, saying, 
 
 " So now, noble gentlemen, our business is to consider how 
 we will catch the wolf without getting our fingers bit." 
 
 " Faith, I mind not if he fix all his fangs in my left hand, 
 so my right be free to cut his throat," replied D'Andelot. 
 
 " We must leave the choice of which hand he will bite to 
 himself," said the Cardinal de Chatillon, with a quiet smile, 
 "if we do not take care that he shall not bite at all. We 
 must be more wary than we have been, my good brother, not 
 alone because we may be injured ourselves, but because we 
 may irretrievably ruin a good cause, and sacrifice the best in- 
 terests of France by any precipiUncy. What say you, Mon- 
 sieur de Rohan ?" " 
 
 " Decision of counsel, firmness of purpose, careful prepara- 
 tion, and resolute execution are all needed," said the duke ; 
 " but I think your eminence saw some difficulties in the way 
 of our acting together as a body before every preparation is 
 separately made." 
 
 "Nay, my noble friend," said the cardinal, with a courtly 
 smile, " your usual generosity attributes to me that wise fore- 
 sight which you yourself so eminently possess. It was you 
 who suggested that it would be better for all inferior person- 
 ages belonging to the party opposed to the tyranny of the 
 Guises to be prepared, armed, and on their march before the 
 principal personages took any share in the enterprise." 
 
 Rohan understood the Cardinal de Chatillon well, and knew 
 that, although apparently as frank and free as D'Andelot, he 
 was at heart as reserved and cautious as Coligni, and never 
 loved to commit himself to an opinion where he could help it. 
 
6 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 "True," he answered; "but it was your foresight of the 
 dangers which induced me to suggest the course by which 
 they might be avoided. You saw that, if we were to superin- 
 tend all the details of the enterprise ourselves, our frequent 
 meetings would call the jealous eyes of power upon us, and 
 means would be taken to frustrate our efforts ere our plans 
 were well matured." 
 
 " Well, well," cried D'Andelot, " it matters little which 
 found the hole, and which set the trap ; by my faith I we must 
 cease compliments. What is the plan suggested ? I do not 
 understand it." 
 
 " To move the pawns forward before the knights and cas- 
 tles," said Conde, with a light laugh. 
 
 " Not forgetting to keep the bishops out of all danger," re- 
 plied D'Andelot ; " but let us hear more of the game." 
 
 It was then that the voice of Coligni was heard for the first 
 time. 
 
 " There are nearly two millions of Protestants in France," 
 he said, in a calm, grave tone, " and on them we must prin- 
 cipally rely to overthrow the tyi-anny of those who have op- 
 pressed them, although we may hope for the assistance of all 
 good men who hate tyranny, whatsoever be their faith. Of 
 those two millions, there are fully three hundred thousand 
 capable of bearing arms. At the moment of action they must 
 have a leader, who, from his high position, will have authority, 
 and who, from his miUtary skill, will be at once recognized as 
 the fittest person to command them. There is but one on 
 whom the task can fall : the noble prince here on my left. 
 But if he should take any part in these proceedings before the 
 moment for action is arrived, he will lead the eyes of our ene- 
 mies to the conduct of the inferior agents ; for the very quali- 
 ties which fit him for the task render him an object of jealousy 
 of those whom we seek to overthrow. The Protestant party, 
 and all who are inclined to act with them in opposing oppres- 
 sion, must be warned, prepared, armed, and directed ; and the 
 difficulty to be overcome is to find a means of effecting this 
 without exciting suspicion. Consider of it, gentlemen. It 
 can be done, undoubtedly. The question is, how it may best 
 be done." 
 
 " If each of us were to employ some secret agent in his own 
 neighborhood," said a gentleman some way down the table, 
 '• and were to sufi^er him to make all the arrangements in his 
 own name ?" 
 
 " Among so many we should find a Judas," said D'Andelot. 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISB. f 
 
 " You can never make toils to catch a lion out of butterfly- 
 nets," replied Conde. 
 
 "It must be trusted to one," murmured Coligni, in a low 
 voice. " There is no strong action without unity of design." 
 
 " There must be a leader, I think," said the Cardinal de 
 Chatillon, in his quiet, insinuating manner, " during the 
 time of preparation, as well as a chief at the moment of 
 action." 
 
 *' And that leader," said the Duke de Rohan, " must be one 
 not sufficiently distinguished to attract observation, but suffi- 
 ciently resolute and energetic to obtain authority by the force 
 of his own mind, sufficiently docile to follow the course pointed 
 out to him, and sufficiently trust- worthy not to betray the cause 
 in which he is engaged." 
 
 " A combination of rare qualities !" exclaimed D'Andelot, 
 " only to be found united, I believe, in myself— and the other 
 gentlemen present." 
 
 He spoke with an abrupt laugh, as if he thought it impos- 
 sible to find a suitable person ; and the conversation became 
 for a few moments broken up into low consultations, at differ- 
 ent parts of the table, between the gentlemen placed near each 
 other. 
 
 At length a name began to be mentioned — though who 
 originally brought it forward no one ever knew — and, at first 
 passing about in whispers, it was at length pronounced aloud. 
 Conde, as soon as he caught it, exclaimed, " La Renaudie ? 
 The very man I" 
 
 Several of the gentlemen looked doubtful ; and the Cardinal 
 de Chatillon, although he knew the man's history well, said, 
 in a quiet tone, " La Renaudie ? Who is he ?" 
 
 " I will tell you all about him in a few words," said Conde. 
 " He is a man without scruples and without fears. As to his 
 rehgion, he will give offense to no church and no sect by that. 
 He has the courage of a lion, the activity of a deer, the perse- 
 verance of a ferret, the cunning of a fox. His eloquence is 
 extraordinary, and can be used for any purpose he has in view ; 
 for he can find equal arguments for all sorts of persons, and has 
 no hesitation in using them. He once nearly persuaded me 
 that robbery is honest, and lying truth." 
 
 *' I think I have heard of him," said the cardinal. " Was 
 he not tried for forgery in Perigueux ?" 
 
 " No, he was not tried," answered Conde. *' He was only 
 arrested ; but prison walls have little hold upon him. He 
 soon got out, and went to Switzerland till the storm had 
 
a DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 blown over. He has lived among storms, indeed, all his life, 
 but always got his boat safe into port." 
 
 " Were it not dangerous to trust such important secrets to 
 such a man V asked a grave personage from the bottom of the 
 table. 
 
 " No, my noble friend, no," answered Conde. " He has 
 one principle ; and it is all the stronger for being solitary. He 
 never betrays any one, and some five years ago had nearly lost 
 his life by this discreet honesty. But I may as well answer 
 all objections at once, for the moment his name was mention- 
 ed I saw that he was the man for our purpose. He is of a 
 good family in the South, so that he will have no difficulty in 
 communicating with all our best friends ; and I have no fear 
 whatever in taking upon myself the task of communicating 
 with him, without risking the intervention of any one else. 
 Thus no one will be put to hazard, and as soon as your plans 
 are fully sketched out, I will send for him, and propose the 
 enterprise to him." 
 
 " I hope your highness will take care of paper," said Rohan. 
 " One never knows how it will appear when it comes out of 
 La Renaudie's hands." 
 
 Conde nodded with a smile, replying, ** Word of mouth, 
 word of mouth, my friend. He will undertake the task, I am 
 sure ; for I believe he would steal the thunder-bolts out of the 
 hand of Jupiter, or filch the keys from Saint Peter." 
 
 " Is he of the Reformed Church ?" demanded the cardinal. 
 " Oh, we ask no questions about religion," exclaimed D' An- 
 delot. " No one inquires into yours, my good brother ; and 
 we must not narrow down our operations into a mere religious 
 movement. It is one in which all good men of France may 
 join who seek to throw off' oppression. Otherwise," he add- 
 ed with a smile, " how happen we to have you among us to- 
 day?" 
 
 " One thing ought to be made clear," said a heavy-looking 
 man, who had hitherto taken no share in the conversation. 
 " Are we justified in taking arms for the purposes in view ?" 
 Coligni turned his calm, thoughtful eyes upon him with a 
 look of some surprise ; and the gentleman added, •' Depend 
 upon it, it is a question which wiU be put by many, when the 
 matter is first proposed to them." 
 
 Conde looked impatient ; and D'Andelot's lip quivered ; but 
 the Cardinal de Chatillon interposed with his mellifluous 
 voice and soft, courtly manner, saying, " That is a subject 
 which should have been touched upon before. My noble 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 9 
 
 friend Monsieur de Seez might be quite sure he would not 
 see me here unless I had ascertained that we are justified in 
 law as well as in conscience. The first jurisconsults in France 
 have been applied to, as to the question of how far it is law- 
 ful to take arms for the purpose of freeing the king and the 
 state from the oppression of those who now rule it. I have 
 the answers of three of them here in writing. Look at them, 
 Monsieur de Seez, and let all scruples vanish. Copies of 
 these must be given to La Renaudie, in order to remove 
 doubts wherever he finds they exist." 
 
 He handed the papers down the table, each person taking 
 a glance at them before he passed them to the next ; and 
 these several great points being determined, a long consulta- 
 tion ensued in regard to the details of the enterprise. Several 
 times Conde quitted the room ; once to seek a map, once to 
 bring a large paper register in which were inscribed numer- 
 ous names of families and villages. The party did not sepa- 
 rate till nearly three o'clock in the morning ; and after he had 
 reached his chamber, Coligni sat for nearly half an hour in 
 deep thought, with his cheek resting on his hand, but with- 
 out any change of expression crossing his calm and marble 
 countenance. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AMBOISE. 
 
 In various parts of France, now here, now there, in cities, 
 in hamlets, in castles, and in cottages, sometimes by night, 
 sometimes in the broad day, passing from place to place with 
 a rapidity which seemed to give him the quality of ubiquity, 
 coming and going no one knew whence or whither, and leav- 
 ing no trace of his passage, but a stern and thoughtful look 
 on the faces of the men with whom he conversed, was seen a 
 powerful man, somewhat above the middle height, with a 
 handsome countenance, a prepossessing air and manner, and 
 a dress plain but rich, savoring somewhat of the military, 
 somewhat of the mercantile man. 
 
 He was always well mounted, always well furnished with 
 money, always alone. Sometimes he stopped with those he 
 Bought only for a moment, sometimes he remained for an 
 
 A2 
 
m DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 hour or two. Sometimes he spoke with gay and laughing 
 tenderness to the children, sometimes with gallantry to the 
 women, and at othei-s, in a graver tone, to the men ; but in 
 almost all cases he left them pensive. Even the children 
 drew back and gazed. His eye had a peculiar fascination in 
 it, which drew attention at once : his voice a strange power, 
 ■which seemted to carry the words beyond the ear, direct to the 
 heart and mind : and on he went, ever, as I have said, alone, 
 sometimes stopping, it is true, to speak with a horseman who 
 met him on the road, but passing forward speedily, and nei- 
 ther seeking nor suffering companionship on his journey. 
 
 At Christmas he was at Rheims ; on New-year's eve in 
 Paris; mi the third of January, 1550, at Rennes ; on the 
 fifth at Angers ; on the sixth at Nantes. No one seemed to 
 know his business ; no one called liim by his name ; few ask- 
 ed him any questions ; but all listened to him, and all re- 
 mained thoughtful. 
 
 It was a gay and busy time in the good old town of Nantes. 
 The Parhament of the province was assembled within its 
 walls ; fetes and ceremonies were going on ; multitudes throng- 
 ed the streets and the churches ; and little boys, who had 
 come with their parents from the country, stood by the side 
 of the Loire, and dropped stones upon the thin ice. But 
 many a one in that old town sat quietly in some private room, 
 reading, with a heavy brow, " The Defense against Tyrants," 
 or " The History of the House of Guise, Masters of all France," 
 or " The Chapter of St. Michael," or some of the other lam- 
 poons or satires of the day. 
 
 But toward nine o'clock at night, one by one, up a nar- 
 row street in the older part of the city, went man after man, 
 wrapped in general in a short cloak, and with the bonnet 
 pressed over the brow. There seemed nothing remarkable 
 about them, except that they all went in the same direction, 
 and all stopped opposite a large ancient house, and all went 
 in at the same door. It was neither church, nor spectacle, 
 nor private dwelling that they sought ; but they found their 
 way to a very spacious old hall, dimly lighted, with a table 
 toward the upper end, and some benches around. The room 
 soon grew crowded ; and at length the doors were shut. 
 
 For some time, no order prevailed, men stood together in 
 groups and talked in low tones, or seated themselves on the 
 benches and conversed with their neighbor in a whisper. 
 
 That man who had been so lately at Rheims, and Paris, 
 and Angers, waa among them there ; and he went from one 
 
FRANC E— A M B 1 8 E. 11 
 
 to another at the lower part of the hall, saying a few words 
 to many, but to none speaking much. 
 
 At length, some gentlemen ranged themselves on the up- 
 per side of the table. Those below left as much space round 
 it as they could ; and several persons, who seemed of author- 
 ity, spoke to the assembly, descanting in general terms on 
 the evils of the times, the misgovernment under which France 
 labored, and the oppression of the house of Guise ; but none 
 proposed remedies, nojie pointedly mentioned the cause of their 
 meeting. 
 
 There were occasional murmurs and some signs of impa- 
 tience ; for most of the persons there M^ere more fully prepar- 
 ed for speedy action than their leaders thought. A voice had 
 gone forth among them, telling that the evils under which 
 France groaned were intolerable, and they required something 
 definite. They did not come to hear things which they had 
 all heard a hundred times ; they did not come to learn what 
 they all knew right well. What they asked in their hearts 
 was, " How was their state to be redressed ?" 
 
 At length a tongue pronounced aloud the name of " La 
 Renaudie," and a dozen others took it up instantly. 
 
 There was a pause ; and then a clamor of the same name, 
 in the midst of which, that solitary traveler over the face of 
 the land came forward to the table, and was greeted by a 
 shout as if he were destined to be the savior of France. 
 
 Then poured forth the stream of eloquence, the most sub- 
 tle, the most plausible, the most powerful, the most persua- 
 sive. There was a mixed multitude before him, of different 
 classes, characters, feelings, passions, interests, objects, preju- 
 dices ; but, by a peculiar and wonderful power, he seemed to 
 hold their reasons and their wills at his disposal. The prej- 
 udices of each seemed to be courted and enlisted in turn, the 
 objects of each seemed certain to be obtained by the course he 
 advocated ; each man found something to win him, each some- 
 thing to persuade him. No one saw that the ends were in- 
 compatible, the interests irreconcilable, the means inharmo- 
 nious with the object. He prophesied boldly ; he flattered 
 expectation ; he obscured all risks ; he displayed all hopes ; 
 he offered change to men enduring evil. He was the proto- 
 type of the agitator of the present day. 
 
 It would be impossible to report what he said ; and were 
 it possible, the report would not convey the truth ; for one 
 half of his eloquence consisted in his knowledge of the men 
 whom he addressed. He began by assuring those who heard 
 
12 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 him of his loyalty and attachment to his king, and went on to 
 declare that it was the interests of the king that first he 
 sought. The authority of the monarch, if not his life, was 
 in danger, he said, from the ambition of the house of Guise. 
 The people of France were mere serfs to the family of Lor- 
 raine. The princes of the blood royal were trampled under 
 the feet of upstarts. Nobles and peasantry groaned beneath 
 one yoke. In a few bold, powerful words, he drew a fearful 
 picture of the state of the land ; and as briefly, but as power- 
 fully, displayed what it might be. He assured his hearers 
 that all the principal personages of the realm were ready to 
 co-operate with them, that success was certain, and the end 
 prosperity.. He spared no assertions; he refrained from no 
 prophecies ; and then he sketched out his scheme in its broad' 
 details. 
 
 There was to be a universal arming, merely to overawe. 
 The preparation for resistance would paralyze the arm of op- 
 pression. A deputation of gentlemen, unarmed, were to pre- 
 sent a petition to the king for the redress of the grievances 
 pointed out. If rejected, they were to seize the Duke of Guise, 
 the cardinal his brother, and their principal supporters, and 
 to place the gallant Prince de Conde at the head of affairs 
 till the king was old enough to rule firmly. The people were 
 to stand by armed, and to see this eflected. In the mean time 
 secret levies were to be made in all parts of France, and per- 
 sons were to be chosen from those present to superintend the 
 raising of the troops. 
 
 No burst of applause followed his eloquence ; but a low, 
 well-satisfied, consentmg murmur ran through the assembly. 
 
 A voice from the head of the table exclaimed, '• We are all 
 agreed. Let us to action." 
 
 An oath was proposed and administered, to aid in carrj'ing 
 out the scheme suggested. Every one took it readily ; six- 
 teen persons were chosen to raise the necessary troops in all 
 the provinces ; and then began the movement of many feet 
 toward the door. 
 
 La Renaudie was the last to quit the hall, except a serv- 
 ant who extinguished the lights ; and in darkness and in si- 
 lence each man carried to his home the dangerous secret 
 with which he was loaded. 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AMBOISE. 
 
 In a fine old chateau, in one of the midland parts of France, 
 now called the department of Cher et Loire, sat a gentleman 
 of the middle age, with a fine broad forehead, eyes full of mild 
 and intelligent light, and an expression of countenance betok- 
 ening a calm, high-toned, resolute spirit. There was a deep 
 scar upon his cheek, but it diminished very little the placid 
 beauty of his face ; and his tall, manly form, and graceful, 
 dignified carriage, seemed to speak the soldier and the gentle- 
 man. At his knee stood a beautiful little girl of eight or nine 
 years of age, half reclining on his bosom, and looking up with 
 her large, dark, speaking eyes into his face, while he gazed 
 down upon her, and played with the shining curls of her hair. 
 She had no mother, and the memory of buried afiections min- 
 gled with and deepened the tenderness of the surviving parent 
 for his only child. Her light prattle seemed like music to his 
 ear, though he was a man of high thoughts and commanding 
 intellect. But all really great men have loved children. 
 
 In the midst of their conversation, the door of the room, 
 in which they sat near the window, opened quietly, and a 
 man entered, booted and spurred. It was the wanderer, whom 
 I have mentioned, over so many parts of France ; and as soon 
 as he appeared. Monsieur de Castelnau kissed the fair fore- 
 head of his child, and sent her from him. 
 
 When she was gone, La Renaudie approached the master 
 of the house, and said, in a low voice, 
 
 " The day is the fifteenth of March ; the place, Blois. 
 How many men do you think you can bring ?" 
 
 " Some hmidred and fifty," replied the Lord of Castelnau ; 
 " but I think it needless, and even hazardous, to bring them 
 in arms. I have read the paper that you gave me, and see 
 nothing in the resolutions taken that could compromise my 
 loyalty or my faith. I presume that the names affixed to 
 that paper are a guarantee that no more is intended than is 
 there set down." 
 
 '•Nothing, upon my honor," replied La Renaudie. 
 
 " If so, why then go in arms ?" demanded the Lord of Cas- 
 
14 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 telnau. ** The gentlemen, of course, will bear their usual 
 weapons ; but why should they arm their tenants, if the in- 
 tention be merely to prove to the king the sense of the great 
 mass of the people ?" 
 
 *' Because, with the rule under which we live," replied La 
 Renaudie, *' the highways of France are no longer safe. Dy- 
 ing vipers will bite ; and as soon as these men find that their 
 last hour is coming, they will assuredly strive to strike some 
 blow, either for vengeance or for safety. It may fall upon 
 me ; it may fall upon you ; but the only means to render it 
 harmless to any, or perhaps to avert strife altogether, is to go 
 prepared for resistance, and to make sure that no one party 
 of true-hearted men be cut off by the way in going to pull 
 down a tyrant." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right," replied the Lord of Castelnau, 
 after a short pause. " Perhaps you are right," he repeated, 
 thoughtfully ; " but let me order you some refreshment." 
 
 *' No," replied La Renaudie ; " I must forward upon my 
 way. I have these seven-and-thirty noble gentlemen to see 
 before nightfall. The whole of France is with us, except the 
 creatures of the Guise." 
 
 Thus saying, he turned away. The Lord of Castelnau re- 
 called his child, and listened, sometimes with attention, some- 
 times absently, to her innocent talk. The wanderer sped on 
 from chateau to chateau, and from house to house, staying 
 but a few moments at each, till night fell. The next morn- 
 ing found him following the same career, but approaching 
 nearer and nearer to Paris as he went. The wind and the 
 rain beat upon him. The snow came down and flecked his 
 black horse's sides. The morning light found him in the sad- 
 dle : at the close of day he was still hurrying on. 
 
 At length, on quitting the door of a large mansion, at the 
 distance of a few leagues from Paris, he murmured, *' Well, 
 that is done," and tore into small fragments a long list of 
 names which seemed to have guided him on the way. 
 
 He then rode forward, and entered the city just after night- 
 fall. Through the dark and narrow streets, with the tall 
 houses rising up story above story on either hand, without a 
 gleam of light to show the way, except when some careful 
 citizen, picking his steps over the muddy stones by the glare 
 of a lantern, drew back against the houses to avoid being 
 splashed by the passing horse's feet, La Renaudie rode on till 
 he came to the quarter in which stands the Palais de Justice. 
 There, in a small, tortuous street at the back of the great 
 
 1 
 
FRANCE— AM BOISE. 15 
 
 "building, he drew in the rein before a melancholy-looking 
 house, with a great, yawning porte cochere, which was not 
 opened to him till he had knocked frequently At length a 
 porter appeared, and, seeming to recognize the visitor, threw 
 the gates back. But La Renaudie dismounted in the street ; 
 and, giving the rein to the man, he said, 
 
 *' Take the horse over to the Swan, Barbe, and let it be 
 well cared for. I will find my way up alone." 
 
 The porter did as he was directed ; and the visitor entered 
 the small, confined court, from the bottom of which, one 
 looked up toward the sky as if from the depth of a well. 
 Though there was no light but the faint gUmmer of a cloudy 
 spring night above, he found his way to a small door at the 
 further side of the court, and mounted the stairs, which pre- 
 sented themselves immediately on entering. They were slip- 
 pery with dirt, and mieven with much usage. There was a 
 close, foul smell in the stair-case ; and no wind ever seemed 
 to find its way in, except by the open door below. Step after 
 step he went up, passed the first floor and the second, but 
 halted at the third, and there knocked for admission. A door 
 was opened by a neat, jimp-bodiced peasant girl, who smiled 
 to see him, and, on asking if Maitre Avenelles was at home, 
 she answered, 
 
 " Yes, Sieur Renaudie, he is in his little study." 
 
 The light which was in her hand served to show the way 
 along a narrow passage, with branches here and there, and 
 manifold doors upon the right and left. It was evidently a 
 large apartment or floor in one of the great old houses of a 
 part of Paris, then principally inhabited by advocates and 
 men of the robe. The visitor seemed to know it well, how- 
 ever, for he walked straight on ; and, finding his way to a 
 door, nearly at the end of the passage, he opened it, and went 
 straight in, without knocking. 
 
 A pale, middle-aged man was seated at a table, reading a 
 book. His face and his figure seemed wasted by thought and 
 study ; and the expression of his countenance was grave and 
 anxious. He started, as the door opened, with a nervous sort 
 of jerk ; but when he saw who it was, his whole face bright- 
 ened up, and he shook La Renaudie warmly by the hand. 
 
 " I could not think what had become of thee, old school- 
 fellow," he said. " Thou hast not been here these four 
 months ; and I feared thou wert in some new trouble. The 
 room is always ready, and I am right glad to see thee. But 
 come, we will both wash our hands, for thou art dusty with 
 
16 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 one dry road and I with another, and then we will have some 
 supper, and a bottle or two of the old Burgundy which thou 
 lovest so well," 
 
 " Agreed, Avenelles, agreed," rephed La Renaudie, in a 
 very diiierent tone from that in which he spoke to other men. 
 ** I have been living the life of an anchorite for the last three 
 months, never venturing to take more than two finger-breadths 
 of wine to a glass of pure water, lest any thing should escape 
 my lips that I might afterward wish unspoken." 
 
 " Ha, ha !" said Avenelles, with a laugh. " What, plot- 
 ting, plotting ? Thou wilt bring thyself to mischief some 
 day." 
 
 " Or make my fortune and save my country," answered 
 La Renaudie ; but at that moment the servant girl appeared ; 
 and he followed her to a good large chamber, containing a 
 heavy, old-fashioned bed. 
 
 Li half an hour more La Renaudie and Avenelles were 
 seated at a small, well-dressed supper, for the advocate loved 
 hfe and the good things thereof. The Burgundy was excel- 
 lent, and they both drank deep ; but La Renaudie did not 
 forget himself that night. 
 
 The next morning the advocate had to attend the courts 
 early, to plead in a cause which he expected would detain 
 him all day ; and he parted with his friend and school-fellow, 
 telling him they would meet again at supper. The cause 
 was tried and decided sooner than he expected ; and when he 
 returned. La Renaudie was out. Soon after Avenelles heard 
 his step as he came in, and proceeded toward his chamber. 
 Then there were other steps going in the same direction, A 
 man passed along the passage, carrying something that jin- 
 gled like pieces of iron as he went. Avenelles looked out and 
 saw that it was an armorer's boy, loaded with several sorts 
 of weapons. 
 
 All the morning something of the same kind went on. 
 Visitor after visitor entered La Renaudie's chamber, remained 
 a few minutes with him, and then departed ; and the curios- 
 ity of the advocate was aroused. 
 
 He determined to find out what it all meant. He dared 
 not ask La Renaudie openly, for he had much reverence and 
 some fear for his old school-fellow — the reverence and fear 
 which the timid and the cunning feel for the bold and the 
 decided, even while they undervalue their intellect, and read 
 them homilies on their rashness. He determined to trust to 
 wine and good-felloM'ship, saying to himself, " La Renaudie 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 17 
 
 will trust me if any man upon earth. I am his oldest friend 
 in the world. Perhaps he has something in hand by which 
 I may benefit. We are cruelly oppressed here in France, it 
 is true ; and we poor advocates suffer more than any other 
 class, what between one extortion and another. I ought to 
 have been a master of requests by this time." 
 
 The hour of supper came. The Burgundy was there, the 
 nice little well-dressed meal, with many a provocative to 
 drinking. The tidy maid set the dishes on the table and dis- 
 appeared. Avenelles began his approaches prudently. At 
 first he talked of matters he had heard mentioned in the 
 courts, of the creation and sale of several new offices for the 
 purpose of raising money, of a new order, issued by the house 
 of Guise, forbidding any one to bring complaints or remon- 
 strances to the king, under pain of the royal displeasure and 
 of punishment. La Renaudie knew him to be a discontent- 
 ed man, and replied in such a way as he thought would irri- 
 tate him still more against the court ; but still he knew him 
 also to be a timid man, who would serve no party well till 
 he saw its success assured, and therefore he was cautious. 
 He agreed with his complaints ; he joined in his murmurs ; 
 but for the time he told him nothing. The wine flowed ; 
 both drank steadily ; and gradually, as Avenelles saw that it 
 had its effect in loosening the bonds which La Renaudie 
 placed upon his tongue, he led him on skillfiilly, still plying 
 him with the juice of the grape. From speaking of grievan- 
 ces, they began to talk of how wrongs might be redressed ; 
 and the advocate, as well as his companion, feeling the influ- 
 ence of the wine, spoke hopefully of the future. They agreed 
 that the time must come when the people of France would 
 throw off the yoke, and that, sooner or later, some great effort 
 must be made to free the state from the oppressive family 
 which sat upon it like an incubus. 
 
 Encouraged by the tone of his companion, and thrown off^ 
 his guard by the first stage of drunkenness. La Renaudie, at 
 length, told the advocate that the time had already come, 
 that men were prepared to hurl the obnoxious house of Guise 
 to the ground, and that the month of March would not pass 
 without a catastrophe which would give liberty to France. 
 
 The surprise in Avenelles' countenance first woke La 
 Renaudie to a sense of his imprudence, and he would tell 
 him no more. His thoughts, too, he perceived, were not clear. 
 He recognized the effect of the grape, and he put away the 
 full glass untasted. But it was too late. 
 
18 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 On the following morning La Renaudie. quitted Paris. 
 
 Avenelles woke, feeling feeble and depressed. He had 
 gone to bed with vague visions of prosperity and success, and 
 whirling, beautiful changes floating before his eyes, like moats 
 crossing a sunbeam. But the wine had now lost its power, 
 and he was anxious and out of spirits. He was burdened 
 with a heavy secret. He was full of fears for himself and 
 others. He knew enough to feel alarm, but not to derive 
 confidence, A great fabric seemed, to his imagination, to be 
 falling to pieces around him ; and he thought he might be 
 crushed to death in the ruins. For three days he bore the 
 load about with him in silence, pondering, meditating, trem- 
 bling. Whenever he thought of it his heart failed him. It 
 took away his appetite. It distracted his thoughts. Wine 
 gave but a temporary relief; and when the excitement was 
 over, the depression was more great. He would have given 
 the world to see La Renaudie again ; but by this time he 
 was far away in the Vendomois. Avenelles sought something 
 to lean against, like all weak men. He would fain have 
 shared the responsibility which oppressed him with another, 
 forgetting that by merely putting a burden on another man's 
 shoulders, we do not reheve our own. 
 
 A.t length it became insupportable ; and, as if moved by 
 despair, he hurried away to the house of a man named Mar- 
 magne. He was a shrewd, cool, cautious courtier ; an epi- 
 curean in his principles, but a little more licentious tlian Epi- 
 curus, and not quite so strict in his notions of justice as a 
 magistrate should be. He was only a master of requests, 
 however ; but it was a lucrative office ; and he owed it to the 
 kindness of the Cardinal of Lorraine. There was some friend- 
 ship between him and the Advocate Avenelles, for at heart 
 they were both of the same school of philosophy ; and the lat- 
 ter met with a very gracious reception, and was listened to 
 with every mark of kindness and respect. 
 
 Before he left the house, however, Marmagne extorted 
 from him a promise that he would set oft' at once to convey 
 his own confession to the Duke of Guise at Blois. It was 
 the only means, he assured him, that could now save him 
 from torture and decapitation. He took care to assure him- 
 self that the promise was fulfilled, for he set a man to watch 
 the movements of Avenelles, and to follow him on horseback, 
 stage by stage, to Blois. He had every cause, however, to 
 be satisfied with the haste and exactness of his terrified peni- 
 tent. Avenelles set out that very night, and hurried post to 
 
FEANOB— AMBOISE. 19 
 
 Blois. ^But there he was disappointed in his expectation. 
 Rumors had got abroad of plots and conspiracies. No one 
 knew whence they arose, or on what ground they rested. 
 They seemed but mere shadows, phantoms of the popular 
 imagination ; but they attested the existence of great discon- 
 tent ; and the Duke of Guise wisely removed the court from 
 Blois to the better defended city of Amboise. The king, his 
 young and beautiful wife, her gallant, depraved, and ambitious 
 uncles, had set out three days before Avenelles reached the 
 city of Blois ; and such was the impatient terror he felt, that 
 he would not rest even for one night, till he had disburdened 
 himself of his perilous secret. He set out on the same night 
 for Amboise ; and the courier of Monsieur Marmagne follow- 
 ed him at a little distance. The poor wretch knew that he 
 was watched ; but he was now in the toils, and he could not 
 struggle free without a greater effort than he had strength to 
 make. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AMBOISE. 
 
 Merriment and pastime had reigned in the fine old city 
 of Amboise, with even more complete sway over the minds 
 of court and people than they had exercised at Blois. Grave 
 persons had exhibited themselves in ludicrous pageants. Dis- 
 tinguished warriors had played the part of buffoons. There 
 had been feasts and revelry, and jousts, and running at the 
 ring. All thoughts of danger, all memory of the rumored 
 conspiracies seemed to have died away ; and it was evidently 
 the design of the two great brothers of Lorraine to wrap the 
 young king of France in pleasures, and to withdraw his mind 
 from all knowledge of state affairs, and all share in the task 
 of government. If any thing seemed to cloud the brightness 
 of those days, it was a certain indefinite anxiety in the minds 
 of the people regarding the state of the young monarch's 
 health. What it was that caused it, no one could well tell. 
 Tall, graceful, active, he appeared in the courtly circle, so 
 little changed from what he had been as a boy, that no indi- 
 cation of failing powers could be gathered from his general 
 
20 DARK SCENES OF^ISTORY. 
 
 appearance. His cheek was a little paler, it is true, but not 
 so much so as to cause any alarm. Then, when seated beside 
 his young queen — the loveliest of the lovely — love, and happi- 
 ness, and life seemed sparkling in his eyes. All his words 
 were joyous, and every tone full of delight. It is true, that 
 when absent from her, even when engaged in the merriest 
 pastimes, there would come a shade of deep melancholy over 
 him, an absent look, a sad and thoughtful air, passing away 
 quickly as soon as he was roused, but ay returning when his 
 mind was not busily occupied. Men interpreted this accord- 
 ing to their own thoughts. Some said that it was love made 
 the cheek pale and the mind meditative, and others would 
 have it that he was weary of the rule of the house of Guise, 
 that he sought to be a king in deed, to sway his own scepter, 
 and to rule his OAvn land. 
 
 Be that as it may, morning, and noon, and afternoon of the 
 fourth day from the court's arrival at Amboise, had passed 
 away in every sort of amusement that could be devised. 
 Night fell ; and in a small round cabinet, decorated with 
 every thing costly, graceful, or luxurious, that art could sup- 
 ply or wealth could purchase, sat a tall, handsome, dignified 
 man, dressed in a crimson robe, with a small square velvet 
 bonnet on his head. His face was remarkably beautiful ; but 
 there was a fierce, stern, remorseless expression spread over it 
 all, not to be fixed down or limited to any one feature, which 
 affected more or less every other expression as it passed. All 
 the rest were transient ; this was permanent. It was like the 
 specter of a diseased imagination, which is seen through every 
 other object that passes before the eyes. If he read, it was 
 there. If he prayed, it was still present. If he discoursed, 
 it was apparent. If he laughed, it mingled with each smile 
 which came upon his hp. 
 
 He was now reading by the light of a thick wax taper ; 
 and it would have seemed that the thin book before him 
 amused him much, by the merry look with M'hich he read. 
 The door opened ; and a man of great height, enormous 
 strength, and dignified carriage entered, dressed with much 
 splendor, and wearing a jeweled collar oi" gold rings round his 
 neck. The cardinal raised his eyes for an instant, and then 
 went on reading. The other approached him with a slow 
 and stately step, and, looking over his shoulder, gazed upon 
 the lines beneath his eyes. As he did so, however, the ex- 
 pression of his countenance became very different from that 
 of the other. Wrath and indignation were upon it. 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 21 
 
 '* This is too bad," he said, pointing to the page. "The 
 man must be discovered and punished." 
 
 The other only laughed ; and then there was a low knock 
 at the door of the cabinet. Neither of the two gentlemen 
 heeded it at first, but went on talking about the libel which 
 lay before them. The knock was repeated at the end of a 
 few minutes ; and then the Duke of Guise, raising his voice, 
 bade the applicant come in. 
 
 It was a servant who appeared ; find he came to say that 
 a man of the name of Avenelles had arrived at the castle, an 
 advocate of the royal court, bearing a letter from Maitre Mar- 
 magne, master of request in Paris, but on the letter was writ- 
 ten " Life and Death." 
 
 '' It is strange," said the Duke of Guise, thoughtfully, " how 
 objects increase or diminish in size by the height from which, 
 we look at them. My life for it, that which is matter of life 
 and death to a master of requests will seem but a feather 
 blown by the wind to you and me. Let the man come to- 
 morrow. We are busy." 
 
 " There are no such things as trifles," said the Cardinal of 
 Lorraine. " Marmagne is shrewd too, though a sad glutton. 
 We had better attend to a warning from such a hand. Bring 
 me the letter, and let the man wait." 
 
 In a few minutes, the letter was in the hand of the cardi- 
 nal; and in a few minutes more, Avenelles himself was 
 brought up the stairs and sent into the cabinet. The door 
 was closed behind him, and no one but the two brothers 
 and himself knew what passed. At the end of a quarter of 
 an hour, however, the door was again opened ; and the stern 
 voice of the Duke of Guise was heard, exclaiming, " Send up 
 a guard I" 
 
 The guard was soon upon the spot ; and pale, trembling, 
 with tears in his eyes and terror in his look, Avenelles was 
 removed to a dungeon, cursing his own cowardice, and feel- 
 ing too late that courage is the best means of safety. 
 
 From that moment a strange change came over the whole 
 court at Amboise. There was no more security ; there were 
 no more sports and pageants. All was bustle, activity, con- 
 sternation, and no little confusion. Couriers were sent off in 
 every direction. The Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of 
 Lorraine sat up all night writing or consulting ; the chan- 
 cellor, Olivier, was called to their councils ; the guards were 
 doubled at the gates of the castle and of the town, and at an 
 early hour on the following morning the young king was be- 
 
22 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 sought to be present, while some great and important events 
 were brought under consideration. 
 
 It was necessary now to inform him that his people were 
 discontented, that there was disaffection in the land and dan- 
 ger in the times. It was necessary, also, that the council 
 should be made aware that men were already taking arms in 
 various parts of France for some great but ill-defined object. 
 It was the policy of the house of Guise to prevent that object 
 from being clearly defiijed ; and when the council met, all 
 the rhetorical art of the Cardinal of Lorraine and all the more 
 manly and soldier-like eloquence of the Duke of Guise were 
 employed to prove that the threatened insurrection was mere- 
 ly the effort of a faction to throw off legitimate rule. 
 
 The truth, however, made itself felt, though it was not 
 spoken. The council, whose functions had been usurped al- 
 most entirely by the brothers of Lorraine, was anxious to di- 
 minish their authority and re-establish the rule of law ; and 
 it was decided that messengers should instantly be sent to the 
 princes of the blood royal and to the heads of the great house 
 of Chatillon, requiring their immediate presence m Amboise, 
 to afford their sovereign advice and support. 
 
 The cardinal and the duke made no opposition, for their 
 plans were already formed ; and in a step, intended to diminish 
 their influence, they saw a means of crushing the most for- 
 midable of their enemies. Conde, Coligni, D'Andelot, once 
 within the walls of Amboise, were more or less in the power 
 of the house of Guise ; and with an open insurrection in the 
 land, it was little to be doubted that some pretext would be 
 found for using that power. 
 
 The messengers were accordingly dispatched at once with- 
 out a dissenting word ; but when the soft, melodious voice of 
 the king was heard proposing the only step which could at 
 that moment have averted strife and bloodshed ; when he 
 suggested that it would be better for his princely cousins of 
 Guise and Lorraine to retire from Amboise, and thus allow 
 him to judge whether his people were disaffected toward his 
 own person, or discontented with their acts, the brothers saw 
 that the whole fabric of their power was in danger ; and they 
 treated the expressed will of their sovereign with scornful in- 
 attention. 
 
 Conde, Coligni, D'Andelot, without hesitation or fear, hur- 
 ried to Amboise ; and the voice of the admiral was boldly 
 raised against the oppressors of the people, demanding toler- 
 ance in religion and respect for the law. A great part of the 
 
FRANCE—AMBOISE ^ 
 
 council joined with him. The queen mother supported his 
 viows from enmity toward the Duke of Guise. The chan- 
 cellor eagerly aided the cause of justice and reason, and an 
 edict was promulgated which promised very moderate tolera- 
 tion and the redress of some grievances. It was neither suf- 
 ficiently vigorous nor sufficiently timely. The conspirators 
 were already in arms. Innumerable bands were pouring for- 
 ward upon Amboise from different parts of France ; and the 
 Prince de Conde had been followed into the town itself by a 
 considerable body of armed attendants, all " men of execu- 
 tion'' 
 
 The situation of Guise and his brother was perilous ; but 
 they were vigorous, bold, and unscrupulous. They possessed 
 the ear of the young king, notwithstanding their contempt for 
 his authority ; and they had the whole military power of 
 France at their disposal. All that they wanted was knowl- 
 edge. Avenelles could tell them little. Torture could not 
 wring from him more than he knew ; but he pointed out one 
 who could tell them more ; a man named Linieres, who had 
 been three times with La Renaudie in Paris. He was brought 
 to Amboise, pardoned, bribed ; and he laid before them the 
 whole scheme. A large body, unarmed, was to enter Am- 
 boise, and present a petition to the king for full redress. The 
 armed bands of cavalry and infantry were to surround the 
 town on every side. Certain gates were to be seized ; and 
 co-operation was to be provided within the town itself The 
 Duke of Guise and his brother were to be seized, the Prince 
 de Conde put at the head of the government ; and then were 
 to follow trials, banishments, and executions, as might after- 
 ward be advised. The routes of the various bands, their 
 places of rendezvous, the part which each was to play, the 
 gates which were to be seized, the parts of the castle garden 
 that were to be attacked, were all displayed before the eyes 
 of the brothers of Lorraine ; and nothing remained but vigor- 
 ous and energetic action. 
 
 Troops flowed into Amboise like rivers flowing into the sea. 
 The gates which were to be seized were walled up. The 
 guards at the castle were changed. The walls were manned 
 and strengthened. The garden of the castle was secured, 
 and bodies of cavalry were sent out with precise orders as to 
 where and how they were to act. Letters were dispatched 
 to the king's lieutenants in various provinces to disperse and 
 cut to pieces any bands of armed men not actually soldiers of 
 the king, who were found traversing the country. 
 
24 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Coligni, D'Andelot, Conde saw that the conspiracy was 
 discovered. But what could they do ? They were as pris- 
 oners in a garrisoned town. Every movement was watched ; 
 and armed men dogged them wherever they went. 
 
 Still, large bodies of men from every province poured on to- 
 ward Amboise. They were ignorant of the fatal preparations 
 made against them. Intelligence reached them slowly. They 
 knew the places where they were to halt, the bands with 
 which they were to co-operate, the object at which they were 
 to aim, but they knew no more. Onward they came in de- 
 tached troops, of various numbers, from twenty to two or 
 three hundred ; and rumors of their rapid approach spread 
 through Amboise, and filled the court and the citizens with 
 apprehension. The Duke of Guise, however, and his brother 
 walked proudly, and looked calm ; and it was rumored, that 
 on this night or on that, a band of men at arms had gone 
 forth from one gate or another in silence and in secrecy. 
 • The result was soon seen. Guards of soldiers arrived, drag- 
 ging along prisoners with their hands tied. Hundreds and 
 hundreds were brought in, and the work of massacre com- 
 menced. There was no investigation, no trial, no sentence. 
 They had been taken in arms — that was enough ; and the 
 cord, and the bullet, and the sword did its work. They were 
 hung from the spouts and windows of the castle. They were 
 shot in the open streets. They were hewn down in the mark- 
 et-place. You could turn nowhere without seeing a corpse. 
 You could not take a step without setting your foot in a pool 
 of blood. 
 
 Horror and anguish spread through the tenderer hearts 
 within the walls of Amboise. Surely, surely, mercy, if not 
 justice, may be heard I 
 
 Lo I in that courtly saloon with the hangings of violet and 
 gold, kneels a lovely and gentle girl at the feet of the young 
 king. Grave men and fair women stand around her, hstening 
 eagerly to her eloquent words, while the tears fall over her 
 cheeks, and her hands are lifted up in supplication. 
 
 It is a queen pleading to her husband for mercy to his sub- 
 jects. It is the beautiful being destined to fall beneath the 
 ax herself, trying to avert it from the heads of others. 
 
 She has succeeded. The edict is prepared, the king's 
 name written. Mercy to all who lay down their arms and 
 retire peaceably I But hardly is the ink dry, hardly has the 
 sun set, when a small body of the conspirators is found in Am- 
 boise. What drove them there, how they gained admission, 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 25 
 
 whether the fierceness of pursuit, or the treacherous conniv- 
 ance of their enemies, none can say. But there they are. 
 They are attacked, cut down, defend themselves, die. The 
 cry is raised that the king's mercy is despised. The edict is 
 revoked ; and the order goes forth to slay without pity. Arm- 
 ed and unarmed are hunted through the fields, put to death, 
 brought in as prisoners — those who trusted in the edict and 
 were returning tranquilly to their homes, as well as those who 
 never heard of it. 
 
 A few were permitted, by the lenity of some officers, to es- 
 cape, we are told. A few ! good God I a few out of several 
 hundred thousand men ! The streets of Amboise were crowd- 
 ed with captives. Executioners were found in less numbers 
 than victims. The arm grew weary and the heart sick ; but 
 there was no mercy in the breast of those who now command- 
 ed in Amboise. They had conspired against the power of 
 the Guises, and they were traitors. They were enemies, and 
 they must die. They tied them hand and foot, and they hurl- 
 ed them ill crowds into the Loire. The river, already red 
 with blood, was now choked with corpses. 
 
 But we must change the scene, though the tragedy is not 
 yet over. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AMBOISE. 
 
 Through a fair, rich country, bright in the first smiles of 
 spring, the Lord of Castelnau led a gallant troop of brave and 
 honest men. A number of the inferior gentlemen of his neigh- 
 borhood accompanied a leader distinguished in arms, well 
 known for honorable and upright dealing, a man on whoso 
 name there was no dark spot, in whose heart there was no 
 guile. Well received were they wherever they came. Ev- 
 ery thing was honorably paid for which they took. Order, 
 discipline, and courtesy marked the demeanor of all ; and the 
 peasantry eagerly sought to furnish them with whatever was 
 needed, and to forward them on the way. On the morning 
 of the third day's march, however, rumors reached them of 
 skirmishes having taken place here and there, and of royal 
 
 B 
 
26 DARK SCfeNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 troops being in the field. The Lord of Castelnaii's brow be- 
 came grave, for he felt all the responsibility of his position ; 
 and in the afternoon, just as he was mounting his horse, after 
 having refreshed his men at a village on the Loire, a peasant 
 ran eagerly up to him and gave him some intelHgence in a 
 whisper. It was that a party of some thirty armed men had 
 just been cut to pieces by a body of the king's troops, on the 
 edge of a wood some five miles distant. 
 
 Castelnau at once communicated to those who accompa- 
 nied him the tidings he had received, adding, •' This shows 
 the necessity of being atmed, gentlemen ; for, in such cases, 
 the minions of a court make few distinctions." 
 
 " What do yott prc^ose to do, sir ?" demanded one of hia 
 companions. 
 
 " Go forw^ard," replied the Lord of Castelnau, with a look 
 of some surprise. "There are many noble gentlemen, our 
 friends and confederates, who rely upon our co-operation. We 
 must not deceive them. We know our intentions to be loyal. 
 We are a hundred and fifty stout men at arms ; and I my- 
 self would not turn back before double that number, which is 
 more than the house of Guise can send against us. I think 
 you can trust to me, gentlemen, to give ivo real offense, and 
 not to take offense needlessly. You can trust to me also, I 
 hope, to lead you in the hour of danger ; and be assured I will 
 be as careful of your honor, your interests, and your safety, a» 
 if you were my own children." 
 
 They all exclaimed that they knew it ; and they followed 
 him on without a murmur or a doubt. They had advanced 
 but a few miles further, when, across the setting sun on their 
 left, they saw a body of horse maneuvering as if to reconnoi- 
 ter them. It was not numerous, however, consisting of some 
 forty or fifty men at the most ; but the Lord of Castelnau 
 would not show his flank to an enemy, although inferior, and 
 deviating a little from the direct road, he advanced straight 
 upon the party he had seen. His approach was not waited 
 for ; the adverse force retreated rapidly ; and he pursued his 
 way uninterrupted. When seated in the little village inn at 
 night, one day's march from Amboise, a messenger was 
 brought to him, bearing a letter. It contained but few words, 
 and was signed La Renaudie. Haste was evident ; and 
 Monsieur de Castelnau thought he perceived traces of strong 
 anxiety. The letter urged him to advance with all speed to 
 the Chateau of Nois^, near Amboise, taking care, however, to 
 avoid the town of Montrichard. 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 27 
 
 " We are here in possession of a strong point," said La Re- 
 naudie ; " but the bands come slowly in. Speed, I entreat 
 you. Adieu !" 
 
 The next morning early, half an hour before sunrise, in-r 
 deed, the Lord of Castelnau was in the saddle. To avoid 
 Montrichard implied a considerable circuit ; but intelligence 
 had come in dtiring the night ; and he had learned that the 
 Duke of Guise was proclaimed lieutenant general of the king- 
 dom, and that a large body of his troops were on the right 
 bank of the Cher. Taking the road, therefore, by Sublaine 
 and Blize, he advanced as fast as possible, nor met with any 
 impediment by the way. The country in that quarter seem- 
 ed clear of all enemies, although, at every village, some fresh 
 rumor of moving bands and fierce skirmishes reached him. 
 Before night fell, the town of Amboise, with its castle on the 
 height, appeared clear against the evening sky ; and, guided 
 by a lad, who knew the country well, the Lord of Castelnau 
 and his troop turned away from the high road, just as dark- 
 ness was gathering thick around, to seek the Chateau of Noise. 
 
 Situated in the midst of woods and meadows, on a rising 
 ground which commanded the approaches in all directions. 
 Noise was well calculated for either defense or concealment ; 
 and the Lord of Castelnau little doubted that he would there 
 find a very considerable body of men under the command of 
 La Renaudie. He was surprised, however, as with tired 
 horses he advanced slowly through the woods, to meet with 
 no outposts, and to see no sign of military precaution. Be- 
 yond the walls of the castle, not a man appeared ; and, though 
 challenged on his approach to the gates, he and his whole 
 troop were admitted instantly. On riding in, he saw no cause 
 to fear that their quarters would be crowded. There might 
 be a hundred men or more within the place, but certainly not 
 two hundred ; and Castelnau immediately sought a private 
 interview with La Renaudie, to ascertain the exact position 
 of affairs. 
 
 They stood alone in a small room of one of the turrets, with 
 a single light between them ; and Castelnau gazed upon the 
 other's face with a searching look. " How is this. La Re- 
 naudie T' he asked. " I had hoped to find you better fur- 
 nished with men." 
 
 La Renaudie's face was bold and confident. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," he said. " They come in slowly, 
 but they are all marching on. A few small bands have been 
 destroyed by some of the tyrants' parties ; but from the side 
 
26 DAEK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 of Nantes there is a large force coming up ; and a smaller, 
 but most serviceable body from Niort, should have been here 
 this evening. I am under some anxiety on account of the 
 delay, for they are badly furnished with arms, of which we 
 have abundance here to equip ten thousand men. If they do 
 not arrive within two hours, I shall go out with a party to 
 look for them. Indeed, I should have gone this morning to 
 give them escort ; but I could not leave the chateau unde- 
 fended, with such valuable stores within." 
 
 Castelnau mused. " Better go at once," he said at length. 
 " We must endeavor to collect a larger force at some one point, 
 otherwise we may be cut to pieces in detail, and never have 
 an opportunity of presenting the petition at all." 
 
 A faint smile passed over La Renaudie's face at the word 
 petition ; but he took no other notice of it, and would insist 
 on seeing to the refreshment of Monsieur de Castelnau and 
 his troop. His hospitality had a tendency to deviate into 
 revelry ; but Castelnau was uneasy : no fresh band arrived ; 
 and he twice put La Renaudie in mind of his purpose before 
 the other would act upon it. 
 
 At length, however, the latter gathered together almost all 
 the men who had been in the chateau when Castelnau ar- 
 rived, and set out, with horses fresh and full of fire from two 
 days' inactivity, leaving the chateau, and all that it contained, 
 in charge of the Lord of Castelnau. The whole night went 
 by without any tidings of his progress, and the whole of the 
 following day. Castehiau sent out some small parties to make 
 inquiries ; but nothing could be heard of La Renaudie and 
 his band. 
 
 Would the reader desire to know what became of them ? 
 It is easily told. Gayly, and at a quick pace, undismayed by 
 any dangers, and persisting against every loss. La Renaudie 
 marched on for several leagues during the darkness of the 
 night. Just as morning dawned, he halted his troop at a 
 small village, and refreshed the men and horses. No news 
 had been heard of the people from Niort ; but, while they 
 were at the village, a small party, consisting of three or four 
 men on horseback, was seen on the acclivity of a hill to the 
 right. The insurgent immediately sent out to ascertain who 
 or what they were ; but they instantly retired ; and, after a 
 short pause, La Renaudie recommenced his march. He had 
 not gone three miles, however, and was just entering a piece 
 of meadow ground, watered by a rivulet, with a somber wood 
 on the left, and a bed of osiers on the right, when he saw 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 29 
 
 straight before him, coming round the angle of the wood, a 
 body of the royal men-at-arms, nearly double his own party 
 in number. At their head there was a flag, or guidon, as it 
 was then called, which he knew right well, and a figure which 
 was equally familiar to him : that of his own cousin, Par- 
 daillon. 
 
 La Renaudie was a man of no hesitation. " Upon them !" 
 he cried, turning to his men, and drawing his sword, for lance 
 he had none at that moment ; " upon them ! We shall have 
 them a cheap bargain in their disarray." 
 
 On he dashed without hesitation, and without any further 
 preparation. It was his cousin whom he himself charged ; 
 and, spurring forward upon him with fieiy haste and remorse- 
 less resolution, he sle-vV" him with his own hand at the very 
 head of his troop. He was followed close by his companions, 
 and the fight in an instant was fierce and general. But it 
 lasted not long. 
 
 There was a young page, a boy not seventeen years old, 
 who had ridden immediately behind Monsieur de Pardaillon, 
 He saw his lord fall ; he saw him writhe for a moment, and 
 then lie still and heavy on the ground. The page had a pe- 
 tronel in his hand. He struck his spurs deep into his horse's 
 flank, brought the mouth of the weapon close to La Renau- 
 die's head, and fired. 
 
 Through the steel cap, through the skull and brains, the 
 ball tore its way ; and La Renaudie fell headlong from the 
 saddle. No word had passed between him and his cousin, no 
 word between the page and him. Pardaillon and La Re- 
 naudie lay dead, side by side ; and the insurgents were cut 
 down almost to a man. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AMBOISE. 
 
 Heaven and earth were weary of witnessing bloodshed. 
 The citizens of Amboise murmured aloud. The most faith- 
 ful of the king's subjects and servants expressed their disgust ; 
 and the Chancellor Olivier moved about the castle with the 
 look of a specter, and an eye full of horror and dismay. None 
 
30 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 rejoiced but the house of Guise and its partisans. With them, 
 every head that fell was the head of an enemy. The fabric 
 of their power seemed built up by the corpses of the slain, and 
 cemented by the blood that was shed. 
 
 But yet their situation M^as not without its danger. Mul- 
 titudes were still pressing forward from distant parts of France 
 toward the town of Araboise. The royal troops had not 
 escaped without suffering severe loss. The Castle of Noisie 
 was strong ; and it was known to contain resolute men, a 
 vast store of arms, and abundance of provisions. It was a 
 rallying pohit for the disaffected : a point of peril. 
 
 Such was the situation when the body of LaRenaudie was 
 brought into the town and hanged over the center arch of the 
 bridge, with the words " Chief of the Rebels" written on the 
 breast. At the same time, however, intelligence was received 
 that a body of nearly two thousand men, most of whom had 
 seen service, was within two days' march of Amboise, and was 
 directing its course straight toward Noise. Multitudes of other 
 parties were scattered abroad over the land ready to unite with 
 any larger force under lany distinguished leader. It was, per- 
 haps, the moment of the greatest danger ; and the duke and 
 the cardinal consulted eagerly without witnesses.- Then the 
 chancellor was sent for, and then the Lord of Vielleville, an 
 old and experienced soldier, a shrewd and clear-sighted poli- 
 tician, a steady Catholic, but one who stood detached from 
 party, too reasonable to be a zealot, too independent to be a 
 tool. They proposed to him to take a small body of hor?c, 
 which was aU that could be spared from Amboise at a time 
 when such numerous parties were scouring the country, and, 
 going to Noise, endeavor to induce the Lord of Castelnau and 
 his companions to lay down their arms, and come to present 
 their petition to the king peaceably, upon promise of safety and 
 free access. Vielleville looked toward the chancellor, whose 
 eyes were still bent down upon the papers before him ; and then 
 the old soldier boldly declined the task, not well assured that 
 his plighted word, if given, would be respected.* 
 
 A long consultation ensued ; and then James of Savoy, 
 duke of Nemours, was sent for. The gay and gallant prince, 
 bold, rash, and straight- forward, undertook the commission 
 readily, glad to terminate by an act of grace, as he imagined, 
 a scene of civil strife, especially Avhen the person to whom he 
 was sent was an old and valued friend, the Lord of Castelnau. 
 
 * " Knowing the felony of the two brothers," say the Memoirs of 
 VielleviUe. 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 31 
 
 He was soon at the head of his men-at-arms and upon the 
 way. The distance was short, not much more than a league 
 and a half; and he approached the Chateau of Noise just as 
 the setting sun, within a palm's breadth of the horizon, filled 
 the whole western sky with rosy light. He found the chateau 
 prepared for vigorous defense ; and ridmg on alone, before the 
 head of his troop, he asked the sentry at the barbican to be 
 permitted to speak with his friend, the Lord of Castehiau. In 
 a few minutes Castclnau appeared above the gate ; and Ne- 
 mours waved his hand to him with a cheerful air, saying, 
 " How is it, my noble friend, that I find you here in arms 
 aigainst your king ? I could have believed it of any man but 
 you." 
 
 " I am not in arms against my king," replied Castelnau. 
 " We come but to present to his majesty our humble remon- 
 strances against the tyranny of the house of Guise." 
 
 " Is it thus, with weapons in their hands," demanded the 
 duke, " that the people of France should express their wishes 
 to their monarch ? If you wiU lay down your arms, I promise 
 you, upon my faith and honor, to take you at once to the pres- 
 ence of the king, and to bring you back in safety." 
 
 " I have companions wdthin, whom I must consult," replied 
 Castelnau. " Though I myself would trust implicitly to your 
 word, they may be more careful." 
 
 " Let me come in and reason with them," replied Nemours. 
 " They shall have full assurance." 
 
 He was admitted, with ten companions. He repeated the 
 offer he had made. He plighted his honor and his faith to the 
 safety of those who would trust themselves with him, and he 
 signed the engagement wdth his hand. The Lord of Castel- 
 nau and fourteen of his friends mounted their horses in the 
 court-yard, and, with a feeling of perfect security, rode away 
 with Nemours at the head of his troop. 
 
 In the gray twilight they reached the gates of Amboise, 
 which opened at the approach of the duke. They rode through 
 the street to the castle, and dismounted at the great entrance. 
 But there had been people who had met the cavalcade at the 
 gates of the town, and had run on before, to notify the com- 
 "og of the Lord of Castelnau. 
 
 Side by side with his friend, the Duke of Nemours mounted 
 the stone stair-case, and at the first ante-room left him to an- 
 nounce his arrival, and to ask an audience of the king. But 
 the door was not yet closed behind him, when a body of 
 armed men entered the chamber, and a tall Gascon laid his 
 
as DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 hand on Castelnau's shoulder, saying, " I arrest you for high 
 
 treason I 
 
 Castelnau raised his voice and pronounced the name of 
 Nemours. The duke heard it in the passage, and turned 
 back ; but when he came the room was vacant, and Castelnau 
 slept in a dungeon. The Chateau of Amboise showed a scene 
 of great confusion and dismay during the whole of that even- 
 ing. Fury and indignation took possession of the Duke of 
 Nemours. He had been made the base tool of a shameless 
 conspiracy to betray his jfriend, a brave man, a distinguished 
 soldier^ an old and honorable servant of the crown, into the 
 hands of merciless enemies. He argued, he remonstrated, he 
 petitioned in vain. Men pitied him, but dared not speak ; but 
 women's hearts and sympathies went with him warmly, and 
 they are ever more bold in a noble cause. 
 
 Again Mary Stuart knelt at her husband's feet. Even the 
 monarch's ruthless mother interceded ; but Mary knelt, and 
 Catharine pleaded in vain. Guise and the cardinal stood by 
 the king's side, and Francis felt that he was but a cipher in 
 their hands. 
 
 On their faces alone was the look of satisfacticm ; the calm, 
 half-contemptuous smile, which told that the day was won and 
 its dangers extinguished. But though peril was over, they 
 were not men to spare ; and they spared not. Torture pre* 
 ceded trial, but from the lips of Castelnau it wrung nothing ; 
 and then came the condemnation and the preparation for death. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AMBOISE. 
 
 It was a clear March morning, with the wind somewhat 
 high, but soft. One felt in it the breath of April. There 
 was a great crowd in the market-place of Amboise, for the 
 people had not seen an execution for five days, and that was 
 a long period then. There was a scaffold in the midst of the 
 market-place, and a number of the high dignitaries of the 
 court were present ; for the house of Guise had determined 
 that this last act of vengeance should be accompanied by all 
 forni and ceremony. Men in arms surrounded the scaffold on 
 
FRANCE— AMBOISE. 39 
 
 all sides. The bare-armed executioner stood leaning on his 
 heavy ax. Two pale and trembling priests were there, and 
 in the front three gentlemen of noble mien, bareheaded. They 
 spoke together, and embrace4 ; and the Lord of Castelnau re- 
 plied to some words which one of his friends whispered in his 
 ear, ^, 
 
 " No : I will be the last. I have seen brave men die, and 
 know how to meet death too ; but I have got a task to per- 
 form which must be done, my friend, when you are in heaven." 
 
 The gentleman to whom he spoke then turned to the block, 
 threw off his doublet, and laid down his head. To the peo- 
 ple he spoke no word, and to the executioner only said, 
 
 " Strike boldly I" 
 
 The ax fell ; the dark blood spouted forth ; and with an 
 eye that did not wink, and his arms folded on his chest, the 
 Lord of Castelnau gazed sternly on the murder of his friend. 
 
 Another followed ; and the same tragedy was again enact- 
 ed. But then Castelnau strode forward, and, turning to the 
 people, exclaimed aloud, 
 
 " In the face of earth and heaven, I proclaim James, duke 
 of Nemours, and all who have abetted him in the death of 
 tliese true and noble gentlemen, traitors, false, perjured, and 
 man-sworn I" 
 
 Then striding to the block, he dipped his hands in the warm 
 blood, and raised them up to heaven. " God Almighty," he 
 said, " seer of all hearts, thou to whom vengeance alone be- 
 longs, witness the deeds done this day, and deal according to 
 thy wisdom on our base betrayers. Give them measure for 
 measure, and may this blood of thy servants not reek up to 
 heaven in vain !" 
 
 He laid his head upon the block, and in another moment 
 it rolled in the dust. 
 
 There is a man in a black robe, a man of mild and vener- 
 able aspect, who turns away from that frightful scene with a 
 pale cheek, a quivering lip, and a haggard eye. Officers and 
 staff bearers precede him ; and several servants and attend- 
 ants follow. He calls one of them to him, and leans upon the 
 man's shoulder ; for his limbs are seized with trembling, as if 
 a palsy had struck him, and will not bear him up. Let us 
 follow him to his chamber in that high castle. He has lain 
 him down upon his bed to die. In vain the surgeons and 
 physicians crowd around him. In vain priests pour words 
 into his car. All the medicines of the pharmacy can bring 
 no cure. All the eloquence of the priests can afford no con- 
 
 B 2 
 
81 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 solation to the smitten, heart-broken chancellor. The news 
 that he is sick, that he is dying, spreads through the castle, 
 and reaches the ears of the Cardinal of Lorraine. 
 
 *' I will go and visit him," said the scarlet sin ; and he went. 
 He approached with a grave and sympathizing air, and a slow, 
 light step ; but the Chancellor Olivier, as soon as he beheld 
 him, like the despairing King of Israel, turned his face to the 
 wall, and would not look on him. In mild and honeyed ac- 
 cents the cardinal spoke to him for some ten minutes ; but he 
 obtained no answer, and murmuring to himself, " He is speech- 
 less, raethinks," Lorraine rose from the bedside, and walked 
 away. 
 
 His retreating steps caught the ear of the dying man ; and 
 he turned his head round, with a look of fear and horror. Ho 
 saw that he was gone ; and then he said, aloud, 
 
 " Ah I cursed cardinal, thou hast damned thyself, and made 
 us also condemn ourselves to all eternity !" 
 
 At the end of two days more, they bore a corpse from that 
 same chamber, with unavailing honors, to the chapel of the 
 castle; and thus ended the tragedy of Amboise.=^ 
 
 * All the facts stated in this paper on Amboise will be found in the 
 memoirs of Vielleville, or those of Castelnau Mauvissierre, with some 
 few particulars from Aubiguy, Belleforest, and other cotemporary, or 
 nearly cotemporary writers. 
 
ENGLAND— ARTHUR. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ARTHUR. 
 
 Summer and sunshine, bright skies, rich fields, and fair scen- 
 ery were all around. Pennons and banners were fluttering 
 in the air. The Epte and the St. Aubin were glittering on 
 toward their confluence. Thousands of horse and foot cov- 
 ered the hilly ground on the bank of the river, with their 
 bright arms and their gay dresses sparkling beneath the un- 
 clouded sun. There was laughter and merriment too, and 
 many a gay exclamation. It seemed no fierce, warlike expe- 
 dition, but a great meeting of princes, knights, and soldiers 
 upon some high festival. 
 
 Such was the scene on one side ; but on the other the case 
 was very difierent. On the grounds below that joyous party, 
 and on the other bank of the stream, crowds were seen flying 
 in terror and confusion from tlie wide-open gates of the town 
 of Gournay ; women carrying children in their arms, or drag- 
 ging them along in haste by tlie hand ; rich citizens and poor 
 artizans running fast from the town, loaded with their most 
 valuable efleets ; knights and soldiers galloping away as speed- 
 ily as their horses could carry them ; and yet no signs of war 
 or strife, except the pennons and the banners ; no couched 
 lance, no drawn bow, no sword waving in the air. 
 
 What had become of the walls of Gournay, deemed almost 
 impregnable ? Where were the battlements lately glittering 
 with arms, and lined with strong defenders ? They lay in 
 ruins all along the lower part of the town, without any mili- 
 tary engine having been brought against them, without hav- 
 ing been struck by catapult or mangonel. The dike which 
 sustained the waters of the artificial lake above the city had 
 been cut by orders of the shrewd and artful King of France ; 
 and the deluge had swept all before it. Walls, and forts, and 
 houses had given way. The jneadows had become a sea, and 
 every street a river. 
 
36 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 And there he sat upon his proud black horsb, Phihp of 
 France, smiling at the easy destruction he had wrought. Im- 
 pregnable Gournay was taken in a day ; and the first triumph 
 of many was accomplished. 
 
 - By his side, mounted on a beautiful white barb, and glitter- 
 ing in undented arms, was a fair lad some sixteen years of age. 
 His face was gentle and mild in its expression, but his eyes 
 full of fire and intelligence ; and as, with the beaver of his 
 helmet up, he gazed at the scene of devastation, he laughed 
 not with the war-hardened soldiers around ; he smiled not with 
 the remorseless politician by his side. 
 
 " Poor people," he said, "I fear many must perish." 
 
 Philip answered not, but merely pointed with the finger of 
 his gauntleted hand to the standard that waved above his 
 head. He might mean that it must so wave over many such 
 a scene of destruction before the thirst of his ambition was sated. 
 
 Six hours passed, and the sun was sinking in the sky ; the 
 waters had abated ; the streets were clear ; the town and its 
 castle, no longer defensible, had sent out to seek mercy and 
 make submission ; and with floating bamiers and ringing 
 clarions, Philip of France, and Arthur of Brittany, the right- 
 ful King of England if there was force in feudal law, rode into 
 Gournay, and ascended toward the castle. At the gates stood 
 an old laiight, bareheaded, with the keys in his hand ; and, 
 as Philip took them, he turned to his young companion with 
 a fatherly smile, saying, 
 
 " Here, in our first town taken, will I dub thee knight, 
 dear boy, and may this be an augury to you and me of the 
 recovery of all your dominions, while your union with my 
 daughter shall prove an indissoluble bond between the crowns 
 of France and England." 
 
 Philip kept his word ; and on the morning of the following 
 day, in the chapel of the castle, Arthur of Brittany knelt at 
 the great monarch's feet, while he struck him on the shoulder 
 with his sword, exclaiming, " In the name of God, St. Mi- 
 chael, and St. George, I dub thee knight. Be faithful, true, 
 and valiant I" 
 
 He then threw over his shoulder a glittering scarf Fair 
 hands fixed the spurs upon his heels, and girt him with the 
 knightly sword, while a page brought forward the glittering 
 casque, on which appeared the humble badge of the proud 
 Plantagenets, the branch of broom supported by the tradi- 
 tional crest of the fabulous King Arthur, the lion, the unicorn, 
 and the griffin, wrought in massy gold. 
 
ENGLAND— ARTHUR. 37 
 
 Round about stood a crowd of the highest nobles andmos* 
 distinguished knights of the land, with many a lord of Brit 
 tany, Poitou, and Maine. 
 
 One by one, the vassals of the crown of England came for 
 ward to do homage to the young prince ; and Philip, seating 
 him in his own chair, stood by his side to sanction and wit 
 ness the oath. 
 
 " I, Hugo le Brun, lord of Lusignan, count of La Marche, 
 do liege homage to you, Arthur Plantagenet, my born lord 
 and suzerain, for all the lands I hold or ought to hold of you, 
 save always, and except the rights of our Lord Philip, king 
 of France, his heirs and successors. I will yield you honora- 
 ble service. I will ransom you in captivity. I will offer no 
 evil to your wife or to your daughter, in your house dwelling, 
 and to this I plight my faith as your true vassal and liege-man." 
 
 Similar was the oath of each ; and Arthur, rising, took 
 them, one by one as they did homage, by the hand, and gave 
 them the kiss of peace. 
 
 The ceremony was over and the banquet followed ; but, 
 while lords and princes feasted, there was busy preparation 
 going on ; for it was needful that the young knight should 
 win renown in arms ; and he was going forth, aided by the 
 chivalry of Prance, to strive for the conquest of the territory 
 of his fathers. It was well known that a multitude of the 
 vassals of the crown of England, disgusted with a prince with- 
 out vigor or conduct, without honor or feehng, who had been 
 a traitor to his brother and his friend, who was an oppressor 
 of his vassals and his people, would rise in behalf of the young, 
 amiable, and accomplished heir of Geoffrey Plantagenet ; and 
 all that was wanted was money and men, to begin the strug- 
 gle, which was certain to bring into its vortex every one who 
 could draw a sword on either side. The money was suppUed 
 by Philip. Two hundred knights, and several bands of arch- 
 ers were added ; and with high hopes, a gallant train, and 
 every prospect of success, Arthur of Brittany set out for the 
 banks of the Loire, to meet with a short gleam of triumph, 
 and then reverse, captivity, and death. 
 
38 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ARTHUR. 
 
 As if on a gay party of pleasure, the new-made knight and 
 his followers rode on li:om Gournay to Poissy, from Poissy to 
 Chartres, from Chartres to Blois, from Blois to Tours. The 
 merry sunshine of the mid-year was upon them, some of the 
 brightest lands of France around ; and on the pleasant banks 
 of the Loire, they seemed to drink in from the face of nature 
 the inspiration to great deeds. At Tours, a general rendez- 
 vous had been given to all on whose support the young prince 
 fancied he could count ; but execution is ever slow by the 
 side of expectation ; and day by day went by without any 
 great accession to his numbers. Hugh le Brun, who had left 
 him to levy more men, rejoined him, it is true, on the first 
 day after his arrival at Tours, with fifteen knights ; and on 
 the following day, Raoul of Issoudun, with forty knights. Will- 
 iam of Mauleon came with thirty, and with seventy men-at- 
 arms ; and Geofirey de Lusignan brought in a force nearly 
 equal. But still the number was small compared with that 
 of John Lackland, who was at the head of nearly twenty 
 thousand mercenaries. 
 
 But then he was afar, at least so rumor said ; and distant 
 dangers are seldom heeded by youth. Arthur was eager to 
 win, and those who were with him were not men backward 
 in confidence. Filled with the rash, gay, boasting spirit of 
 the south, they had also many a high deed done in the past, 
 and many a memory of success, to cheer them onward to im- 
 mediate enterprise. All, all cried aloud for action ; and the 
 only question was, which way should their steps be directed ? 
 
 It was soon decided. The Castle of Mirebeau was near at 
 hand ; and in it Eleanor of Aquitaine, the mother of John, 
 the grandmother of Arthur, the great supporter of the former, 
 the pertinacious enemy of the latter, was said to make her 
 abode, and to have stored up both gold and arms. It was 
 resolved that Mirebeau should be attacked ; and thither, on 
 a bright day of August, marched the princely boy in the fresh- 
 noM of his chivalry. 
 
ENGLAND— ARTHUR, 39 
 
 The walls were strong and high. There were gallant de- 
 fenders within ; and the resistance was vigorous, but not long. 
 Each knight of Poitou was eager to distinguish himself in the 
 cause of his newly-acknowledged sovereign, and Arthur him- 
 self to win honor to his arms. 
 
 This is not a book of sieges and battles. The walls were 
 won, the city gained ; and the glad prince saw his first effort 
 crowned with success. The castle still held out ; but there 
 was every hope of soon overcoming its resistance. Nothing 
 was heard but the gay voice of triumph ; and the pleasure- 
 loving lords of Poitou gave themselves up to feasting and to 
 revelry. Arthur rejoiced too. He had none with him to 
 supply the forethought which youth wanted. He had gal- 
 lant men, good soldiers, skillful officers, but none of those ex- 
 perienced, gray-headed men, who found one success upon an- 
 other. 
 
 They wasted their time beneath the walls of the castle, 
 skirmishing with the garrison by day, feasting and singing by 
 night. It was what Eleanor desired. At the first sound of 
 danger she had dispatched messengers to her son, calling for 
 immediate aid ; and John showed himself for once prompt, 
 energetic, and bold. By long, forced marches, he crossed the 
 country at the head of a large force, taking means to conceal 
 his approach as far as possible. At some distance from Mire- 
 beau he halted his troops, in order to take his nephew by sur- 
 prise. Success attended him, for early in the morning, before 
 the barons of Poitou were prepared for resistance, John was 
 upon them. A small party, who either slept without the 
 town, or went out at the first intelligence of an enemy's ap- 
 proach, fought gallantly, and delayed for a moment the final 
 catastrophe ; but, overwhelmed by numbers, they were driven 
 back into the town, and John entered Mirebeau along with 
 them. The resistance in the streets was not long ; and those 
 who had been conquerors but a few days before, were now 
 either corpses on the field, or prisoners in the hands of a mer- 
 ciless tyrant. Though so often pardoned, John never learned 
 to spare. The prisoners were sent to various difierent for- 
 tresses, loaded with chains, subject to every sort of indignity 
 and cruelty, to linger out existence in misery, or to perish by 
 privation. Two-and-twenty noble gentlemen of Poitou, An- 
 jou, and Maine, for following the standard of their natural 
 prince, were carried hke the basest criminals to a dungeon in 
 Corfe Castle, and actually starved to death. 
 
 Another fate awaited Arthur, who, while his sister, the lily 
 
40 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 of Bretagne, was sent to England, to wither for forty years in 
 hopeless imprisonment, was conveyed to the Chateau Falaise, 
 and kept a strict prisoner within its walls. There he had the 
 pain of hearing that not one stroke was struck for his deUver- 
 ance by him who had so lately bestowed knighthood upon 
 him ; that, so far from it, Philip, as if struck with sudden 
 fear at the disastrous day of Mirebeau, had raised the siege 
 of Arques, and retired with his army in confusion to Paris. 
 
 Did the poor boy's heart give way ? Did hope yield to de- 
 spair ? Did his courage and his firmness abandon him in the 
 moment of disappointment and regret ? Far from it. The 
 spirit of his race was in him. The unconquerable soul of his 
 great uncle of the lion heart he had inherited, though not his 
 dominions or his success ; and he sat in his lonely chamber, 
 in the high tower of Falaise, dreaming still of empire. 
 
 An autumn day was drawing to the close, and there were 
 sounds of bustle and movement in Falaise. Clarions had been 
 Bounding : horses had been neighing and trampling below the 
 tower ; and voices speaking, and the sound of many feet had 
 risen up to the lonely chamber. The door opened ; and the 
 graceful form, smooth, deceitful countenance, and cold, soul- 
 less eye of John, his uncle and his captor, were before Arthur 
 of Brittany. 
 
 The boy rose ; and his face grew pale and then red ; and 
 the two gazed at each other lor an instant in silence. A 
 frown gathered upon John's face ; but it passed away instant- 
 ly, and he took a seat, with a soft and smiling air. Arthur 
 seated himself too ; and the king began, with his sweet tones 
 and his easy eloquence. 
 
 " Arthur," he said, " I have come to reason with you, anx- 
 ious to treat you •with, kindness rather than with harshness. 
 I am your uncle, your nearest and dearest friend, your liege 
 sovereign, your well-wisher. You have aUied yourself with 
 the French king, the long-persisting enemy of your uncle Rich- 
 ard, my persevering foe, the hereditary adversary of the En- 
 glish crown. He has used you, and only seeks to use you, for 
 his own purposes. He desires merely to encourage hostilities 
 between the uncle and nephew, to take advantage of their dis- 
 sensions for the advancement of his own ambitious schemes, 
 and for the injury of both." 
 
 There was some truth in wtiat he said — truth from lips 
 which seldom spoke it — and Arthur meditated in silence. 
 He recollected how inefficient had been the succor afforded 
 him by Philip, how readily he had been abandoned in th« 
 
ENGLAND— ARTHUR. 41 
 
 hour of need. •' Why am I in Falaise," he thought, "if the 
 great King of France, with all his unlimited power and great 
 resources, be really willing to deliver me ?" 
 
 John saw that he was moved, and he proceeded. 
 
 " Rightly viewed, Arthur," he continued, " your interests 
 are intimately bound up with mine. Abandon your alliance 
 with Philip, adhere to me faithfully and truly, as your nat- 
 ural friend, protector, and ally. Your hereditary dominions 
 of Brittany shall be restored to you, and I will shower honors 
 and benefits on your head. You shall share in all my boun- 
 ties, and no one shall receive more favor in my dominions." 
 
 Indignation had been growing up in Arthur's heart. True, 
 Philip had aided him with a niggard hand ; but then the 
 king had probably calculated upon greater and more rapid ef- 
 forts on the part of the barons of Poitou and Maine. True, 
 the King of France had not come to his deliverance ; but Ar- 
 thur knew that he was himself embarrassed by treacherous 
 vassals and unruly peers. True, Philip had not given him 
 all the support he expected ; but he had supported, and had 
 never plundered him. Philip had kept his word. Philip, in 
 hatred or in friendship, was persevering. Philip pursued an 
 enemy or supported a friend without fear or wavering ; and 
 John — what was John ? There rose up before the boy's eyes 
 the history of his race. He saw the rebellious and deceitful 
 son, the treacherous brother, the false friend, the weak prince, 
 the man who never kept an oath to friend or enemy, the plun- 
 derer of his house, the oppressor of his mother, the usurper of 
 his rights. They were all before him in John, king of En- 
 gland ; and when he heard him talk of his dominions — when 
 he spoke of bestoAving favors and honors upon one before^ whom 
 his knee should bow as a vassal and his brow bend with hu- 
 mility and shame, the spirit of Plantagenet rose up in the 
 bold boy's heart ! and he replied but too frankly. 
 
 " Give me back the crown of England which you have 
 usurped," he said ; " deliver to me the territories in this land 
 of France which are mine by inheritance ; yield up to me, as 
 your elder brother's son and representative, all the broad pos- 
 sessions of my uncle Richard at the day of his death ; do hom- 
 age to me as your sovereign lord, for the fiefs you hold of my 
 crown, and I will honor and favor you according to your obe- 
 dience. But of this be assured, that for these things never 
 will I cease to struggle ; for my rights and my dominions nev- 
 er will I cease to fight while I have life and strength." 
 
 The dark frown gathered on the weak tyrant's brow, and 
 
42 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 his lip turned pale and quivered ; but, without reply, he quit- 
 ted the chamber, and the heavy bolts were shot in the door 
 behind him. 
 
 There were many secret consultations in the Castle of Fa- 
 laise that night. Various men, not famed for honesty and 
 scruples — men of harsh visages and hard hearts, were closet- 
 ed separately with King John. But still he seemed dissatis- 
 fied when they went away. There were few who could bring 
 their hearts to murder a boy, and one so good. 
 
 Nevertheless, Arthur had sealed his own fate, and naught 
 but an agent was wanting. 
 
 The royal court of John quitted Falaise, and the castle and 
 the high tower returned to their tranquillity again. It was 
 dull and heavy, the passing of the next month ; and Arthur's 
 heart sunk low, and expectation gave way to despondency. 
 The flagging hours seemed weary of passing over his head, 
 and he looked out to the blue sky, and longed, hke the proph- 
 et poet, for the wings of a dove, that he might fly away and 
 be at rest. Suddenly the information came that he was to 
 be removed to Rouen ; and, though he was strictly guarded 
 by the way, and suffered to speak to no one but his immediate 
 attendants, the poor boy rejoiced. It was a change ; and any 
 thing seemed better than the cold solitude of Falaise. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ARTHUR. 
 
 William de Brause sat with his wife in the Castle of 
 Rouen ; and there was an open letter before them. His was 
 a harsh face, with more than one scar upon it ; but it belied 
 the heart within. Matilda of St. Valery was any thing but 
 like her husband ; for she was bright and beautiful to behold, 
 and looked as mild and gentle as a May morning. She tvas 
 gentle too ; but yet, in a good cause and with a high aim, no 
 lion that ever tore the hunter which pursued him was bolder 
 that Matilda of St. Valery. Her high, true spirit cost her 
 her life ere many years were over ; but that is beyond the 
 limits of our tale.* 
 
 * Sho was thrown into prison in 1208, with William her eldest sou, 
 
ENGLAND—ARTHUR. 43 
 
 " A strange letter, and a dark," said William de Brause. 
 " The king trusting in my fidelity and affection to do him good 
 service, sends Prince Arthur hither to Rouen, to my custody." 
 
 '* Light comes from darkness, they say," replied Matilda 
 of St. Valery ; " and when John speaks darkly, his meaning 
 is generally clear. When he speaks clearly, it is then men 
 should ask themselves what it is he really means." 
 
 " I know not what he means," replied her husband, " un- 
 less that I should keep the poor boy strictly." 
 
 " Perhaps, that you should not keep him at all," replied 
 his wife. 
 
 " God's life, thou speakest parables too," answered WiUiam 
 de Brause. " Not keep him I Why does he send him to me 
 then?" 
 
 " To make away with him," replied Matilda, in a low tone. 
 
 De Brause started and gazed at her silently. 
 
 " What have I done," he asked, at length, " that this man 
 should think me a murderer ?" 
 
 " Thou art rough in speech, bold in deed, harsh of visage, 
 De Brause," replied his wife ; " and it is only those that lie 
 in thy bosom who know the beauty of the spirit and the soft- 
 ness of the heart within. This king mistakes thee, my hus- 
 •band. Thou must teach him not always to judge other men 
 by himself" 
 
 "Pshaw, that is all woman's talk," replied De Brause, 
 kissing her. " He would never seek to hurt the boy. No, 
 no, he only wants to have him strictly guarded, to prevent 
 mischief and keep down war. No man would ever dream of 
 injuring a noble boy like this." 
 
 " Thou makest the same mistake that he does," said Ma- 
 tilda, sadly. " Thou judgest others by thyself. Hast thou 
 heard, De Brause, that Geoffrey of Lusignan is dead in Corfe 
 Castle — starved to death ? Hast thou not heard the rumors 
 which have come from Falaise, of men refusing to do dark 
 deeds which they dared not name?" 
 
 " Wild, wandering reports," replied De Brause, " doubtless 
 all false and fanciful." But he got up and strode about the 
 room with a frowning brow and moody air, and then went 
 away, bestowing some hearty curses upon something, he men- 
 tioned not what. 
 
 by order of King John. She had reproached him fearlessly with the 
 murder of Arthur; and she died in Corfe Castle, no one knows how. 
 Her son died also ; and her husband was banished, and died two years 
 after her. 
 
44 DARK SCENES OF HISTORI. 
 
 It was night when Prince Arthur arrived ; and the good 
 governor took him by the hand and led him to his wife. 
 
 "Here is our noble guest, Matilda," he said; "and we 
 must make him as comfortable as may be, in following the 
 king's commands. You women know best how to soothe 
 away sorrow, so try your skill on him, good housewite." 
 
 Her skill was not employed in vain ; for, though weary and 
 sick at heart when he arrived, though the dark town and the 
 frowning fortress were not calculated to raise up hopes, yet 
 the kind woman's smile and her tender care had power to 
 soothe and cheer ; and for a time Arthur thought Rouen bet- 
 ter than Falaise. It lasted not long, however ; for it was not 
 the purpose of the hard uncle that Arthur should be happy. 
 First came a letter from the king, reproving De Brause for 
 the liberty he had allowed his prisoner, and ordering that Ar- 
 thur should be closely confined in the new tower. Then came 
 a command to exclude every body from him but one jailer ; 
 and then John himself arrived to take up his residence in 
 Rouen, and there were gloomy looks and discontented speeches 
 passed between De Brause and the king. The feudal baron 
 was bold and stern, and, like the famous Scotch reformer, 
 feared not the face of mortal man. He doubted the king's 
 purpose. He knew him to be faithless, treacherous, and 
 cruel ; and the words of his wife had now been confirmed by 
 direct intelligence from Falaise. 
 
 It was one gloomy winter morning ; and the large logs 
 burned upon the hearth. A white mist rose up from the 
 Seme ; the wind was cold and cutting ; it was no day for 
 traveling. De Brause had been sad and thoughtful all the 
 preceding evening, and gloomy and stern in the early morn- 
 ing ; but he had a lighter look when he entered his wife's 
 chamber, about ten o'clock before noon. 
 
 "Quick, wife," he exclaimed, "pack up your goods and 
 gewgaws. We shall ride forth from Rouen before night." 
 
 " What has happened, De Brause ?" demanded Matilda. 
 
 " Nothing, dear love," he answered ; " but something is 
 going to happen. Within an hour John will be here to hold 
 a court, and receive the homage of Martin of Duclerc. Then, 
 in the presence of all, I give up my command into his hands. 
 I will bear these heavy thoughts no longer. I will neither 
 be a jailer nor a murderer, good wife, so, with God's blessing, 
 we will ride forth and leave him to do his will." 
 
 " Alas, the poor boy I" replied Matilda of St. Valery. 
 
 De Brause gazed at her sorrowfully. 
 
ENGLAND— ARTHUR. 45 
 
 •' Alas, indeed I" he said ; *' but if I can do naught to help 
 him, I will do naught to wrong him ,- and I will not stay to 
 witness what is to happen. Perhaps, too, I may speak a word 
 which will frighten the wolf from his prey. But God knows, 
 there are some men who are only bold in evil deeds. How- 
 ever, I must hasten away ; for I hear horses below ;" and he 
 left her. 
 
 John sat in his chair of state; aiid many a Norman and 
 English baron stood around while the act of homage was per- 
 formed by one of the vassals of Normandy. The king's face 
 was smooth and smiling. A sleepy sort of languor was in his 
 eyes ; and the long hair, which hung upon his shoulders, was 
 curled and perfumed with more than usual care. But those 
 who knew him best argued no good from such indications. 
 He seemed to remark that there were many cold and cheer- 
 less looks about him ; and he spoke to several of the Norman 
 nobles in soothing and familiar tones. 
 
 De Brause gave him no great time for discourse, however ; 
 for hardly had the homage been performed a minute, when 
 he stepped forward into the circle, saying, with a grave, stern 
 manner, " My lord the king, I deliver into your hands the 
 command of this Castle of Rouen, with which you intrusted 
 me some eighteen months ago, and also the custody of youT 
 nephew. Prince Arthur, which you gave me without my seek- 
 ing, and contrary to my wish. What may be his fate here- 
 after, I know not ; but witness, all noble gentlemen here 
 present, that I deliver him into the king's hands safe, and in 
 good health. I beg you to name some one to take this charge, 
 which is too heavy for me. My own affairs call me imme- 
 diately to my lordship' of Brause, for which I must set out 
 this very day." 
 
 John had frowned upon him from the beginning of his 
 speech, with a fierce and vindictive look ; but in this case the 
 tiger was chained. The barons of Normandy stood around ; 
 and he dared not violate their rights in the person of De 
 Brause. 
 
 " This is sudden," he said, slowly and thoughtfully ; " sud- 
 den, and not courteous to your king, and to one who has fa- 
 vored you." 
 
 As he spoke, he rolled his eyes over the circle round him, 
 with a doubtful and considerate look. He was long in find- 
 ing a face that pleased him. Pembroke's would not do. 
 Salisbury's would not do. Brionne's he did not like. The 
 Lord of Maille he dreaded. There was a man standing be- 
 
 /y'^p"' Of ^me' 
 
46 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 hind, with his arms crossed upon his chest and a slight smile 
 upon his hp, with more of bitter than of sweet in it ; and, as 
 John's eye hghted on his face, between the shoulders of two 
 others, he exclaimed suddenly, *' Robert de Vipont, stand for- 
 ward. We will bestow on you the custody of our dear neph- 
 ew, if you will undertake it." 
 
 " Right willingly, my liege," replied De Vipont, coming 
 forward ; " and I trust I shall give satisfaction in my oiEce." 
 
 " Doubtless, doubtless," said John, bending his head ; and 
 then, turning toward De Brause, he said, coldly, " Give up 
 your charge to him, sir." 
 
 " By your good leave, my liege," said De Brause, " I will 
 have two of these noble lords to witness the surrender of my 
 prisoner into his hands, that they may testify to your highness 
 that the prince is safe and well. It is according to feudal 
 custom, and my right." 
 
 John had turned toward him fiercely at the first words, 
 but he overcame the passion in his heart with marvelous 
 self-command. 
 
 " Be it so," he said, in the same cold, chilly tone. " Let 
 us go, my lords ;" and he rose and quitted the hall. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ARTHUR. 
 
 The night was dark and tempestuous. Heavy gusts of 
 wind swept down the Valley of the Seine. There was not a 
 star to be seen in the sky, and sweeping clouds obscured the 
 whole face of heaven. It was the night of the new moon, 
 and very dark. The town of Rouen was still and silent. All 
 the busy population of the Norman capital was buried in 
 slumber ; and on neither side of the river was any one seen 
 except two poor women on the left bank, who sat close to the 
 edge of the water, keeping up a fire in a raised chafing-dish, 
 the light of which floated down the stream, but which was 
 shaded on the other side from the northeasterly blast. 
 
 At that time the fish of the Seine was abundant and in 
 high repute ; and many fishermen from the neighborhood of 
 Rouen and Canteleu made a scanty living by sailing down 
 
B N G L A N D— A R T H U R. 47 
 
 toward the mouth of the river, and bringmg all that they 
 could sweep up in their nets for the daily supply of the city 
 market. Their trade was not without peril ; and this, as I 
 have said, was a stormy night. The women I have spoken 
 of were two fishermen's wives, watching for the return of 
 their husbands, who had been absent longer than their wont ; 
 and the fire was a little homely beacon, lighted to show 
 them, in the darkness of the night, their accustomed landing- 
 place. 
 
 Patiently had they watched for many an hour, when, sud- 
 denly, they heard the sound of horses' feet coming down the 
 Bernay road. '* Heaven send it may be the king coming 
 back," said one of the women to the other ; '* for then we 
 shall have a good market for the fish." 
 
 " No such good luck," replied the other. " The king 
 would not come at this hour ; and, besides, I only hear two 
 or three horses." 
 
 As she spoke, she went up the little bank to obtain a sight 
 of the road. Her eyes had grown familiar with the darkness, 
 and she saw three horsemen ride down toward the river and 
 dismount. One of them gathered all the reins together, and 
 remained where he was. The other two went close down to 
 the edge of the water, one of them turning his head and say- 
 ing, " Mind you stir not a step, for your life." 
 
 " I will not, my liege," replied the man who held the 
 horses ; and the other two walked for several yards close to 
 the edge of the Seine. 
 
 The dip of oars in the water was heard, and the two women, 
 lookmg out, saw faintly the outline of a boat, with two men 
 in it, making its way toward the opposite shore. It was soon 
 lost in the darkness, and they perceived not whither it w^ent ; 
 but some twenty minutes or half an hour after a light streamed 
 out from one of the lower windows of the new tower, where 
 all had been black before. That light remained there ; but 
 very soon, through one of the loop-holes of the tall lateral tur- 
 ret, which contained the stair-case, a yellow glare broke forth 
 upon the night, faded away, appeared at the loop-hole above, 
 and then at another higher still. It was next seen spreading 
 over one of the upper casements of the tower ; and the wom- 
 en fancied they heard the sound of voices, speaking loud; 
 borne across the river by the wind. 
 
 A moment or two after there was a loud and piercing 
 shriek, a second fainter, and then what seemed a deep, mur- 
 muring groan; and at the same time the light was extin 
 
48 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 guished in the chamber above. The women shook very 
 much, but dared not ask each other what all this might 
 mean. Not long after, they heard a heavy plunge in the wa- 
 ter, and then the creaking sound of the oars upon the gun- 
 wale, and their measured dip in the stream. The boat re- 
 turned before their eyes, with two men in it, as before ; and, 
 after a few minutes, the horses' feet were heard beating the 
 ground, and taking, apparently, the way back to Bernay. 
 
 For two hours more the women waited and watched. All 
 was silent and still ; and they conversed often in low whis- 
 pers, as if they feared that some one might be Hstening. At 
 length the sound of voices was indistinctly heard, the rushing 
 of a small bark through the water, a loud call from a well- 
 known voice, as some one caught sight of the fire, and in a 
 moment or two more husbands and wives were busily unload- 
 ing the bo^t, which brought home an abundant freight to re- 
 pay watching and anxiety. Joy and satisfaction first had 
 way ; but, after that had subsided, each wife told her hus- 
 band what they had seen and heard, and much did they all 
 marvel what it might mean. Some ten days after, one of 
 those very men, fishing, with several companions, many miles 
 further down the Seine, fancied he had caught in his net a 
 larger draught of fishes than he had brought up that year ; 
 but when the nets were drawn in, though there were fish in 
 plenty in it, yet ther^ was an object which attracted more 
 attention still. It was the body of a fair and beautiful boy 
 of some sixteen years of age, with bright, long hair, which 
 floated over the face as they raised it up. It was lightly 
 clothed in Buch habiliments as persons of high rank in those 
 days wore at night. There was the shirt tied with a blue 
 ribbon at the neck, and a furred dressing-gown of cloth of sil- 
 ver. There was a large gold ring, too, upon the thumb, with 
 a beautiful ruby in it of the size of a silver sol. When they 
 came to examine the body more closely, they found a deep 
 sword wound passing through and through it, and another, 
 contused and ragged, on the left temple. The rough men 
 shook their heads, with a sad and mournful look ; and carry- 
 ing the body, which was in no degree decomposed (for the 
 weather had been very cold, although it was now the 13th 
 of April, in- the year of our Lord 1203), to the neighboring 
 monastery of St. Mary of the Fields, they gave it into the 
 hands of the good monies. The abbot was called to look at 
 it ; and when he had gazed at it for a moment or two, the 
 tears came into the old man's eyes. 
 
ENGLAND— ARTHUR. 49 
 
 " Alas, alas I" he said ; " and is it even so I Go your ways, 
 good men, go your ways ; and remember, if you would save 
 your own lives, be veiy silent. We will give this youth 
 burial here in our own church ; and a mass shall be said 
 every day for a twelve-month for the repose of his soul. He 
 had httle peace or happiness on earth. May he find both in 
 heaven." 
 
 The body was buried in quiet secrecy by the good monk* 
 of St. Mary's ; and masses were said as the abbot had prom- 
 ised ; but Arthur of Brittany was never heard of more among 
 the hving.* 
 
 • The annals of Margan coincide in many particulars with the ac- 
 count of William the Breton. Matthew Paris is less explicit. Ralph 
 of Coggeshal supplies a few particulars to the tale ; and 1 have prefer- 
 red the accounts of these authors to the less credible statement of Ar- 
 gentr6, which I can not discover to have been based upon any thing but 
 a vague rumor among the barons of Brittany. The unanimous testi- 
 mony of historians proves that Arthur was murdered, almost all say by 
 John's own hand, though some assert that it was done by others at his 
 instigation, and Matthew Paris uses the delicate expression " Arthurus 
 subito evanuit." 
 
 c 
 
50 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PERKIN WAEBECK. 
 
 It was an intensely hot day, toward the end of August, in 
 the year 1485, and the busy citizens of London were taking 
 some short repose, after enjoying the mid-day meal. Never- 
 theless, there was much agitation in the city, ibr it was known 
 that hostile armies were marching toward each other in the 
 heart of the laud, and hourly news was expected of a battle, 
 which would decide the fate of England. The two parties 
 of York and Lancaster were not yet wholly extinct. Many 
 who had fought for one rose or another were still living, and 
 old wounds were still sore ; but, nevertheless, faction had lost 
 much of its rancor ; and the accession of Richard III. had 
 tended to unite many partisans of both houses, in opposition 
 to a prince, whom both regarded as a usurper. 
 
 But Richard's friends were very powerful in London ; and 
 on that day, the 25th of August, they walked the streets with 
 a proud and confident air, well assured that their master, a 
 great general as well as a great statesman, supported by vet- 
 eran troops, and assisted by skillful officers, would obtain an 
 easy victory over the scum of England, and the rabble of 
 Brittany, led by the unwarlike and unfamed Richmond. All 
 were eager for news from Leicester, however ; and though the 
 malcontents were afraid to inquire too eagerly for intelligence, 
 lest their hopes should become apparent, yet many a one ques- 
 tioned his neighbor in private. The partisans of the king, 
 on, the other hand, boldly questioned every one they saw, if 
 any distinct information had been received of the royal suc- 
 cess. Often might a man be seen in that after-dinner hour, 
 quietly gliding from his own open door into that of the ad- 
 joining house, to gather the news of the day, or returning 
 with a doubtfid and dejected countenance as he heard report 
 of Richmond's men having fallen from him, or of scanty levies 
 among his friends, or of the indiflerence of the people of the 
 country. 
 
 If any group was seen, however, gathered together at the 
 Bhady corner of the street, discussing the passing events with 
 loud tones and a swaggering air, sure might you be that they 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. ai 
 
 were Richard's men, even though they displayed not the cog- 
 nizance of the boar. •" 
 
 Toward evening one of those strange rumors which have 
 something prophetic in them began to spread through the 
 city. No messenger had arrived from Bosworth Field, no def- 
 inite intelligence was to be got from any one, but yet the re- 
 port ran from house to house, and mouth to mouth, with in- 
 credible rapidity, that a great battle had been fought, and that 
 Henry Tudor was victor of the field. 
 
 About six o'clock, a dusty horseman, with a jaded horse, 
 rode into the town, and was seen by many spurring on toward 
 the Tower. He looked not to the right or left. His brow 
 was dark and gloomy, and he seemed utterly wearied out. 
 A man called to him from the door of an ale-house to stop 
 and take a draught ; but the horseman spurred on and heeded 
 not. When not a bow-shot from the gates of the Tower, a 
 draper, well to do, who knew him to be a servant of Brack- 
 enbury the lieutenant, ran up to the horse, and asked him 
 what news from the North. The man answered not ; and 
 then the draper inquired, how was his noble master. 
 
 " Dead I" replied the man, and spurred on, nor paused fur- 
 ther till he had passed the draw-bridge. 
 
 From that moment there was a strange movement within 
 the Tower. Many people were observed to quit it carrying 
 bundles and boxes. The gates were left unguarded, or nearly 
 so ; and the rumor spread fast that a battle had been fought, 
 King Richard defeated and slain, and Brackenbury the lieu- 
 tenant left among the dead. Groups collected around the 
 gates ; but they consisted only of the lower classes ; for the lord 
 mayor and the citizens had assembled in the Guildhall, and 
 were discussing somewhat profusely what was to be done next. 
 
 As the evening, began to close in, two men on foot passed 
 over the draw-bridge into the Tower. One was a monk, and 
 the other seemed a serving-man. They had not entered a 
 quarter of an hour, when two others rode up, men bearing 
 arms and of a military look. The horses were tired, but the 
 riders had a gay and triumphant air. Both seemed to have 
 fared well on the road too ; for their speech was somewhat 
 thick, and the tone boisterous. 
 
 " What news, what news ]" cried some of the people in the 
 crowd as they rode among them slowly. 
 
 " What news I" cried the soberer of the two. *' Have you 
 not heard it, lads ? Well, then, long live Henry, king of En- 
 gland !" and he threw his cap up into the air. 
 
52 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 . ''* Lancaster I Lancaster ! Long live King Henry P' shout- 
 ed the mob ; and a scramble took place to catch the man's 
 cap, which fell among the crowd. 
 
 " Come to the Guildhall ! Come to the hall I" cried one 
 of the most forward among the people. " Come, tell the 
 mayor and aldermen the good tidings ;" and he laid his hand 
 upon the man's bridle, while shouts of " Lancaster I" echoed 
 round. 
 
 " Stay, stay — I must say a word to the warder, and then 
 I am with you," answered the horseman. " Here, good man 
 with the boar on your breast, go tell the deputy that I will be 
 back presently. You may say that the tyrant is dead on 
 Bosworth Field, and Harry of Richmond, king of England — 
 Ah, I forgot. That is not all. Say I come from Sir Robert 
 Willoughby, now lieutenant of the Tower, to bid him be 
 ready to yield his charge peaceably to-morrow before noon, for 
 Sir Robert is by this time at Barnet, I dare say." 
 
 The man went away, surrounded by a crowd of men and 
 boys, eagerly seeking the news of Bosworth, and the warder 
 ran in with the tidings. The deputy was speaking low and 
 eagerly with the monk who had lately entered ; and when he 
 heard the news the warder brought, he made no comment 
 thereon, but continued almost in a whisper, as if in conclu- 
 sion of what he had been saying, 
 
 " Now is the moment. Quick, then — quick I Commend 
 me to her highness, and crave her gracious favor for me." 
 
 Ten minutes after, the monk and the serving-man went 
 forth again from the Tower ; but they had now a fair young 
 boy between them, who looked round as if in terror, and held 
 fast by the monk's robe. No one noticed them. It was now 
 nearly dark. All was confusion in the courts of the Tower ; 
 the gate was wide open, the draw-bridge down, the mob all 
 gone to the Guildhall ; and the monk, and boy, and serving- 
 man passed on. They bent their steps through narrow streets 
 to the water's edge, and entered a lonely, melancholy house. 
 The serving-man stationed himself at the door, which was 
 open when they arrived, and the monk and the boy walked 
 hastily in. They went up a broad flight of low, open stairs, 
 and along a corridor. The monk threw back a door, and the 
 boy sprang in. 
 
 There were two ladies in the room : one past the early 
 prime of life, but still beautiful ; the other like a flower in the 
 spring ; and the moment they beheld the boy they caught 
 lux?, in their arms, and smothered him with caresses. One 
 
fl^GLAND—PERKIN WARBECK. 53 
 
 twined her arms around him ; then the other caught him to 
 her heart. Both wept, and both smiled ; and speech seemed 
 extinguished for some time in manifold emotions. 
 
 At length, however, the elder lady raised her eyes toward 
 heaven with a look of anguish, strangely contrasting with the 
 joy which her face had just before expressed. 
 
 " You must go, my boy," she said ; " you must go, Richard. 
 We must not keep you here." 
 
 " But if my uncle is slain, dearest mother, why need I go ?" 
 demanded the boy. " The Earl of Richmond is more unkind, 
 if he sends me away from England, than my uncle Richard ; 
 for,, though he would not let me out of the Tower, he was 
 kind, and kept me here." 
 
 " It is for your own good, my boy," answered the elder lady. 
 ** It is not he who sends you ; it is I. There are dangers 
 abroad, Richard — ^more dangers than you wot of Man's am- 
 bition is never to be trusted. Richmond is already proclaim- 
 ed King of England, and we have no power to assert your 
 title against his. The attempt would be destruction to all of 
 us. You must go, my boy, and go at once. This good father 
 will explain all to you by the way. The time may come 
 when a brighter fate will attend you. Till that day arrives, 
 you must conceal your name, your rights, your station. A 
 mother's and a sister's love shall always watch over you, and 
 we shall meet again, I trust,-in happier hours. I have but 
 one injunction to give ; but let it sink deep into your heart. 
 Treasure up in your memory every scene, every word, every 
 act of these times. Let nothing that has happened to you in 
 these days pass from your remembrance. Let not new places 
 or new friends banish them from your recollection, nor time 
 wear out the soft traces from the mind of youth. Whether 
 your hours be spent in pastime or in study, pause and ponder 
 for a while each day, recalling, as clearly as possible, all that 
 you now recollect : your father's court, your mother's love, 
 the person and appearance of all your near relations, your 
 dwelling in the Tower, the sports and companions of your 
 childhood. And now farewell, my boy, farewell !" 
 
 It was a bitter parting ; but a mother's heart reconciled it- 
 self to the pang, by the knowledge that her child was saved. 
 
 The boy, the monk, and the serving-man set out. A wher- 
 ry, with the common waterman, conveyed them down the river 
 to a Flemish ship, which was lying below the bridire ; and in 
 a few hours afterward they were upon the sea. The mouth 
 of the Scheldt received them, after a tempestuous voyage ; 
 
54 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 and, journeying on, they reached the town of Tournay, where 
 their travels ceased. The monk spoke the languaire of the 
 country well ; but neither the boy, nor the old serving-man, 
 who remained with him, understood a word ; and the conver- 
 sation of all three was in English when conversing with each 
 other. There were many of their countrymen in the town, 
 and occasionally they met and conversed, but it was always 
 with reserve ; for the monk never lost sight of his young 
 charge, till he had filled his mind with the conviction that his 
 life or his liberty depended upon concealment. It would seem 
 that the old man had obtaiuf^i a dispensation from his vows- 
 of seclusion, for he quitted not the side of that boy for several 
 years, but remained with him, instructing him in many things, 
 and taking care that naught which he had learned should es- 
 cape from his memoiy. 
 
 From time to time news came from England ; and money, 
 though not in abundance, was never wanting. They heard 
 that Henry of Richmond was king. They heard that he was 
 husband of Elizabeth of York. And sometimes the boy would 
 smile at the tidings which r«aphed liim ; sometimes he would 
 weep. 
 
 At length a sore fever prevailed in the land, and the old 
 serving-man caught it and died. The monk and the boy, 
 however, escaped, and two more years passed, while time did 
 its work on both. The boy grew up into a tall and hand- 
 some youth. He learned to ride, to dance, to use the sword 
 and lance. The monk withered, and became bent and fee- 
 ble ; and though he was still cheerful, as good men often are 
 in life's decline, he evidently felt his days were drawing to a 
 close. 
 
 In 1487, news reached Flanders that an aspirant to the 
 crown of England hid appeared, calling himself Edward 
 Plantagenet, earl of Warwick, son of George, duke of Clar- 
 ence. But the boy and the monk only smiled ; and when, 
 some time after, they heard that the real Earl of Warwick 
 had been shown to the people by King Henry, and that the 
 pretender had been exposed, defeated in battle, and made a 
 Bcullion in the king's kitchen, they laughed aloud. 
 
 The monk, however, as I have said, declined, wasting slow- 
 ly but perceptibly. His memory began to fail. His thoughts 
 were not so cleq,r ; his speech became thick and indistinct. 
 About this time a stranger visited them from England, and, 
 seeing the stnte of the good old man, he gave some money, 
 which he had Ixumi charged to deliver, into the hands of the 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 55 
 
 young boy. He bade him also, if the monk died, and he had 
 need of writing into England, to address his letter to the Prior 
 of St. Alban's ; to make no mention of former times ; to state 
 his wants and wishes briefly, and to sign merely the name of 
 Richard. 
 
 The monk died, and the boy remained alone, lodging in the 
 house of a person named Usbeck, one of the officers of the 
 town of Tournay. He soon got tired, however ; for these 
 were coarse, rude people among whom he dwelt, and he was 
 now a noble-looking, princely youth, graceful in his manners, 
 and wdth many a rich store in his mind. He resolved to see 
 more of the wide world ; there was none to restrain him ; and, 
 taking advantage of a Portuguese ship which happened to be 
 in the Scheldt, he set sail for that land of bold adventurers.* 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 It was a beautiful day in the spring of the year 1492, when 
 a ship appeared off the coast of Ireland bearing Portuguese 
 colors. A boat rowed off, containing, besides a portion of the* 
 ordinary crew, two or three persons of distinguished appear- 
 ance, one of whom was a youth, apparently of some sixteen 
 years of age, tall, handsome, beautifully formed, with a counte- 
 nance, once seen, never to be forgotten. It was full of beautiful 
 peculiarities : it was the countenance of a race. His dress 
 was not what could be called splendid, but rich and graceful ; 
 
 * The foregoing statement can not be borne out by any direct au- 
 thority ; but I have adopted this view of the escape of Richard, duke 
 of York, out of the Tower, from a disquisition attributed, I believe 
 justly, to Malcolm Laing, as the most probable explanation of the dark- 
 er parts in the history of him who has been called by historians Perkin 
 Warbeck, in consequence of the bold, though contradictory and unsub- 
 stantiated, assertions of the adherents of the house of Tudor. Mr. Lalng 
 only ventures to state that it is more probable that the young son of Ed- 
 ward was withdrawn from the Tower in the confusion which reigned 
 in London between the death of Richard III. and t^j arrival of Sir Rob- 
 ert Willoughby at the Tower, than at any other 'ifime; but that the 
 prince did escnpe, rests upon the much stronger body of evidence, prin- 
 cipally negative, indeed, but yet most conclusive. 
 
56 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 and his doublet of pale-blue silk suited well his clear and 
 brilliant complexion. He wore a long, heavy sword upon his 
 left hip, and a dagger thrust through his girdle, immediately 
 in front ; and, notwithstanding his extreme youth, his muscu- 
 lar Hmbs seemed well fitted to wield the weapons which he 
 bore. When the boat touched the shore, two of the sailors 
 jumped out, and held their hands to assist the passengers in 
 disembarking. The youth at once rose and landed, and the 
 others followed him with an air of respect. There were sev- 
 eral persons watching the proceedings of the party, and one 
 asked the other who these might be. 
 
 " I don't know," said an old soldier who was standing by ; 
 "but that lad is wonderfully like good King Edward IV., as 
 I recollect him ten years before his death." He swore an 
 oath, and added, " I beUeve it is himself come to life again." 
 
 The words had caught the youth's ear ; and with a sudden 
 movement, as if by an irresistible impulse, he turned round, 
 with a bright smile, and held out his hand to the old man. 
 
 The soldier caught it, and pressed his lips upon it ; and, 
 while the party walked on into the town, he hurried away to 
 the Mayor of Cork, and told him he had seen King Edward's 
 son. There were many inquiries made as to where the stran- 
 gers were lodged ; and at nightfall the mayor went away, to 
 see with his own eyes this extraordinary hkeness of which the 
 old soldier had spoken. 
 
 * "I have seen good King Edward many a time," he said ; 
 " and metliinks I should know his son if I beheld him." 
 
 When the mayor arrived at the lodging of the strangers, 
 he found a certain seeming of royal state. A servant stood 
 at the door of the room where they were, and demanded his 
 name before he would give him admission. 
 
 •' Tell him," said the visitor, " that I am John le Mellen, 
 mayor of the town of Cork." 
 
 He was admitted instantly, and found the youth sitting 
 with his bonnet on, while the other two persons present were 
 bareheaded. 
 
 " You are welcome. Master Mayor," said the young man. 
 " I pray you, be seated. What may be your business with 
 me?" 
 
 The mayor gazed at him intently, still standing, and then 
 replied, in a vdtfMhat shook a good deal, " May I first know 
 in whose pres^m &^ ?" 
 
 **My name is Richard Plantagenet," jreplied the young 
 man, with a bland smile. " Why do you ask ?" 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 57 
 
 " My king, ray king !" cried the mayor ; *• I can not be mis- 
 taken. The image of the royal Edward is before rae ;" and 
 he bent his knee and kissed the young man's hand. 
 
 "I did not know," said the youth, " that I was so like, till 
 I met an old man on the beach, who likewise recognized me 
 instantly." 
 
 Such was the first recognition of Richard, duke of York. 
 But there be some whose fate seems to justify the old super- 
 stition of those who say that men are born under an unfavor- 
 able star. Richard's sun was almost always clouded, from 
 dawn till night ; and if it yielded any brightness, it was but 
 with the treacherous ray that lures the husbandman to sow 
 the seed, and then leaves the produce to be blighted. On the 
 following day, two or three others came in to see and to ac- 
 knowledge the heir of their ancient kings : one Stephen Poi- 
 tron, and one John Walter or O' Walter, among the rest. 
 They had both served under King Edward, and required no 
 arguments to convince them when they looked in the youth's 
 face. In truth, he never sought to convince ; for he knew his 
 own truth too well to doubt that it was apparent to others. 
 By the advice of those who surrounded him, however, he 
 wrote letters to the Earls of Desmond and Kildare, telling his 
 birth, his history, and his claims ; but those great leaders were 
 cowed by the superior fortune of Henry. They remembered 
 the result of Simnel's attempt ; and that which Richard of 
 York had laughed at as a boy now proved the greatest obsta- 
 cle to his own success. Kildare and Desmond answered cold- 
 ly : they came not to see him ; they sought not to judge of 
 his rights ; they left him to establish them, if he could ; to 
 fail, if such were God's will. 
 
 Few gathered round him, though now one, now another, 
 who had been attached to his family in former days, acknowl- 
 edged his claim, and formed a little court around him in Cork. 
 No rising in his favor showed itself : no army waited his com- 
 mand ; and the hope which his speedy recognition had gen- 
 erated waxed faint and more faint, till it well-nigh died out 
 altogether. 
 
 What was to be done ? became the question. What step 
 was to be taken to win and to convince ? No one had yet 
 appeared to deny his right, no one to resist his progress ; but 
 few, very few, were there to support his title ; few to promise 
 success to his efforts against a mighty enemy. 
 
 It was proposed that he should once more abandon the do- 
 minions of his fathfer, and seek safety in obscurity again ; but 
 
 C2 
 
58 DARK SCENE.S OF HISTORY. 
 
 the gleam of sunshine was coming, the only gleam that was 
 to brighten his dark existence. 
 
 The utter neglect with which his pretensions had been 
 treated by the English court had not been favorable to him. 
 A just cause almost always gains by resistance : even an un- 
 just cause, sometimes. But Henry's inactivity did not pro- 
 ceed from apathy ; he miscalculated, and judged that the ap- 
 pearance in Ireland of a new claimant to the throne was only 
 a stratagem to divert him from his designs against France. 
 He suffered a whole month to elapse, without heeding the 
 rumors which reached his ears, and which began to spread 
 dangerously among the English nobility. He even went on 
 grinding his own subjects with excessive exactions, making 
 them look round on every side for relief from the tyranny of 
 his avarice. 
 
 I have said that this indifference was unfavorable to Rich- 
 ard Plantagenet. Noise and activity are the most seducing 
 baits to the multitude. No opposition was shown to Rich- 
 ard's claim, and consequently there came few to support it. 
 ^Desmond would not move. Kildare was silent. The great 
 body of the people stood aloof There seemed nothing but 
 exile or death before the prince ; and the last hope of the 
 house of York was going out, when one day there arrived at 
 Cork a French vessel of war, with a gentleman of that coun- 
 try, who took upon himself the character of embassador. His 
 name was Trion. He spoke English well, and had formerly 
 been French secretary to King Henry VII. He had quitted 
 the court of that monarch on some disgust, had visited Paris, 
 and now his first inquiries were for Richard, duke of York. 
 
 All the people of the town were surprised at the event, for 
 their interest in the youth had died away, and most men were 
 inchned to give up his cause as hopeless. But when the news 
 spread that a French embassador had arrived, acknowledging, 
 on behalf of his royal master, the claims of the young man, 
 who so strongly resembled the gallant Edward IV., a marvel- 
 ous change took place in the minds of men. Adherents began 
 to come in. Knights and gentlemen thronged to see the heir 
 of Plantagenet. Support was promised, and enthusiasm be- 
 gan to raise up her fiery head. The advisers of Richard of 
 York, however, knew how little such promises are ever to be 
 depended upon, and the envoy of the French king had con- 
 veyed to him an invitation which held out brighter prospects 
 for the future. Charles VIII. be.sought him to visit his court 
 in Paris, and put himself under the protection of one capable 
 
ENGLAND— PER KIN WARBECK. 59 
 
 of assisling and supporting effectually. The youth took leave 
 of his Irish friends with tender kindness, promised to return to 
 them when his plan should be matured by consultation with 
 his great protector, and sailed away for France with the light 
 of hope upon his sails. 
 
 It may be that the heart of Richard Plantagenet beat with 
 many emotions as he entered the gates of the city of Paris. 
 He might feel hope, he might feel expectation, but he might 
 feel that doubt, that fear springing Irom uncertainty, which 
 agitates more than the presence of apparent danger. 
 
 How should he be received by the King of France ? That 
 was a question upon which much depended. If heartily ac- 
 knowledged, though ultimate success might not, indeed, be se- 
 cured, that for which every noble heart pants most eagerly 
 was gained : the means of struggling vigorously for a right. 
 If, on the contrary, he were met coldly, his title questioned, 
 his descent subjected to carping objections, there was nothing 
 to look forward to but doubt and difficulty, and the delay 
 which makes the heart sick. 
 
 He might, indeed, feel agitated, but he did not show it ; 
 and he rode on, accompanied by his small train, with calm 
 and easy dignity. His face was grave, but not sad. His look 
 was thoughtful, but not anxious. All fears, however, were 
 dispelled from the moment of his entrance into the palace. 
 The young king met him in the lower hall, and embraced 
 him as a brother ; he led him by the hand to the presence of 
 his new"^ bride, the heiress of Brittany ; he acknowledged him 
 at once as Richard Plantagenet, duke of York, if not King of 
 England ; and had any one who saw the two young princes 
 standing together been asked at that moment which Nature 
 intended for a king, the reply must certainly have pointed to 
 the young exile who sought a refuge within those walls. 
 Apartments in the palace were assigned to him ; a guard was 
 appointed to attend upon him ; and daily from that moment 
 his own countrj^men, disgusted with the conduct of the miser 
 king they had chosen, or convinced of the rights of Edward's 
 son, flocked to the little court he now held in Paris. 
 
 Those were bright and happy days. The French courtiers 
 imitated the demeanor of their monarch ; nothing was talked 
 of but asserting Richard's claim in arms ; and letters were 
 received, signed by several of the proudest names of England, 
 giving assurance that there was still many a sword ready to 
 Btart from the sheath in defense of the house of York. 
 
 They were bright days ; but clouds were upon the «dge of 
 
60 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the sky, and the stonn was coming on the gale. The poor lad 
 nttle knew that, while all seemed so fair and blossoming, the 
 crooked canker-worm of policy was gnawing the heart of the 
 rose. Maximilian, the German emperor, was arming to take 
 vengeance upon the King of France for a double injury : his 
 bride* snatched from him, and his daughter, t betrothed to the 
 same prince, cast off and despised. Henry VII. of England 
 menaced Charles on the other side, talked loudly of war and 
 conquest, and the revenge of injuries. 
 
 Led by ambition toward other scenes, given up to the en- 
 joyment of present pleasure, and finding neither strength nor 
 union in France to struggle with the two mightiest monarchs 
 of the day, Charles saw the storm which menaced him with 
 alarm, and prepared to avert it by any concession. Richard 
 Plantagenet had been invited to Paris as a menace to the 
 King of England. He was now destined to be sacrificed as 
 an atonement to his enemy. The negotiations for the Peace 
 of Etaples were conducted rapidly. Clause after clause was 
 agreed to. Only one more point remained to be demanded 
 and conceded : the surrender of Richard of York into the 
 hands of Henry. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 t 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 There had .been a busy day at the court of France. Mes- 
 sengers had come and gone. Many letters had been written ; 
 and a reception at the palace, which had been fixed for that 
 night, was suddenly put off. Richard Plantagenet was in his 
 chamber alone, sketching out with no unskillful hand, and in 
 no unkingly terms, a proclamation to be addressed to the peo- 
 ple of England on landing to claim the crown of his ancestors. 
 
 There was a gentle and quiet knock at his door, and he 
 bade the visitor come in. The door opened. The tapestry 
 
 • Anne of Brittany, who had been actually married by proxy, with 
 •ome very extraordinary and indecent ceremonies, to the Emperor 
 Maximilian. 
 
 t Margaret of Austria, betrothed to the King of France, and actually 
 in Pans. 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 61 
 
 was pushed aside, and, to the surprise of the young prince, he 
 saw a cordelier enter. He knew the man well. He was Fa- 
 ther Maillard, a celebrated preacher, and the confessor of the 
 king, but one who meddled with policy fully as much as re- 
 ligion, and who, it is said, betrayed the interests of France to 
 the seductions of Spain. 
 
 He bore a very reverend character, however ; and the youth 
 greeted him with all respect, kissed his hand, and besought him 
 to be seated. 
 
 The friar wore a grave and sorrowful air. It was clear 
 some unpleasant intelligence was coming ; but Richard was 
 not prepared for the whole. 
 
 " I have a very painful task to perform, my son," said the 
 old man, looking upon him ruefully. " You have, of course, 
 heard that a treaty of peace is about to be concluded between 
 England and France ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, father," answered the youth, with a grave 
 and somewhat stern air. " Methinks I ought to have heard 
 it, but I have not. I suppose I am to read your words, that 
 a treaty of peace is about to be concluded between King 
 Charles, my friend, and Henry Tudor, my enemy." 
 
 " Even so," answered the old man, mildly, taking no no- 
 tice of the indignant tone in which the other spoke. " The 
 state of France, his duty to his people, the menacing aspect of 
 many neighboring powers, compels — for I will not use a lighter 
 term — my sovereign, Charles, to make great sacrifices to 
 avert the dangers which menace his monarchy." 
 
 " Methinks, were I king of the French nation," replied 
 Richard, " no dangers would be found gi-eat enough to induce 
 me to ally myself with an usurper, who has ever shown him- 
 self an enemy^to the ruin of hopes I had nourished, and the 
 injury of one whom I had promised to be^friend." 
 
 " You know not, my son, what conduct might be forced 
 upon you were you in such circumstances," answered the 
 friar with the same gentle manner. " France is strong, and 
 able to cope with any neighboring kingdom single-handed, but 
 not with a great coalition against her. England, the empire, 
 and Aragon have been all united for her destruction. The 
 English, on the west, were ready to sweep her coasts, ay, 
 and to carry war into the heart of the land. The Aragon- 
 ese, in the south, were prepared to pour down into the fertile 
 plains of Gascony and Languedoc, The emperor, on the east 
 and north, was already in the field. Peace has been pur- 
 chased — for I must not call it gained — by immense sacrifices. 
 
62 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 by enormous payments in gold, by the cession of Artoise, and 
 Franche Comte, by the surrender of Roussillon ; and I must 
 now add, it can only be ratified by a greater sacrifice still." 
 
 " He would not give me up to my enemy !" exclaimed 
 Richard Plantagenet, now grasping, in some degree, the old 
 man's meaning. " He has not invited me hither to violate 
 in my person the rights of princes, his own solemn word and 
 plighted faith, the laws of hospitality, and the rules of honor I 
 I will not believe it." 
 
 " There you do him right," replied the confessor. " He 
 has not done, he does not propose to do any of these things 
 you mention. You are not even named in the treaty, and 
 never, to my knowledge, have been spoken of in the negotia- 
 tions. But the treaty must be signed to-morrow ; and after 
 that the king can not guarantee your safety. He has sent 
 me to warn you of the fact." 
 
 " My safety from what danger ?" asked the unfortunate 
 prince. "If he withdraws not his countenance and friend- 
 ship for me, from all other dangers I will guard myself" 
 
 ** Nay, my son, listen to reason," said the cordelier. " In 
 regard to political events near at hand, it needs no prophet- 
 ical spirit to tell what will happen. Both you and I can 
 easily foresee what will be demanded of the King of France 
 as soon as this treaty is signed. King Henry will require that 
 you should be given up to him." 
 
 " And will he consent ?" exclaimed the young man. ** Will 
 he so betray the rights of hospitality, forfeit his pHghted word, 
 debase the kingly office, and bring contempt upon the crown 
 of France ?" 
 
 " What can he do ?" inquired the friar. 
 
 " Reject the demand with scorn," rephed the young man. 
 " Tell the usurper of my throne that Charles of France is 
 not his servant. Tell him that knights and gentlemen, to 
 say naught of monarchs, do not sully their honor and disgrace 
 their name at the bidding of any man." 
 
 " And bring war and bloodshed upon the whole realm of 
 France," said the monk, in a somewhat sterner tone ; " true, 
 had he no one to consult but his own courage, or rather his 
 own rashness, he might commit such unchristian folly, might 
 see his fair fields laid waste, his people slaughtered, his towns 
 sacked and burned, merely lor what men call a point of honor ; 
 but, happily for France, he must consult his council, who have 
 already advised him to pay many hundred thousand crowns 
 to avert the threatened evil. On their decision he must act ; 
 
ENGLAND—PERI^IN WARBECK. 68 
 
 and it is a kind deed of him to give you timely warning, be- 
 fore a demand is made which all men must see he can not 
 venture to reject." 
 
 The young man bent his head, and sat silent for several 
 minutes in bitter thought. At length he said, in a low tone, 
 as if speaking to himself, 
 
 "The unfortunate have few friends, and none steadfast." 
 
 " He shows himself your friend in thus forewarning you," 
 answered the confessor. " Many a man in his situation would 
 have told you naught, but would have sacrificed you at once 
 to the interests of his kingdom. He, however, gives you time- 
 ly notice of a danger ; nay, more, he offers you the means of 
 avoiding it." 
 
 " And how ?" demanded Richard Plantagenet. " By be- 
 coming once more a homeless outcast, by wandering away 
 unprotected, to fall a ready prey into the hands of my fierce, 
 ruthless enemy, whose attention has been awakened to my 
 existence and my claims, while the King of France has kept 
 me at his court, filling me with vague promises and unsub- 
 stantial hopes. Oh, hapless fortune I Doomed from my 
 earliest years to sorrow and adversity, mourning for my fa- 
 ther's death is among my first remembrances, and then comes 
 a long imprisonment and a still longer exile, my brother's 
 throne usurped, my own fortune, exile and obscurity, and now 
 the downfall of all my expectations, built upon a monarch's 
 word and the promises of a pretended friend." 
 
 " You are mistaken, young sir," rejoined the priest, " both 
 in regard to the acts and to the intentions of the king. He 
 does not send you back to poverty and to exile. He does not 
 wish you to wander away unprotected, to fall a prey into the 
 hand of your enemy. He advises you — for he has no right to 
 command — to betake yourself to the court of your nearest re- 
 lation out of England, Margaret of York, duchess of Burgun- 
 dy and regent of Flanders. He will furnish you M'ith abund- 
 ant means to reach the territory under her rule in a state 
 becoming your birth ; and he will have you safely escorted to 
 the frontier, so that no evil can befall you. This is surely 
 all that you can expect." 
 
 The young man sighed deeply, and bent his head. He 
 saw that the conduct of Charles was decided. There was 
 no hope that any thing he could say would change the king's 
 resolution, and he answered, in a low tone, 
 
 " Well, as it may be no better, I must even submit. When 
 does the king wish that I should depart ?" 
 
64 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 " The treaty will be signed to-morrow at noon," repli«d the 
 priest. " No one can tell how soon after the demand may be 
 made. Perhaps, even now, the English envoys have their 
 commands to require your surrender as soon as the negotia- 
 tions have terminated, when, they know that such a demand 
 can not be refused." 
 
 *' It were better, you would say, that I should go at once," 
 answered Richard, rising. " Be it so. I am ready." 
 
 " Nay, nay, my son, no such haste," said Father Maillard, 
 resuming his gentler tone, now that the object was attained. 
 " To-morrow morning will be time enough. Then you had 
 better go, and as privately as possible." 
 
 " Good !" answered Richard. " But I will beseech the 
 King of France to recompense my page and my other attend- 
 ants. They have been very faithful to me, and love me well, 
 I believe. Some small gratuity, too, I would crave for the 
 guard who have had in charge to protect the King of En- 
 gland. Another King of England is acknowledged now. So 
 farewell to the first recognition of my rights ; lor the favor 
 of this world passeth away." 
 
 He spoke in a low and melancholy tone, with an air of grave 
 dignity, but no bitterness ; and even Maillard was moved. 
 
 " Your page is doubtless ready to go with you, my lord," 
 he replied; "and you had better take two of your other at- 
 tendants at the least." 
 
 •• Where shall they find a living with such a one as I am ?" 
 asked the unhappy prince. " I am but a poor exile, father." 
 
 " For such expenses as that," said the confessor, " the king 
 has made provision sufficient. The enormous sums, indeed, 
 which he is obliged to disburse to satisfy the King of England 
 — six hundred and twenty thousand crovms of gold on one 
 account, and a hundred and twenty-five thousand on another 
 — will leave his treasury well-nigh empty." 
 
 The young man murmured something to himself which the 
 cordelier did not or would not hear. The words were, " Is 
 France fallen so low !" 
 
 The other, however, proceeded, saying, " He has, neverthe- 
 less, sufficient left to provide for the maintenance of a friend. 
 Here you will find," and he drew a leathern bag from be- 
 neath his gown, " the sum of two thousand five hundred crowns 
 of the sun. In the top there is also a paper, which, on being 
 presented to Aaron Ardenheim, the Jew of Ghent, will pro- 
 cure for you an equal sum." He laid the bag upon the table, 
 •aying, " And now, my son, farewell." 
 
ENGLAND— PBRKIN WARBECK. 65 
 
 " Stay, stay !" cried the young prince, gazing at the monej 
 with a look of doubt and hesitation. " I can not take this 
 gold." 
 
 ** Take it, my son, take it," said Maillard, " and because 
 my royal master can not do all for you that he could wish 
 and desire, do not reject that which his friendship and his 
 kindness offers. Take it, I say ; and let it be a warrant to 
 you that his heart is with you, and that in happier days, when 
 the dangers which surround him have passed away, you may 
 find in him all you hoped and expected.*' 
 
 " Ha !" cried Richard Plantagenet, with a brighter look ; 
 " if I am so to read the gift, right willingly do I take it, and 
 gratefully do I thank him. So express me to him, father ; and 
 now farewell!" 
 
 How eagerly the, heart of youth grasps at the fallacies of 
 hope. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 There was a gay and brilliant court assembled in the good 
 old town of Mahnes. The coming of the young archduke was 
 expected daily ; and the Duchess Dowager of Burgundy, regent 
 of Flanders and Brabant, had left Brussels to meet him on 
 the way by which he came. Well and firmly had the sister 
 of Edward IV. of England governed the territory intrusted 
 to her care ; well had she fulfilled every duty of her high 
 station : the humble and obedient wife of an impetuous and 
 violent prince: more than a mother to his daughter by his 
 first marriage, after that prince's death ; and a mother to his 
 daughter's children, when an early fate snatched the amiable 
 and unfortunate Mary from a people who had too late learned 
 to love her. Wise, prudent, and gentle, yet firm and coura- , 
 geous, she had successfully triumphed over many difficulties, 
 and won the respect and affection, even of a turbulent and 
 never contented people. She was in the midst of her court, 
 surrounded by all the high nobility of the realm, making va- 
 rious arrangements for some of the approaching ceremonies, 
 when a letter was brought to her by one of her own attend- 
 
66 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 ants, who informed her that the messenger was waiting in 
 the hall below. 
 
 The princess smiled as she read the contents of the epistle ; 
 and, turning to the Prince de Chimay, who was standing near 
 her, she said, 
 
 " Read, Monsieur de Chimay. Here is a new pretender 
 started up to claim the crown of England from Henry Tudor. 
 He calls himself Richard of York ; but it is strange that 
 Margaret of York should never have heard of her lost nephew 
 for so many years, if he were really living near her, as this 
 letter says." 
 
 The Prince de Chimay took the lettex and read it ; but he 
 lid not smile. 
 
 " This is the young prince, madam," he said, " whom we 
 have heard of before when he was at the court of the King 
 of France. A rumor reached" me the other day that Charles 
 had meanly sacrificed him to Henry of Ric^ond, and, not 
 contented with paying immense sums of money as the price 
 of peace, had thrown his honor and good faith also into the 
 scale. I suppose your grace will see the young man." 
 
 " Not I," answered Margaret. " This is a second Simnel, 
 depend upon it. Richard of York perished in the Tower, I 
 do believe, although it is true that, about the time of Bosworth 
 Field, a rumor reached me, countenanced in some degree by 
 my brother Edward's widow, that her youngest son was alive 
 and had escaped. I judged it merely a report spread by that 
 politic lady, to act as some sort of check upon Henry Tudor. 
 But this is an impostor, depend upon it." 
 
 " Methinks it were as well," said the Lord of Solre, a man 
 famous for his knowledge of the feudal law, and afterward 
 Chancellor of Burgundy, *' methinks it were as well that your 
 highness should see this young man, in order that we may be 
 resolved what ground there is for his pretensions. If there be 
 even a chance that he is your nephew, you will thus make 
 sure that you have no cause for self-reproach hereafter. Doubt- 
 less, minute inquiry into the circumstances of his tale will 
 speedily show its truth or falsehood." 
 
 " Well, I will see him," answered the duchess, " and soon 
 expose the imposture. Richard of York was old enough at 
 his father's death to recollect right well many whom I myself 
 remember ; and if I question him about my brother's ♦court, 
 this lad will soon display his ignorance — unless, indeed, which 
 I dare not believe, he be indeed my royal brother's child. 
 Write to him, Monsieur de Solre. Say boldly that I believe 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBBCK. 67 
 
 not his story, but will see him to-morrow at the court of Brus- 
 sels, if he desires it. But bid hira not present himself to me 
 without consideration, as I will take means to probe his story 
 to the bottom." 
 
 The letter was written, and the court assembled on the 
 following day at Brussels. Expectation was high. Some 
 .^ * said the pretender would not appear ; others that he would 
 come and be exposed ; but there were several who remarked 
 that it was not likely King Charles and his council should 
 even for a time acknowledge the young man as Richard of 
 York, unless he brought pregnant proofs that he really was 
 so. Orders had been given to admit him to the presence of 
 the duchess ; and many of her wisest and most experienced 
 counselors were assembled round her. 
 
 Richard Plantagenet did not make her wait. The great 
 door of the hall was thrown open within five minutes after 
 Margaret had entered ; and the young claimant of the English 
 crown was introduced, accompanied by two English gentle- 
 men of good repute, but no great fortune, who had followed 
 him from Paris. 
 
 He was very plainly dressed. There was neither gold nor 
 embroidery to set off his person to advantage ; nothing gaudy 
 or factitious in his costume. But the eye of Margaret fixed 
 earnestly upon hira ; and those who watched her countenance 
 saw that she turned deadly pale. 
 
 She was herself again in a moment ; and, lifting her head 
 proudly, she said, " How is it, sir, that you venture to present 
 yourself before me, endeavoring to impose uponlne with a tale 
 which would not deceive a child 1 The persuasions of my 
 unfortunate nephew, Lincoln, induced me once to render some 
 assistance to an impostor whom I had never seen, and whose 
 claims 1 could not try ; but it is a very different thing to come 
 boldly into my presence claiming to be my brother's son, when 
 I have every means of discovering, exjjosing, and punishing 
 the cheat. In compassion for your youth, I advise you to re- 
 tire at once, and not to risk the consequences which will cer- 
 tainly fall upon you if you force me to investigate your pre- 
 tensions, and they prove false." 
 
 Richard listened calmly, with his eyes bent down ; and once 
 there came a quick flush upon his cheek, as if he were some- 
 what moved with anger ; but the instant she had done speak- 
 ing he raised his eyes to her face, and gazed at her steadily, 
 while he replied, 
 
 " Pardon me, madam, if I do not retire," he said ; " for, to 
 
68 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 do so, after your words, would be to acknowledge guilt of which 
 I am unconscious. I will own that you have good cause to 
 doubt ; for the precautions taken to insure my safety have now 
 the effect of throwing doubt upon my rights. Knowing, how- 
 ever, what those rights are, I should be wanting in duty to 
 myself did I not beseech you to investigate my claim with 
 the utmost strictness. I stand before you declaring myself to 
 be Richard, duke of York — or, rather, King of England, if my 
 brother Edward be really no more — the son of your royal and 
 victorious brother Edward IV., and, consequently, your neph- 
 ew. These are lofty pretensions, I know ; but I am willing 
 that they should be-tried by any test you will. Let any one 
 come forth to prove who are my parents, if Edward was not 
 so. Let any one say who has tutored me in the history of the 
 EngUsh kings, and in the knowledge of their court and private 
 life. In Lambert Simnel's case, these things were proved. 
 Let them be proved in mine ; and I am ready to submit to 
 any punishment, to death itself, should I be adjudged a coun- 
 terfeit. Here I stand in your own royal presence, prepared to 
 meet any charge, ready to disprove any accusation, and to 
 show, as far as circumstances have left me the power of show- 
 ing it, that I am Richard Plantagenet, and your nephew." 
 
 It was evident to those who knew her best that the duch- 
 ess was much moved, though she strove sternly with her emo- 
 tions. She answered in the same tone as before, however : 
 *' There be other means, sir, of trying the truth or falsehood 
 of your tale. It would require too much time, and, I may add, 
 too much troubfe, in a case like this, to trace out your previous 
 history, to investigate who was your real father, where you 
 were brought up, how you were tutored. First, if you are 
 Edward's son, you have doubtless not forgotten your native 
 language. Though you speak French well, it is with the ac- 
 cent of a foreign land, methinks that of Flanders." 
 
 •' Oh no, madam," answered Richard at once, in EngUsh ; 
 " it must be with that of England ; for I know no Flemish. 
 The French tongue I have acquired of late years ; but En- 
 glish is my native language." 
 
 " It seems so, indeed," said the duchess, musing. " You 
 speak it well, too. Your education has not been neglected. 
 But there are other matters. At the period of the death of 
 Edward IV. of England, his son Richard, duke of York, was 
 old enough to remember now, were he still alive, many a thing 
 concerning his father's court, many a minute particular by 
 ivhich the truth of your tale may bo easily ascertained ; for 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBEOK. 69 
 
 such intimate knowledge as would deceive me could not be 
 acquired. If you are Richard of York, you must well recol- 
 lect your father's court, many of those who dwelt therein, 
 what happened after your father's death, what took place in 
 the Tower, your mother's person and appearance, your uncle's, 
 and those of several near relations." 
 
 " I do remember all these things," replied the young man, 
 boldly ; " but yet I might forget them, and still be Duke of 
 York ; for, if you remember, I was barely nine years old at 
 my father's death, and in the ten years which have passed 
 since, all might well be lost to memory. Nevertheless, I rec- 
 ollect very much of all that you have mentioned ; for when I 
 parted from my mother her last injunction was, never to for- 
 get all that I then remembered, but every day to call up again 
 afresh the scenes and transactions of my youth, doubtless with 
 a view to such circumstances as I am placed in now. I prom- 
 ised her to obey her instructions, and I have done so. Some 
 things may be lost, it is true, but very little." 
 
 *' Lucky that it is so," said the duchess, " for by your mem- 
 ory of such events can the reality of your story be best tested. 
 First, however, let us hear how your escape was efiected from 
 the Tower. But speak in French, that your reply may be 
 heard by these noble lords and ladies. I will testify to them 
 that your English is such as few but an Englishman could 
 speak." 
 
 "My escape from the Tower," repUed the young man, 
 " was effected without any difficulty ; and, indeed, there is 
 very little to tell concerning it, all was so easy." 
 
 " Why, the princes were strictly guarded," replied Margaret, 
 interrupting him ; "so strictly that none could get admission 
 even to ascertain whether they were living or dead." 
 
 " True," answered Richard. " I was very strictly guarded 
 for a long time, separated from my brother, allowed 'to see no 
 one, not even to walk at liberty in the courts. The only per- 
 sons who ever visited me were Robert Brackenbury the gov- 
 ernor, who came once a day, and a man called Digby, who 
 brought me food and clothes, and sometimes sat and talked 
 with me. I remember well, it was one evening of a hot au- 
 tumn day, in the month of August, I think, Digby told me 
 that there was a rumor of a battle having been fought, some- 
 where in the north, near Leicester. I forgot to say that I 
 had not seen Brackenbury for many a day, and used to ask 
 what had become of him, when I was told that he had gone 
 to the wars. However, Digby, when he mentioned a battle, 
 
70 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 added that we should soon hear more, for Brackenbur}% who 
 was with my uncle Richard, would certainly send intelligence, 
 and that it might come that very night. I was curious to 
 know, for the days passed heavily then ; and I got upo^ the 
 table, after he was gone, and looked through the bars of the 
 window into the court. I saw that there was a great deal 
 of bustle, and people moving to and fro, more than ordinary, 
 which amused me, without either raising hope or fear, for I 
 knew not that the gain or loss of a battle would any way alter 
 my fate." 
 
 " Poor boy," murmured the duchess, in a low voice. 
 
 " At length I got down," continued Richard, " for it was 
 growing dark, and I was tired. I could hear people shout- 
 ing, but could not distinguish what they said ; and I became 
 impatient for the lamp they used to bring me, to read a print- 
 ed book which Digby had lent me two days before. At length 
 I heard some one at the door, and thought he brought the 
 lamp ; but when the door opened three men came in, and I 
 was very much frightened, for it was too dark to see their 
 faces. One of them, however, raised his voice, saying, ' Oh, 
 my prince, do you not remember me ?' and then I recollected 
 the voice of an old servant of my mother's, who used to wait 
 upon the mistress of the maids. All that I remember still 
 quite well ; but what came next was done in so much haste 
 that I hardly knew the particulars even at the time. An- 
 other of the men was a monk, one Father Prior ; and the third 
 Uian was Digby. Some one, however, told me that Bracken- 
 bury was dead, and my uncle Richard too, and that I must 
 stay there no longer. They would not even let me wait to 
 get clothes, or to gather together any of the things with which 
 I used to amuse the weaiy days ; but out we went through 
 the gates and along many dark and narrow streets, the monk 
 telling me by the way many a thing which had lately hap- 
 pened. They took me to a large, dark house by the river 
 aide. I should think we were half an hour in reaching it, or 
 more. There I found my mother and my sister, Cecily. Eliz- 
 abeth was not with them. I remained but a short time there, 
 though I thought it very hard to be sent away again ; but I 
 was put into a boat with Prior the monk, and the old serv- 
 ant Soames, and rowed down the river to a very dirty ship, 
 which sailed in a few hours for Antwerp. Thence we jour- 
 neyed on to Tournay." 
 
 " The tale is well devised," said the duchess, coldly, ** and 
 'tia clear you have good information bo far. Brackenbury was 
 
ENGLAiND— PERKIN WARBECK. 71 
 
 lieuteuaut of the Tower ; but that is matter of common noto- 
 riety. Dijrby, too, was an officer of his. How you learned 
 his name I do not know. But tell me what like was this 
 Brackenbury. I have seen the man, and remember him." 
 
 " Oh, I remember him right well," repHed Richard Plan- 
 tagenet. "I shall never forget him. He was a tall, gaunt 
 man, with thick, shaggy eyebrows, but not unkind to me, 
 though I was terrified at him at first. He had a large scar 
 across his cheek and lip, and would sometimes sit and tell me 
 how he had been wounded in a battle, in the service of the 
 house of York." 
 
 " At Barnet," said the duchess. " Now let me hear some 
 what more. When you and your brother, as you call him 
 were first seized at Stony Stratford — " 
 
 " Stay, madam," exclaimed the prince. '* I was not with 
 my brother at Stony Stratford. The way was this : m> 
 brother had gone into Wales with my uncle Rivers, before 
 my father's death ; and after that event he was seized at 
 Stratford ; but I was still with my mother ; and I recollect 
 quite well what terror Was created by the news from North- 
 ampton. I was taken out of my bed sound asleep, and car- 
 ried with my sisters to the sanctuary at Westminster. We 
 had hardly clothes to cover us, and no furniture, so that we 
 were forced to sit upon the ground, while the servants brought 
 us what was needful from the palace. It was some weeks aft- 
 er that my mother was persuaded, by a tall old man in a scar- 
 let gown, whom she called your Eminence, to give me up to 
 my uncle Gloucester. Loath, loath was she to do it ; and 
 she held me to her breast long, and shed many tears ; but at 
 last they took me away from her." 
 
 "And then they carried you to the Tower," said the duch- 
 ess. 
 
 " Your pardon, madam," replied the young prince ; " I 
 was first conveyed to the house of the Bishop of London, near 
 Paul's Church, where my brother Edward then was. We 
 remained there well-nigh a week, I think, and then were car- 
 ried to the Tower to prepare for his coronation, I have heard 
 people speak ill of ray uncle Gloucester, but to me he was 
 ever kind and fatherly." 
 
 The duchess looked round the circle, though there was a 
 bright drop swimming in her eyes, which well-nigh obscured 
 her sight. The Lord of Solre bent his head with a gentle in- 
 clination, and spoke a few words in a low tone, as if prompt- 
 ing some further question. 
 
72 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 " Do you remember your father well ?" demanded the 
 duchess. 
 
 "Right well," jeplied the young man. "He was taller 
 than I am, though I am tall ; and I remember quite well the 
 day when his color first changed from a warm, glowing brown 
 to a pale white. I had been standing at his knee, telling him 
 that I wanted a man's bow and arrows, for that I should soon 
 be strong enough to compete at the butts. But suddenly he 
 turned very pale, and called to one of the gentlemen behind 
 to open a window, saying, * I am faint.' " 
 
 " Come to my heart," cried the duchess, spreading wide her 
 arms. " You are indeed my nephew, Richard of York ;" and 
 she clasped him fondly to her bosom with the tears falling fast 
 from her eyes. 
 
 " That fact," she continued, after the emotion had some- 
 what passed, " was carefully concealed from all, lest it should 
 create dismay. It was only written to me under seal of 
 secrecy ; and I have never heard it mentioned by any one 
 but you." 
 
 " It was some months before my father's death," said Rich- 
 ard ; " and he rode out many times after, and had gay meet- 
 ings at the palace, and feasted the nobility ; but he was al- 
 ways pale from that day ; and I remember the good Lord 
 Hastings laying his hand upon my shoulder one day — the 
 hand that had the black spot on it — and saying, * Alas, my 
 prince, I fear there is a darker time coming for you.' " 
 
 " You are indeed my nephew," said the duchess. " Your 
 look, your air, your voice, your knowledge, all speak for you ; 
 and I acknowledge you as such ; but still we will have every 
 inquiry made, and every means taken, to remove all doubts, 
 and place your claim upon the surest footing." 
 
 And such was the course pursued ; but it was all in vain. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PEEKIN WARBECK. 
 
 Another gleam of sunshine, bright and delusive. But 
 why should I tell all that it fell upon ? The White Rose of 
 England was the name bestowed on Richard Plantagenet. 
 The court of Burgundy echoed his praises. His grace, his 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 73 
 
 beauty, his dignity, were the theme of every tongue ; and his 
 skill in sports and exercises won admiration from the chiv- 
 alry of the land. A train of gentlemen were appointed to 
 attend him as the officers of his household. Twenty archers 
 were assigned for his guard, each bearing the White Rose em- 
 broidered on his tunic ; and before the house appointed for his 
 lodging, floated the banner of his arms, which, in the words 
 of him who saw it, old John Molinet, bore three leopards and 
 three fleurs-de-lis on one and the same shield, and there, too, 
 was his title in Latin, " Airmi Richardi, principis Walie et 
 ducis Elborasi, filii et heredis Edouardi quarti, nuper Dei 
 gratia, regis Anglie et Francie, domini Ybernie."* 
 
 The rumor spread far and wide. Many an exiled English- 
 man hastened to the court of the young prince ; and none who 
 remembered Edward IV. failed to see the marvelous re- 
 semblance between the king and his son. The young arch- 
 duke arrived in the territories which had descended to him 
 from his mother ; and he, too, acknowledged his young cousin 
 of York, for so he called him, though the relationship was but 
 nominal. But the report of these things spread beyond Flan- 
 ders, and Burgundy, and France. It reached the shores of 
 England. It was busy at the court and among the people. 
 Richard of York was found. The rumor which had been 
 general after the battle of Bosworth Field, that he had escaped 
 to the Continent,! was remembered by many, and was now 
 spoken of openly as an established fact. 
 
 Men would fain have inquired of the queen dowager if she 
 knew of her son's flight, if there was reason to believe that 
 he was still living. They would willingly have watched her 
 looks, and listened to her words when the pretensions of the 
 youth acknowledged by the Duchess of Burgundy were men- 
 tioned in her presence. But the policy of Henry VII. had 
 insured that there should be no such confirmation of the tale. 
 The mother of Edward's children, and of his own queen, on 
 whose rights alone rested his title to the throne, was now in 
 close confinement. Her estates were confiscated, her wealth 
 snatched from her ; and she had no means either of publish- 
 ing a recognition of her son's right, or aiding him to support 
 them in arms. It is sad that cuiming should so often triumph 
 over honesty. 
 
 * It will be seen that this heraldic Latin of the court of Burgundy 
 was not of the very purest kind ; but I have only ventured to cnange 
 one word, substituting Dei for Deo. 
 
 t More. Polydore Virgil, page 569. Bacon. 
 
 D 
 
74 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 But still the rumor went forth, still the belief gained ground. 
 Secret meetings of noblemen who had supported the Wliite 
 Rose in all seasons were held, to deliberate and consult ; and 
 many a rich citizen too, groaning under the avaricious op- 
 pression of the miser king, and remembering with regret a 
 more popular, if not a more virtuous monarch, talked with his 
 neighbors of seeing the house of York again upon the throne, 
 and looked with hope and expectation toward the shores of 
 Flanders. 
 
 Henry was troubled on his uneasy throne ; but with his 
 shrewd, remorseless policy he prepared against all events. To 
 discredit the pretensions of Richard Plantagenet was one step 
 to be taken, to deprive him of the support of foreign princes 
 was another, to strike terror into the hearts of those British 
 subjects who might be inclined to espouse his cause was a 
 third. The first appeared easy. Two men long accused of 
 having murdered the sons of Edward IV. in the Tower, but 
 who had been suffered to remain unpunished by Henry Tudor, 
 were now seized and imprisoned ; and spies were sent over to 
 the Low Countries, to discover or to fabricate materials for a 
 fictitious history of the youth who claimed the crown of En- 
 gland. Sir James Tyrrel and John Deighton were kept in 
 close confinement ; and who shall say what were the practices 
 used with men who knew their lives were at stake, to induce 
 them to confess a crime so serviceable to royalty ? Nay, more, 
 who knows what it was they did confess ? All that we are 
 sure of is, that a declaration was published in their name, 
 acknowledging that Deighton had aided one Miles Forest to 
 smother the two young princes, Edward and Richard, in their 
 bed, and had then called in Tyrrel, by whose order it was 
 done, to view the bodies, and witness that the crime was com- 
 plete. They could not point out the place, they said, where 
 the corpses were interred, because, though buried at the foot 
 of the stair-case, they had afterward been removed by the 
 chaplain of the Tower, and the priest was dead. 
 
 The tale was spread abroad by courtly diligence ;* but all 
 men thought it strange, that persons who acknowledged the 
 munsier of their queen's brother should be immediately set at 
 liberty, and the principal criminal, Tyrrel, raised high in the 
 i'avor of the king.f The reported confession convinced but 
 
 * It is to be remarked, that these confessioDS rested only on pablic 
 report, at least so Lord Bucod implies. 
 
 t He was one of the commissioners who concluded the Treaty of 
 Bstaples with the French. He was governor of Guisuea, and enjoyed 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 75 
 
 few ; and the story which was soon circulated, founded upon the 
 letters of Henry's spies, that the youth calling himself Richard 
 Plantagenet, speaking the English language perfectly, with- 
 out error or accent, bearing the strongest resemblance to Ed- 
 ward, king of England, demeaning himself in eveiy look and 
 gesture as a prince, was the son of a poor Flemish Jew, keep- 
 ing one of the gates of Tournay, seemed too incrediole for even 
 the most willing to believe it. 
 
 To deprive Richard of York of the support of foreign princes,- 
 Henry's measures were resolute, but not altogether judicious. 
 Garter king at arms was sent to the court of Brussels, to de- 
 nounce the pretender to the blood of Plantagenet, and insult 
 him in the presence of his great allies. He told his story of 
 Richard's birth to the archduke and the duchess dowager in 
 presence of all the nobles of the land. But the tale was met 
 with indignation and contempt by all ; and his quality of a 
 herald barely saved the bold messenger from imprisonment. 
 Next came an embassador, chosen from the house of Somerset, 
 pretending another object for his mission. With all due rev- 
 erence he saluted the • archduke, and paid equal honor to the 
 duchess dowager, but he took no notice whatsoever of Richard 
 Plantagenet, who stood, as her nearest kinsman, on her left 
 hand. 
 
 " How is it, sir," demanded Margaret of York, in an indig- 
 nant tone, " that you know not my nephew Richard, and do 
 not even bend your head to him ?" 
 
 " Your nephew Richard, madam," replied the embassador, 
 ** has long since passed from this world, and if you please to 
 depute any one to examine, I will bring him straight to the 
 chapel where the prince is buried." 
 
 " What I" exclaimed the duchess, " when we are told that 
 the bodies were removed by the priest, and that no one knows 
 where he interred them ]" - 
 
 Richard had heard the insulting message delivered by 
 garter king at arms in silent contempt ; but he now turned 
 upon the embassador sharply, saying, " I shall not forget your 
 words, sir, when I am seated on the throne of England, as I 
 trust right soon to be." 
 
 Thus, far Henry had no success. Unhappily, the measures 
 which he took to intimidate the nobles of England were more 
 
 liberty and distinction at the court of Henry, till the year 1502, when 
 he was involved in the disgrace of Suffolk, attainted and beheaded. 
 These facts are clearly proved; and Bacon's statement is false that 
 Tyrrel was detained in prison. 
 
76 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 treacherous, more terrible, and more successful. A secret 
 meeting was held, to which many poM^erful, brave, and noble 
 gentlemen came, to consider how they should act toward one 
 whose pretensions to the crown were so boldly stated, and 
 whose claims had been recognized by a princess well qualified 
 to judge of their vahdity. The minds of men were in great 
 doubt ; but yet they leaned to belief. The Duchess of Bur- 
 gundy was evidently fully convinced. So had been the King 
 of France ; and although he had driven a prince from his 
 court, to purchase peace from a great and powerful adversary, 
 he had never admitted that a deceit had been practiced on 
 him, or asserted that he had discovered a flaw in the title of;. 
 Richard of York. One hundred English gentlemen, headed- 
 by Sir George Nevil, had acknowledged him publicly in Paris. 
 More had recognized his pretensions in Flanders ; and every 
 one admitted that, in manners, appearance, and language, he 
 gave every proof of the station and the birth he claimed. Yet 
 the English nobles, before they periled their lives in his cause, 
 demanded further evidence ; and this meeting was called to- 
 gether to inquire how it could be obtained. Among the rest, 
 there appeared one Sir Robert Clifford. All present but him*!K. 
 self were by descent or private attachment firm adherents of 
 the house of York. He, however, was Lancastrian by birth 
 and faction : the son of black Clifford, who slew young Rut- 
 land. Nevertheless they trusted him ; for he seemed warm 
 and zealous in the cause of right. He had often seen Richard 
 of York, he said, as a boy. He recollected every feature well ; 
 and he would undertake to go to Brussels, to see the youth 
 of whose claims they were doubtful, and make a true report 
 of all that he observed. 
 
 The offer was accepted eagerly, and Clifford set out. Ho 
 was accompanied, or followed immediately, by two others^- 
 who were not at that meeting, men of high name and station, 
 but of little honor or honesty. Clifford, however, was the 
 leader and the principal. He was welcomed frankly by the 
 Duchess of Burgundy, although an ancient enemy of her 
 house. He had every opportunity of investigation afforded 
 him. He saw and conversed with Richard of York, and he 
 wrote letters to the Yorkist party in England, stating that 
 he had recognized the young prince at once, that his features 
 were little changed, and that there remained no room what- 
 ever to doubt his identity with the son of Edward IV. 
 
 Was CHfford a traitor even now ? Was he betraying men 
 to their ruin, or were after inducements held out, which won 
 
ENGLAND— PBRKIN WARBBOK. 77 
 
 him from truth to falsehood ? It is a dark secret, upon which, 
 probably, no light -will ever shine. But what we do know is, 
 that Henry sent gentleman after gentleman to the court of 
 Brussels, with secret instructions to insinuate themselves into 
 the confidence of Richard Plantagenet, to discover all his se- 
 crets, and to learn who were his favorers and correspondents 
 in England. Meanwhile, to cover their treachery, he pro- 
 nounced them traitors, and caused the doom of outlawry to 
 be pronounced against them from the cross of St. Paul's. He 
 debased himself to corrupt servants and to bribe priests and 
 confessors, and he was but too successful. The names of 
 some of the best men in England were soon enrolled on his 
 black list of proscription, and he determined to strike a blow 
 that would carry terror to all wavering hearts. 
 
 The consummation of the treachery is described by an eye- 
 witness. " A short time after, there arrived at the court of 
 the King of the Romans, where the said Richard was, three 
 great personages of England, seeking refuge with the said 
 Richard, and assuring him that King Henry had banished 
 them from the kingdom, on account of their supporting his 
 cause, which they felt to be just, loyal, and well-founded. 
 These three personages were amicably received by the said 
 Richard, and he made his principal counselors of them ; so 
 much so, that nothing was done, either openly or in secret, 
 that did not pass through their hands ; and, in fact, they 
 worked over the water so well, by sending their rescripts and 
 otherwise, that the greatest men of England adhered to the 
 quarrel of the said Richard, promising to favor his descent in 
 that country, in assurance of which many of them sent letters 
 sealed under their hands, and, among others, the high cham- 
 berlain of King Henry. Altogether, more than forty prom- 
 ised him assistance, and forty thousand florins to sustain his 
 cause ; and when the said letters, under seal, were given to 
 Richard, these three great lords, by whom all "business was 
 transacted, communicated secretly to Henry that he should 
 send for them, for it was time to return. The king sent off 
 a man from Calais, who soon found himself in the town of 
 Malines. Immediately, without regarding day or hour, they 
 saddled their horses, and, possessed of the said sealed letters 
 sent by those in England, set out suddenly from Malines, 
 without taking leave of the said Richard ; and, entering no 
 large town lest they should be followed, they lodged first at 
 Bethune, thence to Calais, and from Calais toward the King 
 of Ensrland.'* 
 
78 DARK SGENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Pity it is the historian does not give the names of these 
 three gentlemen, that their fame might find fitting note in 
 history. However, ^ir Robert CliJfTord was one of them ; 
 and, upon the information given by them, the Lord Fitzwal- 
 ter. Sir Simon de Montfort, Sir Thomas Thwaits, Wilham 
 d'Aubigny, Robert Ratchffe, Thomas Cressner, and Thomas 
 Astwood were seized, tried, and condemned for corresponding 
 with Richard, caUing himself Duke of York. Four heads 
 were immediately brought to the block, and terror spread 
 through the land. The partisans of the unhappy prince 
 learned, in the trial court and on the scaffold, that they were 
 betrayed, and knew not by whom. They had to deal on one 
 side of the water with one who had no mercy, and on the oth- 
 er with persons who had no honor. No wonder that zeal 
 grew cold and doubtful. 
 
 Suspicion, however, was soon directed to a particular ob- 
 ject. On the 7th of January, 1494, Henry held a council in 
 the Tower, at which Sir William Stanley, the lord chamber- 
 lain, was present. Henry owed him much — life, a victory, a 
 crown ; but such men have no gratitude. Stanley is said to 
 have declared privately, that if he were sure the new claim- 
 ant of the blood of York were really the son of Edward IV., 
 he would not bear arms against him, and that was treason in 
 the eyes of Henry. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of deliberation. Sir Robert Clifford 
 presented himself before the council, and boldly accused the 
 lord chamberlain of treason. Stanley was arrested, tried, and 
 condemned. But his execution was not yet. He was a vic- 
 tim of sufficient importance to be reserved. The very benefits 
 he had conferred upon the king might give a value to his 
 death, which ought not to be cast away. If the king spared 
 not him, whom would he spare ? And Henry reserved the 
 bloody deed for the fitting moment. All the partisans of the 
 house of York in England were struck with alarm, and re- 
 mained quiet, fearing to bring the merciless hand of power 
 upon their heads, or to aggravate the flte of Sir Wilham 
 Stanley ; and the Duchess of Burgundy and her nephew, 
 clearly perceiving that but little aid could be expected from 
 the nobility of England, adjourned to a more happy time the 
 advancement of his claim upon the crown. No movements 
 took place ; no ships were gathered together, no soldiers mus- 
 tered ; and Henry, judging from this inactivity that all in- 
 terest in the unhappy prince was at an end, sent a solemn 
 embassy to the archduke, demanding that the impostor, as ho 
 styled him, should be given into his hands. 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 79 
 
 The reply which he received was brief, and not satisfactory. 
 The archduke's council answered, that it was his wish and 
 intention to live on good terms with the King of England, 
 and that, consequently, he would give no assistance to the 
 Duke of York, but that the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy 
 was sovereign in the territories forming her dowry, and there' 
 fore he could not interfere with what she might be pleased to 
 do. Thus ended the matter for a time. 
 
 Richard of York remained in Flanders and Brabant, lov- 
 ed, admired, and acknowledged. He took part in all the 
 great festivities of the day, and in all the ceremonies of that 
 splendid court, and never, by word, look, or gesture, betrayed 
 that he was other than that which he appeared. For more 
 than two yea^^ he remained under watchful and clear-seeing 
 eyes, surrounded by spies, and betrayed by several of those in 
 whom he trusted. Methinks there was sufficient time to as- 
 certain if he were or were not the son of a Jew of Tournay. 
 Margaret of York denied that it was so. All her court rec- 
 ognized the youth as her nephew. The lords of Burgundy 
 and the princes of Germany treated him as the Duke of 
 York ; and all that Henry could allege to account for these 
 strange facts was, that Margaret, the amiable and the kind, 
 the aunt of his own queen, hated him with so mad an enmity 
 that she sought to dethrone him and her niece, only to place 
 upon the throne of England the son of a Jew of Tournay : 
 that Margaret, the high-minded and the dignified, was play- 
 ing the part of an actress on the stage ; and that the son of 
 a poor Jew had been found, with talents so consummate as 
 to be able to assume at once the character, the manners, the 
 language of a prince ; to acquire a foreign language so per- 
 fectly as to deceive the nicest ear, and to learn a tale filled 
 with minute particulars, without ever forgetting one circum- 
 stance or betraying one inconsistency. Verily the explana- 
 tion was not probable. 
 
80 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PERKIN WARBBCK. 
 
 There were commotions in Ghent, riots in the town of 
 Bruges : the people of Antwerp were discontented and moody ; 
 and many a commercial, many a manufacturing town remon- 
 strated with the archduke upon the state of the country, and 
 the severe injury that all the best interests of the land were 
 sustaining. Henry VII. had prohibited all traffic between 
 England and the Netherlands. The great mart for Flemish 
 merchandise was closed, and every branch of trade suffered. 
 
 Richard Plantagenet felt that he was the cause of danger 
 to the prince and distress to the people. He was hke the sin- 
 ful prophet in the tempest-tossed ship, and he made up his 
 mind to be the sacrifice. 
 
 It was night. The gates of the palace at Brussels were 
 closed ; and in the cabinet of the queen dowager, in close 
 consultation with her, sat the young Archduke PhiUp. She 
 had still great influence over his mind. He recollected the • 
 tenderness with which she had guarded his youth ; he recol- 
 lected the firmness and wisdom with which she had governed 
 his territories ; and he was ready to yield to her advice and 
 bend to her opinion ; but yet he wished to lay before her the 
 representations and remonstrances of his council before he 
 acted in any way. 
 
 She listened patiently for some time, but then she started 
 as if with some surprise ; then listened again, and then said, 
 not quite calmly, but yet in a subdued tone, 
 
 " I never yet did know, your highness, that any prince sac- 
 rificed his honor, liis dignity, and his good faith for a mere 
 temporary object without losing that he strove for, and call- 
 ing down after pimishment on his head. If you have any 
 doubt that this young man is RiAard of York, my nephew ; 
 if you have any reason to believe that he is a son of a Jew at 
 Tournay ; if you suspect for one moment, as the insolent 
 Warham ventured to insinuate, that I have tutored him to 
 act a part, that I have concealed aught or fabricated aught, 
 send him forth from these dominions at once. But if you 
 believe him to be the son of my brother Edward, king of En- 
 
ENGLAND—PERKIN WARBEOK. 81 
 
 gland ; if the minute examination of his claims and of the 
 false story of Henry Tudor, into which we have entered, is 
 sufficient to convince you that he is Richard Plantagenet, 
 then you are bound in honor to give him, at least, shelter here 
 against the power of his great adversary. The people of 
 Ghent have revolted fourteen times within my memory, and 
 the moment one pretext is taken from them they will find an- 
 other. Think not that, by any unworthy concession, they can 
 be rendered peaceable or obedient ; for it is with the weak 
 only that they strive, and the stern and resolute are their 
 masters." 
 
 As she spoke there was a low, quiet knock at the door ; 
 and, on permission being given, Richard Plantagenet entered. 
 He was received warmly by the duchess, and warmly, also, 
 by the archduke ; for Philip felt that he had dealt somewhat 
 ungenerously with the youth, in his wishes, if not in his acts, 
 and he sought to make atonement. Though a seat was placed 
 near Richard, he did not take it, but stood by the side of the 
 table, and, with that mixture of grace and dignity which all 
 cotemporaries have mentioned, and even the Tudor writers 
 of a subsequent period have admitted, he said, 
 
 " I am happy to have found your highnesses together, for I 
 have something to say to my two best friends on earth. I ex- 
 pressed to you some time ago, my lord archduke, the grief 
 which I felt for the interruption of commerce between this 
 land and England, knowing that it had been inflicted on my 
 account. I have lately heard with much greater pain that 
 the people of the good towns murmur, and show a rebellious 
 and disobedient spirit. Your protection of myself is the cause 
 of all this, and that cause must exist no longer. I do beseech 
 you both to let me go." 
 
 " Nay, nay, that can not be," repUed the archduke. " It 
 would bring shame and disgrace upon my name to send away 
 this dear lady's nephew, a prince of the house of Plantagenet^ 
 of whose claims there can be no doubt." 
 
 " No disgrace, mighty prince," replied Richard, " if you 
 send him not away disgracefully. It is necessary for the 
 peace of your dominions that I should go. This Henry Tu- 
 dor has, in reality, no warrior's spirit in his breast. He was 
 successful in one great battle against a braver man than him- 
 self ; but he was successful by the aid of those, most of whom 
 he has now either imprisoned or slain. In your case, he dare 
 not attack you in arms for affording a refuge to the heir of 
 Edward IV., but he has cunningly contrived a plan to arm 
 
 D2 
 
82 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 your own subjects against you, and to injure you and oppress 
 me by their hands. This I can not see and remain. I am 
 eager, as both you and this noble lady know, to strike a blow 
 for the recovery of my father's crown. I am sure that the 
 hearts of the English people are with me, and I believe that 
 the terror of this bloody man's executions has passed away. 
 Give, then, but a few ships, and a few regular soldiers. 
 There is many" a gallant heart and many an adventurous 
 spirit who will gladly accompany me, and I will not doubt 
 that, as Richmond, with an unjust cause, won the crown 
 from my uncle Richard, so shall I, with a holy and a right- 
 eous cause, win the crown from him. Then will I speak of 
 gratitude, then will I speak of love." 
 
 The archduke looked to the duchess ; and the duchess gazed 
 on him. 
 
 " So be it, my dear boy," she said, at length. " I have 
 long wished to aid you in ascending the throne of your father ; 
 but I alone have not had means sufficient ; and this great 
 prince was tied by the engagements of his council till these 
 hostile measures were taken by Henry Tudor. Those en- 
 gagements are now at an end; and he will aid you well, I 
 am sure. I will leave you with him to consult over the 
 means ; but there is one thing you must promise me, which 
 is, that if you are unsuccessful in your first attempt, you re- 
 turn to me — do you promise ?" 
 
 " I do," replied Richard ; and the duchess left the cabinet. 
 
 " The promise I have given," said Plantagenet, as soon as 
 she was gone, " must not prevent your highness from carry- 
 ing on negotiations with England, nor from entering into any 
 stipulations consistent with your own honor, and tending to 
 the benefit of your people. I have promised to return if un- 
 successful ; but I have not promised to stay. If I am suc- 
 cessful, any treaty that you sign will be with me, and if not, 
 I promise you I will throw no impediment in the way of its 
 execution." 
 
 '• There spoke the noble blood of Plantagenet," said the 
 young archduke, who, though only seventeen years of age, had 
 acquired the manners and demeanor of a man and a sover- 
 eign.* " Your conduct, my noble friend, would prove your 
 
 * He was bom on the 22d of Juno, 1478, according to Molinet, who 
 announces the fact in the fuUowins quaint tenns: "During the time 
 that my lord, the Duke of Austria, kept the field in front of the enemy, 
 us has been said, and labored for the public weal, the Duchess of 
 Austria, his spouse, only daughter of the Duke Chai'les, whom God ab- 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 83 
 
 race, were other proofs wanting ; but now let us call in the 
 Lord of Bergues, upon whom you and I can both rely, and 
 consult him as to what may best be done to insure success to 
 your expedition." ^ 
 
 The proposal was grateful to Richard of York, for De Ber- 
 gues had always been among his friends ; and he was imme- 
 diately summoned. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 On the 3d of July, 1495, the inhabitants of Sandwich 
 were much surprised by the appearance of a considerable mil- 
 itary force, headed by the royal officers, entering the good 
 town ; and more surprised still was created when the com- 
 manders of the train bands were called upon to consult with 
 the mayor ^d the higher military authorities for the defense 
 of the coast: Various rumors got abroad ; but great care was 
 taken to prevent the common people from receiving any defin- 
 ite intelligence in regard to the threatened danger. Some 
 said the French were about to land ; some said the Germans ; 
 but all men were ready to defend the country from invasion ; 
 and a small party of military, with the whole of the train 
 bands, marched out in the course of the morning and took their 
 way toward the sea-shore. 
 
 When within a short distance of the beach, the townsmen 
 were more puzzled than ever by the orders they received. 
 Means were taken to conceal the force collected, and especial- 
 ly to hide the regular troops, while a small party only of the 
 citizen soldiers showed itself within sight of the sea, and re- 
 mained waiting anxiously during the greater part of the morn- 
 ing. At length, however, several large ships of Flemish 
 build, which had been apparent in the distance for some time, 
 were seen rapidly to approach the shore ; and when as near 
 as they could safely come, they lay to, without dropping an 
 anchor. Boats were lowered and manned ; and a small body 
 
 solve ! worked for the good of the country on her part, and was deliver- 
 ed of a fair son in her town of Bruges, toward three o'clock of the day, 
 the 22d of June, in the year seventy-eight." 
 
84 DAEK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 of archers and pikemen, under three pennons, were landed upon 
 the beach. Still no movement was made to oppose them ; 
 but, on the contrary, one of the royal officers rode forward, as 
 if to parley with the strangers. When at a distance from 
 them he reined in his horse, and inquired whose men they 
 were, and what they came for. 
 
 " We are under the banner of Richard, duke of York,", 
 replied one of the strangers, who seemed to be in command.; 
 "He is now in the royal ship there, with the standard at the 
 mast-head ; and he comes to claim the allegiance of all men 
 in England who remain true to the house of York." 
 
 " Ha!" said the royal officer ; " is this the young prince of 
 whom we have heard so much from the court of Burgundy ? 
 If so, I pray you send and beseech him to land. He will find 
 here none but true and loyal subjects, ready to live and die 
 with him. He and his companions will be received with all 
 honor ; and whatever we can do to serve him, with body or 
 goods, we are ready to do with all our hearts." 
 
 " I will go to him myself with your message," replied the 
 officer commanding the infantry ; " and right glad will he be 
 to hear that he has such faithful friends in this part of Kent." 
 
 The boat which conveyed him soon reached the ship in 
 which Richard Plantagenet had sailed from tH^, coast of 
 Flanders ; and the message which was delivered for a mo- 
 ment made the heart of the young prince beat with joy ; but 
 the officer who bore it speedily damped his hopes. 
 
 *' I have thought fit, my lord," he said, ** to fulfill my com- 
 mission exactly ; but I fear they are trying to cheat you. 
 That little party on the hill is not the only body of armed 
 men near, if my eyes have not deceived me. I caught the 
 gleam of a long line of pikes above the edge of what seemed 
 a deep ditch ; and I am sure I saw a pretty strong body of 
 horse among those trees there. Better let me return alone, till 
 we have ascertained the facts. I will keep all the boats along 
 the shore, ready to re-embark the men in case of danger ; and 
 should I find that they are dealing with us in good faith, I will 
 Bend the barges back to your highness, that you may disem- 
 bark the rest of the troops." 
 
 A brief counsel was held among the principal persons pres- 
 ent, and it was agreed to follow the advice which had been 
 given. The boat with the officer commanding the infantry 
 rowed back to the shore, watched eagerly by Richard of York 
 and his companions. Ere it touched the beach, however, a 
 sight presented itself which filled every heart with dismay. 
 
ENGLAND— PEBKIN WARBECK. 85 
 
 Out of the deep cuts in the ground, and from behind the sand- 
 hills and a^ little clump of trees which sheltered a farm-house, 
 poured out several thousand men, horse and foot, well armed, 
 and led by a royal banner. A large body of cavalry, consist- 
 ing of two complete troops, dashed down toward the barges 
 from which the Flemish infantry had landed, while the En- 
 glish pikemen and archers drew closer and closer round the 
 little body of invaders. There was no means of giving them 
 support ; for, with the exception of two small skiffs, all the 
 boats were at the shore ; and with a sickening feeling of hor- 
 ror and anxiety, the unhappy prince turned away his eyes. 
 
 When he lifted them again to the scene upon the beach, the 
 commander of his infantry had sprang on shore, and was run- 
 ning in haste toward his men, who, now aware of the danger 
 in which they were placed, were moving slowly and in good 
 order toward the water. They were too late, however. The 
 troops of Henry were upon them before they could gain the 
 boats, and in an instant all was one scene of confusion and 
 strife. They fought well ; they fought long. Little quarter 
 was asked or given ; but ere half an hour was over, none of 
 that small body of infantry remained alive, except a few pris- 
 oners ;* and with a heavy heart Richard Plantagenet hoisted 
 sail, and bore away from the shores of England. Thus ended 
 the first attempt of the son of Edward IV. to assert in ai-ms 
 his title to the crown ; and, according to the promise he had 
 given, he returned to Flanders, where he was again received 
 with every mark of kindness. 
 
 During his absence, however, the eagerness of the great 
 trading communities of the country to conclude a peace with 
 England, and recover the commerce they had lost, had produced 
 a profound effect upon the council of the Archduke Philip ; 
 and it was clear that, sooner or later, the unhappy wanderer 
 would be obliged to seek a refuge on some other shore. Nego- 
 tiations were actually going on between England and the Neth- 
 erlands ; and day by day some advance was made toward a 
 treaty which was destined to deprive the prince of the shelter 
 which had been hitherto afibrded him. His cause was still 
 warmly espoused by the good Duchess Dowager of Burgundy, 
 and she eagerly sought to prepare for her nephew some stronger 
 
 * It is generally stated by the English historians that all these pris- 
 oners were hanged, in order to show foreigners that they could not with 
 impunity aid Henry's subjects in rebellion ; but this is positively con- 
 tradicted by the Burgundian writers, who state that none were hanged 
 but such as were proved to be natives of England. 
 
U DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 support in the prosecution of his claim than she could herself 
 affi)rd. Wherever she turned her eyes, indeed, difficulties met 
 her. The King of France was full of other purposes. The 
 politic King of Aragon was in close alHance with Henry Tu- 
 dor. The King of Scotland had hut lately concluded a truce 
 with the great enemy of Richard Plantagenet. It was to the 
 latter, however, that her eyes turned with the hest hope ; for 
 James was known to he bold, generous, and warlike, and the 
 duchess took care that her nephew's claims and the proofs of 
 his birth should be made fully known at the court of Scotland. 
 The wishes of Richard himself turned toward Ireland. It 
 was the land in which he had first asserted his title to the 
 English throne. There he had been received with warmth 
 and kindness, when he had none to support him but those who 
 came voluntarily forward in his cause. There, he flattered 
 himself, his claim would now be generally recognized, after it 
 had been so fully admitted by more than one sovereign prince, 
 and when, instead of a nameless wanderer, he could present 
 himself with a royal train, and many a gallant man-at-arms. 
 To Ireland, therefore, he sailed, before the signature of the 
 treaty between Henry and the archduke compelled him to quit 
 the court of Burgundy ;* but all his hopes were disappointed ; 
 and in Ireland, though he found many to recognize his title, 
 he found none to support his cause.f 
 
 * By the fourth article of the Treaty of 1496, Henry and Philip mata- 
 ally agreed not to admit the enemies of each other into their territories. 
 By the fifth article, each of the contracting parties undertook to expel 
 from his territories such enemies of the other as had been previously ad- 
 mitted, and to do so within one month after a formal notice should be 
 given to that effect by the other. It is not quite clear that Richard 
 Plantagenet sailed for Ireland previous to the signature of the treaty ; 
 but, as these articles were evidently leveled at him, he must, at all events, 
 have sailed vnthin a month after. 
 
 t I have no proof to offer, that the Duchess of Burgundy actually held 
 any communication with James IV. of Scotland ; but it is perfectly evi- 
 dent, from the reception given by that monarch to Richard Plantagenet, 
 that, even before the landing of the latter on the shores of Scotland, the 
 king must have received very convincing evidence of his royal descent. 
 Tl^e speech, reported to have been addressed to the Scottish sovereign 
 by Richard, is so clearly a fabrication of the Tudor historians that it re- 
 quires no comment. More, Grafton, and Bacon have all been justly ac- 
 cused of something more than partitdity ; but More, with all his wit, and 
 Bacon, with all his wisdom, were not capable of manufacturing a tale 
 which would not betray the handiwork of the artificer when compared 
 with ^e facts ascertained by public documents. 
 
ENGLAND—PERKIN WARBECK. 87 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 King James IV. of Scotland was riding back toward the 
 Palace of Holyrood after the hunting of the deer. Only a few 
 of his attendants were with him, and his dusty dress of green 
 did little to distinguish the monarch from the rest ; but there 
 was a majesty^in his air, given very naturally by the habit of 
 command, which might well attract the passing eye. Such, 
 it seems, was the case ; for a horseman, splendidly dressed, and 
 followed by two attendants and a page, who was riding along 
 the road toward Edinburgh, turned to look at the little body 
 of hunters as he passed them, and then springing to the ground, 
 threw his rein to the boy, and approached the king on foot. 
 His dress was not of the land in which he then was, but he 
 was evidently a man of high distinction ; for round his neck 
 he wore a chain of gold, and gilded spurs over his untanned 
 boots. James halted instantly, and asked, 
 
 " What is your pleasure, noble sir ?" 
 
 The other, however, shook his head, with a smile, and re- 
 pHed, in French, " Alas I sire, I have no English ; but, if I mis- 
 take not much, you are James, king of Scotland." 
 
 " You are right, sir," answered the king, in the same tongue. 
 "Let me ask, if I may vidthout lack of courtesy, who it is that 
 speaks to me ?" 
 
 "A very humble person, sire," replied the stranger; "a 
 poor and little-renowned knight, but one of a good house and 
 name, Rudiger de Lalaing."* 
 
 "A famous name, indeed," replied the king. "We have 
 heard of your deeds of arms, sir knight, and welcome you 
 gladly to our realm of Scotland. I pray you mount your horse, 
 and bear us company to our palace. If you have any business 
 to communicate, you can speak it by the way." 
 
 * This name is written in various ways: Rodighe, and sometimes 
 even Modighe. It was really, however, Rudiger de Lalaing ; and, al- 
 though the nobleman who accompanied Richard ofPlantagenetto Scot- 
 land was not so celebrated a captain as his ^eat relation, Jame de La- 
 laing, he was, nevertheless, a distinguished knight, and maintained the 
 high name of the Burgundiaa chivalry at the court of James by many 
 gsdlant feats of arms. 
 
88 DABK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Lalaing did as he was desired ; and the king's attendants 
 fell a little back as he rode forward with the stranger. The 
 monarch and his companion were seen speakmg eagerly to- 
 gether. Gestures, as if of wonder and surprise, on the part 
 of the king, were remarked by the attendants. Curiosity led 
 them a little nearer, as they approached the city, and they 
 beheld the foreign knight place three sealed packets in the 
 hand of the king, saying, 
 
 " This from his imperial majesty, Maximilian ; this from 
 his son, the Archduke Philip ; this from the King of France. 
 More than one dispatch, I believe, has already reached your 
 highness from the Dowager Duchess of Burgundy." 
 
 James bent his head, saying, " I have receb-ed'them, and 
 will read these with all attention and respect. Your tale sur- 
 prises me, I will acknowledge, for my ally Henry, king of 
 England, has industriously spread a statement that the per- 
 son at the court of Burgundy, pretending to be Duke of York, 
 is an impostor, the son of a Jew of Tournay, tutored to act a 
 part by the duchess dowager." 
 
 The blood mounted fiercely in Lalaing' s cheek. " He is a 
 false traitor," he exclaimed, " and has told a lie. Margaret 
 of Burgundy is incapable of tutoring any one to practice a 
 deceit." 
 
 "So I have always judged," replied the king; "but that 
 part of the tale might be false and the other true. She might 
 be herself deceived. Nevertheless, I will read these letters 
 with due attention, and will willingly receive the prince at a 
 public audience. I call him the prince, because I can not 
 believe that three great and wise sovereigns, as well as a near 
 relation of the person he pretends to be, would admit his claims 
 and acknowledge his birth without clear evidence of the truth 
 of his story." 
 
 " The same evidence can be laid before your highness," 
 answered Lalaing ; " and now I will take my leave, and in- 
 form the duke of your gracious promise to see him as soon as 
 your convenience serves." 
 
 '• He shall hear from me this very night," said James ; and 
 then he pressed the foreign knight to ride on with him to 
 Holyrood, and partake of some refreshment. 
 
 Lalaing declined, however, and turned away to r^oin his 
 young lord. 
 
 A truce existed between England and Scotland ; but James 
 would not receive the claimant to the English throne in secret 
 or even in private. He fixed the day and hour, and invited 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WAEBBCK. 89 
 
 all the nobles of his court to be present, that they might hear 
 and judge as well as himself. All eyes were fixed upon the 
 young man when he entered ; and there was many a one in- 
 clined to doubt or to disbelieve ; but there was a grace and a 
 dignity in the demeanor of Richard Plantagenet, which, added 
 to the beauty of his person, and the frank opermess of his coun- 
 tenance, soon dissipated all iiyurious prejudices. He looked, 
 he moved, he spoke as a prince ; and the perfect commajid of 
 the English language which he displayed, the want of all 
 foreign accent or idiom, at once refuted the tale of his being 
 the son of a foreign Jew. He made no long harangue,* but, 
 after his first introduction to the king, entered calmly and 
 quietly into thejdetails of his history, and tendered such proofs 
 of his birth as left no doubt upon the mind of the monarch, 
 or of his courtiers, as to the justice of his pretensions. He 
 was accompanied by several Burgundian and several EngHsh 
 gentlemen, who confirmed in many instances the facts he 
 mentioned ; and, after listening patiently, the king took him 
 by the hand, and assured him that he should never have reason 
 to repent that he had put himself under his protection. 
 
 Some further conversation followed ; and, in the end, James 
 turned to the Earl of Huntley, saying, " My noble cousin, you 
 know that I am bound upon a pilgrimage, which must occupy 
 me some days. I shall, therefore, put this young prince under 
 your care and guidance till my own return, beseeching you to 
 show him every courtesy and hospitality. When I come back, 
 we will have jousts and games, to put the mettle of these 
 gentlemen of Burgundy to the trial. We will then, also, take 
 counsel as to what is to be done in the present circumstances ; 
 for the heir of the house of York shall not appeal in vain to 
 ^ames of Scotland." 
 
 The earl stood forward frankly, saying, " I wiU fulfill your 
 liighness's will to the best of my poor power. My lord duke, 
 I will entreat you for the time to lodge at my house, with such 
 attendants as you may need. The rest of your train we will 
 
 * The oration given by Lord Bacon is, as I have before said, evi- 
 dently a fabrication from beginning to end. The language and turn of 
 expression is altogether of a later period ; and the statements differ 
 materially from those put forth by Richard Plantagenet in his procla- 
 mation, which is the only known document regarding his pretensions 
 that was not carefully suppressed under the Tudor dynasty. The ad- 
 dress of the young prince to the King of Scots, as furnished by the 
 noble author, is, in fact, merely one of those imaginary speeches which 
 historians in all ages have not scrupled to manufacture tor the persons 
 whose liistories they relate. 
 
90 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 find lodgings for in the city ; and though, perhaps, we can not 
 show yon here such rich fields and golden harvests as you have 
 seen elsewhere, nor such splendid scenes and ghttering pageant- 
 ry as France and Burgundy afford, yet we have blue mount- 
 ains where we will teach you to hunt the roe and the deer ; 
 and we have bold hearts and strong hands which never yet 
 failed a friend at his need. I will now beseech your grace to 
 follow me, after taking leave of my royal lord, and I will then 
 lead you to my humble dwelling." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 A BRIGHT and beautiful girl stood by the side of the stout 
 Earl of Huntley, on the evening of the day just mentioned ; 
 nor was it alone perfection of feature nor beauty of coloring 
 that rendered her so lovely. The dark-brown hair, the pure 
 blue eye, the fine straight nose, the lips like rounded rose leaves, 
 the glowing cheek, the broad snow-white forehead, the fine 
 arched eyebrows were nothing without that beaming bright- 
 ness of expression, without those soul-gleams which sparkled 
 in the eye, and played about the lips, sometimes in sunny 
 smiles, sometimes with the intense light of thought, and some- 
 times with the shadow of deep feeling. Now she was in her 
 gayest mood ; and laughingly did bright Catharine Gordon 
 tease her father to tell her why such preparations as she had 
 seen were making in the house. Who was expected ? she 
 asked. Who was the great man coming] 
 
 " I saw you walk down the street some hours ago," she 
 said, " with a train fit for the Highlands ; and you stopped 
 and pointed to the house ; and then there were manifold court- 
 esies, and bows and ceremonies enow. I must and will know 
 whom I am to receive, that I may do, with all discretion, the 
 honors of the house in place of my mother." 
 
 " Guess, Kate," cried the stout carl, " guess ; for on my 
 life I have no mind to satisfy a woman's curiosity. 'Tis an 
 ever-craving appetite, which one morsel but serves to strength- 
 en for more food." 
 
 "Is it an English embassador?" asked Catharine. The 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBEOK. 91 
 
 earl shook his head. *' Is it a French envoy ? or a Spanish 
 don?" 
 
 The earl answered " No." 
 
 " Then it must be some Burgundian noble, or some German 
 prince," exclaimed Catharine. 
 
 "Near the truth, yet far from it, " replied her father. "But, 
 come, I will tell thee, Kate. It is the White Rose of En- 
 gland." 
 
 " The White Rose !" repeated Catharine Gordon, with a 
 thoughtful look. " That is a flowery metaphor. I hope this 
 white rose has not many thorns." 
 
 " Thorns for his enemies, I trust," replied Lord Huntley, 
 " but sweet leaves for his friends. Come, sit you down, Kate, 
 and I will tell you the history, for he will soon be here ;" and 
 placed beside him, she listened to the tale of Richard Plan- 
 tagenet, with her eyes often swimming in bright dew, as she 
 heard the sorrows and reverses which had crowded thickly 
 into his brief life. 
 
 The tale was not quite finished when Richard of York ar- 
 rived ; and certainly, if, in the bright imagination of the young 
 heart, she had painted the object of her interest in glowing col- 
 ors, she thought them cold and insufficient when she saw him. 
 
 But we must pass over the next weeks lightly. It wns a 
 time of happy dreams for Richard Plantagenet. It was a 
 time of fatal dreams for Catharine Gordon . There were dance, 
 and song, and music. There were the gay hunting-party, the 
 wild, reckless ride among blue and gleamy hills. There was 
 the wandering by murmuring streams and glassy lakes. 
 There were the moments of visionary meditation and of sweet 
 converse. 
 
 It was impossible that two young hearts, thus brought to- 
 gether, should not draw closer and closer to each other. They 
 could not help it. There were the ties of sympathy, and mu- 
 tual tastes, and accomplishments common to both. Deep in- 
 terest on the one side, warm admiration on the other ; grace, 
 beauty, feeling, fancy, all twined a net around them, from 
 which there was no escape. The earl saw the growing pas- 
 sion, and mused over it much. At first he thought it would 
 have been well otherwise ; but that youth had won marvel- 
 ously upon his aflections, and he repeated over and over again 
 to himself, " He is the son of the fourth Edward. True, the 
 fortunes of his house are low ; but where is the blood with 
 which that of Plantagenet might not mingle ? and there may 
 be a brighter day beyond this cold present time. If England 
 
§t '}" DABK SOE'nES OF HISTORY. 
 
 do but rise in his f&voi, and Scotland lend her aid, the crown 
 of his ancestors will be his, and my Catharine seated on a 
 throne. I will let things take their course. God grant it be 
 for the best I Would that the king acknowledged him more 
 openly. He can have no doubt, and yet he seems to hesitate." 
 
 The hesitation continued not long, however ; for, at the 
 end of a few weeks, Richard Plantagenet was finally acknowl- 
 edged and received at the court of Scotland as Duke of York. 
 Jousts, passages of arms, and many a sport and pastime suc- 
 ceeded ; but counsels were also held and consultations took 
 place ; and it was rumored in the land that war against En- 
 gland was in preparation, a report rarely unpleasant in those 
 days to Scottish ears. Men began to call their retainers to- 
 gether, and to polish up their armor ; and all eyes turned to- 
 ward the border, with a longing desire to spoil the neighbor- 
 ing state. 
 
 - The wars of those days combined pleasure and profit, in a 
 way of which we can probably form no idea. The pastimes 
 of almost every man were more or less warlike ; and a foray 
 over the border was much Uke an Indian hunting expedition, 
 in which men went out at once for sport and food. Thus the 
 very rumor spread great satisfaction through the capital of 
 Scotland, and the gladness of the court was increased and con- 
 firmed by the announcement of an approaching marriage. Be- 
 fore war was proclaimed, it was afl[irmed that James, king of 
 Scotland, would bestow his cousin, Catharine Gordon, the 
 most beautiful and accomplished of the Scottish ladies, upon 
 Richard, duke of York ; and in this union the people saw the 
 certainty of great efforts against the neighboring country. The 
 very act would bind the monarch to assert the claim of the 
 young prince to the crown of England. So the people thought, 
 and they thought rightly. 
 
 The marriage took place in the midst of splendor and fes- 
 tivity, and a few short weeks of the brightest happiness that 
 earth can give were granted to the two lovers in each other's 
 arms. There was nothing like disappointment for them, 
 Hope and expectation for once found fruition ; and if they 
 loved before, they loved better still now, when bound together 
 by an everlasting tie. They heard the trumpet sound to arms 
 with a sigh, though the prize to be struggled for was a crown. 
 
 The Scottish army marched forth with all the pomp and 
 circumstances of war, and crossed the English border amid 
 the brown shades of autumn.* This was no predatory foray, 
 • 1496. 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 93 
 
 no wild and sweeping incursion of frontier marauders, but it 
 was a royal expedition, headed by a king, and by one who 
 claimed to be a king. Order and regularity marked the ad- 
 vance of the troops ; banner and pennon, cannon and culver- 
 in, the long lance of the trooper, the pike, and the bow, and 
 the ax of the infantry, came pouring on in a long line over the 
 frontier ; and at the head of all appeared James, who was to 
 fall, defeated, at Flodden, and Richard, who was to die a pris- 
 oner in London. Seldom have two more princely-looking men 
 gone forth to war against a great enemy ; and never did a 
 Scottish army enter England with less violence or injury to 
 the land through which they passed. 
 
 Still, as the royal host advanced, proclamation was made 
 every where before it, in the name of Richard, by the grace 
 of God King of England and of France, Lord of Ireland,- 
 Prince of Wales, inviting all men to flock to the standard of 
 their lawful king, and setting forth, in brief but comprehen- 
 sive terms, the claim of Plantagenet to the throne of England. 
 It told how in his early years he had escaped, by Gk)d's might, 
 out of the Tower of London, and had dwelt in divers coun- 
 tries beyond sea, while Henry Tudor usurped the crown. It 
 told how the same Henry Tudor, as soon as he heard that 
 Richard, duke of York, was alive, had wrought by all subtle 
 means for his destruction ; how he had accused him of being 
 an impostor ; had ofiered large sums to corrupt the princes 
 who had taken his part ; how he had seduced his servants, 
 such as Sir Robert Clifford, to practice against his person, and 
 forsake his righteous quarrel. It set forth all, too, which 
 Henry had done to oppress and grind the English" people, and 
 showed how he had put to death many of the noblest gentle- 
 men in the land, and kept in perpetual imprisonment Edward, 
 son and heir of the Duke of Clarence ; and it offered a reward 
 of one thousand pounds, and a hundred marks yearly, to any 
 one who would bring in the body of the said Henry Tudor, 
 dead or alive. It promised, also, on the part of Richard Plan- 
 tagenet, to the whole people of England, that if he succeeded 
 in obtaining the throne of his ancestors, he would deal differ- 
 ently with his subjects ; that he would administer equal jus- 
 tice to all ; that he would maintain the good laws and customs 
 of the kingdom ; that he would protect its commerce, diminish 
 its burdens, and uphold the rights and privileges of all men. 
 
 It was a powerful and a moving manifesto ; but it had no 
 effect. Men hated the rule of Henry ; but they dreaded his 
 unsparing vengeance. They knew him to be avaricious, cm- 
 
«S DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 el, oppressive ; but they knew him to be crafty, vigorous, and 
 fortunate. They feared as much as abhorred; and man 
 whispered to man, 
 
 " If he spared not Stanley, his best and noblest friend, how 
 will he spare others ?" 
 
 No one stirred. No nobleman or private gentleman of any 
 note came forward to assert the rights of Richard of York ; 
 and men made ancient enmity toward the Scottish people a 
 motive or an excuse for yielding to their own apprehensions. 
 A battle fought and won might soon have brought thousands 
 to the standard of Richard Plantagenet ; but the officers of 
 Henry were too wise to risk such a result. King James found 
 no opposition in the field. The fortified cities shut their gates 
 against him ; but no army appeared to oppose his progress ; 
 and for some time he marched on, orderly and steadily, look- 
 ing for some rising in favor of Plantagenet, but in vain. 
 
 At length the King of Scotland became impatient, and his 
 nobles more so. They had come to fight, and they had found 
 no one to oppose them. They had come to establish a king 
 in his rights, and they found no one to acknowledge him. 
 The border chieftains, long inured to predatory warfare, had 
 restrained their followers and themselves with difficulty ; and 
 a few words of encouragement, from the lips of their king, 
 were sufficient to plunge them at once into all their old hab- 
 its. Moderation, order, discipline were all forgotten ; and 
 Northumberland was soon in a blaze from one side to the 
 other. Hamlets and villages were sacked and destroyed, 
 houses plundered, the peasantry slaughtered in the fields ; and 
 Richard Plantagenet saw with grief his claims to the throne 
 of his father made a pretense for destroying his fellow-coun- 
 trymen and desolating his native land. His course was im- 
 mediately taken ; and it was well suited to his character. 
 He sought the King of Scotland at once, and expostulated 
 with him firmly on the barbarous proceedings of his troops. 
 
 " If this is done in my behalf, my noble lord, I beseech you 
 to forbear," he said. " I would rather lose a crown than ob- 
 tain one by the ruin of my subjects." 
 
 James answered in a less kingly spirit. " Methinks your 
 highness gives yourself too much concern," he said, " about 
 subjects who do not acknowledge you as their king." 
 
 He retreated, however, from England, taking with him the 
 wealth of the whole land through which he passed ; and Scot- 
 land was satisfied with plunder such as had seldom been 
 brought home from the neighboring country. 
 
w 
 
 ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 9^ 
 
 Kichard Plantagenet took nothing with him ; but his heart 
 was more joyful than any one in the camp, for he was going 
 back to her he loved ; and he knew that the eyes of Catharine 
 were looking for him. Short time was allowed him, how- 
 ever, for the sweets of love. James regretted the rash words 
 he had spoken to him ; and, as a proof of undiminished in- 
 terest, he determined to lead another army into England, but 
 to proceed on a difierent plan of operations. 
 
 The moment he chose was favorable. We often do more 
 against ourselves than any enemy can do against us. No one 
 had risen in anns to favor Richard Plantagenet ; but in the 
 early part of 1497, many rose in arms against the oppression 
 of Heniy Tudor. The King of England had taken advantage 
 of the invasion of his dominions by James and Richard, to 
 exact large supplies from his Parliament. The Parliament 
 granted his demands, but endeavored to guard against misap- 
 pUcation of the sums to be levied, of which many an instance 
 was on record. Henry strode over all restrictions, however. 
 The taxes were raised with severity, cruelty, and partiality ; 
 and the people of Cornwall rose to resist. It was then that 
 James and Richard once more advanced into England, and 
 laid siege to Norham Castle. No great force was now col- 
 lected ; for it" was expected that the fortress would soon fall. 
 But the princes were deceived. News came that the gallant 
 Earl of Surrey was advancing with rapid marches at the head 
 of twenty thousand men ; and the Scottish army was forced 
 to raise the siege, and retreat beyond the border. They were 
 pursued even into Scotland ; and the flames of Ayton wit- 
 nessed the. success of Surrey and the discomfiture of James. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 " My husband, my husband, there is danger abroad," said 
 the White Pwose of Scotland to the White Rose of England. 
 " That subtle Spaniard, Pedro of Ayala, has been closeted 
 with the king ; and I fear much for the result." 
 
 " Fear not, dear Kate," replied Richard. " I am confi- 
 dent of the good faith and honor of King James. He will 
 
96 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 neither bietray nor abandon nie. He knows the justice of my 
 claims. He has had full proof of my birth and of my rights ; 
 and he will not be led to tarnish his honor by the offers of 
 Henry Tudor, or the blandishments of Pedro de Ayala." 
 
 " Alas I that I should say so to you, Richard," answered 
 Catharine ; " but there are words in Scripture which should 
 be a warning to all : ' Put not your faith in princes.' My 
 father tells me, that deputies are already appointed to hold 
 conferences regarding peace with the English commissioners 
 at Ayton. The king is tired of the war. He had hoped for 
 success ; and he has met with reverse. He had fancied that, 
 by a few light efibrts, he could seat you on the throne of En- 
 gland ; he has found the task too difficult for him ; he has seen 
 his army obliged to flee from before Norham ; and our cause 
 is lost, my dear husband." 
 
 Richard mused sadly. Then, looking up in Catharine's 
 face, he said, " If I lose not thee, my beloved, I can bear the 
 frown of fortune undismayed. She may refuse me a crown. 
 She may condemn me to poverty and to obscurity. She may 
 give my name down to coming ages as that of an impostor. 
 She may brand my truth as falsehood, and annul the rights 
 of my birth ; but she has given me thy love, and in it a 
 jewel which not fate itself can take from me." 
 
 " I will go and see," he continued, starting up. " I will 
 ride into the city and to the court, and soon know what my 
 fate is to be." 
 
 He called for his horse and for his train, presented himself 
 at the palace, and desired an audience. It was granted in- 
 stantly ; and James advanced to meet him, and embraced him 
 kindly. The king's brow, however, was sorrowful ; and he 
 said at once, " I am glad your highness has come ; for I pro- 
 posed to visit you this very day. The time has arrived when 
 it is needful for me and my council to determine whether wo 
 will remain for many years at war with England, or conclude 
 an honorable peace. My subjects call for repose ; but still, 
 it is with painful regret that I even think of sheathing the 
 sword which I have drawn in your cause. However, I must 
 show you the whole truth. Though a warlike nation, we are 
 a very poor one, few in numbers compared with the Enghsh 
 people, and not altogether so much united as we might be. 
 Henry, your great enemy, has an overflowing treasury and 
 vast resources of all kinds. He is at peace with every foreign 
 country ; the revolt of the Cornishmen is suppressed ; and if 
 his people do not love him well, still they obey him readily 
 
ENGLAND—PERKIN WABBECK. 97 
 
 If I refuse his ofiers now, it will be no longer the question, 
 whether I shall march an army into England, but rather, 
 how shall I defend Scotland against an invading force." 
 
 The king paused ; and Richard Plantagenet crossed his 
 arms upon his chest, and gazed silently down upon the ground. 
 James would fain have had him speak ; but he uttered not a 
 word ; and the monarch proceeded. 
 
 " I told you," he said, " when first you sought my court, 
 that you should never repent having trusted in me ; nor shall 
 you. I will never deny that you have proved to me, beyond 
 all doubt, your birth and rights. I will not give you up to 
 the power of an enemy ; but, for the sake of my people, and 
 for the safety of my throne, I am compelled to tell you that 
 while you remain in Scotland peace can not be concluded. 
 Bitter is my task to say this ; but assuredly I do believe it 
 were better for you, and me, and Scotland that you sought 
 some other land." 
 
 With hardly a change of countenance, Richard of York 
 raised his eyes to the king's face. His look was very grave 
 and very sad ; but it showed neither anger nor apprehension. 
 The color did not vary in his cheek. His lip did not quiver. 
 His voice faltered not. 
 
 " I will not try, my lord the king," he said, *' to change your 
 determination. It is well considered, wise, I doubt not, in 
 itself, and kindly and frankly told. A king's duty to his sub- 
 jects is, or should be, a far higher consideration than the in- 
 terests of one helpless stranger, whatever may be his claims 
 upon generous pity. Even had I cause to think the motives 
 on which you act insufficient, or to judge that you forego the 
 assertion of my claims unnecessarily, which I have not, that 
 could not cancel all the obligations under which you have laid 
 me. I thank you deeply and sincerely for the protection and 
 assistance you have been able to afford me, and for the many 
 favors which you have conferred upon me. I will now take 
 my leave, and prepare at once to depart ; but, believe me, 
 whithersoever I go, I shall ever retain a sincere afiection for 
 your person, and a grateful remembrance of your kindness."* 
 
 * These are very nearly Richard Plantagenet's own words, as re- 
 corded by historians. In general, the conversations to be fonnd in 
 these scenes must be looked upon merely as the dialogues which the 
 author thinks might probably take place betv^reen the principal persons 
 mentioned. The exact words are rarely given by historians. Wher- 
 ever the author has found thera he has inserted them ; and where the 
 substance merely is given, he has expressed it in the terms which he 
 thought suitable to the characters. 
 
 E 
 
98 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY, 
 
 He did take his leave, and rode home to his dwelling be- 
 yond the limits of the town. He was calm, firm, composed. 
 None of his attendants beheld a trace of agitation in his face 
 or manner ; but who shall tell the feelings of his heart during 
 that short ride ? 
 
 Oh, that barren record called history, that catalogue of facts 
 and falsehoods so intimately mingled together as often to be 
 inseparable, how poor and meager it is, even while represent- 
 ing the great bubbles of the earth, how meager, I say, in all 
 the mighty realities ! It tells of the rise and fall of kings, of 
 peace or war between two countries, of a skirmish here, a 
 battle there, a bright meeting, a great discovery ; but not one 
 word does it say of the human feelings, and but few of the 
 human thoughts does it record. Yet those two great streams 
 of heart and mind are the rivers of hfe and light that flow 
 through the mighty Garden of Time. What are laws, insti- 
 tutions, acts, but means to make man happier ? What are 
 study, exertion, discovery, but to make him wiser and better ? 
 Each man's individual sorrows or joys are portions of the 
 great stream of life ; each man's individual thoughts are parts 
 of the River of Wisdom. These, however, we take no heed to 
 reckon in history. We pass them over as if they had not 
 been, as if they had no bearing upon the more apparent things 
 of earth. 
 
 How is it that the writers of the "Old Almanac" men- 
 tion this epoch in the life of Richard Plantagenet. " His de- 
 parture," they say, "smoothed the road to a peace between 
 the two monarchs ; and a truce was signed in the Church of 
 Ayton, September 29th, A.D. 1497." But they tell us not 
 of the agony of that hour, when his last stay was taken from 
 him, when once more he was sacrificed by those who had 
 promised to protect him— sacrificed, not because he was base, 
 wicked, false — not lor any fault, failing, or crime, but simply 
 because he was unfortunate — not because his rights were 
 doubtful, but because the interests of kings were against them. 
 Of all the monarchs and princes who acknowledged, support- 
 ed, and abandoned him, there was not one who ever pretend- 
 ed to have been deceived. They were, at least, honest enough 
 not to varnish their selfishness with a calumny. Charles, 
 Philip, Margaret, Maximilian, James, boldly amiounced that 
 they gave him up because it was for their interest to do so. 
 They never pretended to discover a fraud or to expose and 
 punish an impostor. 
 
 But what were the feelings of Richard Plantagenet duritig 
 
.. ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 09 
 
 that ride homeward 1 Were they the less hitter hecause he 
 knew his misfortunes undeserved ) Each man will judge as 
 he feels. Had he felt that they were merited, he must have 
 been prepared to meet with them, he must have ever known 
 that fate, station, happiness, hung upon a discovery to which 
 a moment might give birth. But when a man knows and 
 feels himself to be true and honest, oh, what a bitter crush- 
 ing of the heart it is to find that truth and honesty are as 
 nothing in the sight of men, to be betrayed by those you trust- 
 ed, to be cast off by those you loved, to be sacrificed for the 
 tinsel prize of a momentary interest. But what were the 
 feelings of Richard Plantagenet ? Vain to ask, men may re- 
 ply ; can one see into his heart with the spectacles of history] 
 No, certainly not. We can not see all the anguish, we can 
 not distinguish all the pangs ; but we may perceive a few of 
 them. What had he to consider ? Ruin was before him, 
 and all around. Whither could he turn for help 1 Where 
 could be find refuge ? The spider policy of Henry had wound 
 his threads round him in every direction. France, Burgundy, 
 Germany, Scotland, were all closed against him. Support 
 was taken away. Refuge was denied. A dark, ominous fu- 
 ture, loomed awfully through the uncertain mists of the pres- 
 ent ; and now he was no longer alone to do battle against 
 Fate with a stout heart, as he had previously done. The 
 ties to life, the excitements to endeavor were both strengthen- 
 ed ; but at the same time the gates were cast open to a thou- 
 sand fears and apprehensions which could find no entrance, so 
 long as all that he staked upon the struggle was his own life 
 and fortunes. When he thought upon his beautiful and be- 
 loved bride, well might his heart sink with feelings such as he 
 had never known before, well might he ask himself, how should 
 he act for and to her ? 
 
 To take her from her happy home and her native land, to 
 plunge her into scenes of danger, difl^iculty, and strife, to re- 
 move her from affluence and ease to straitened poverty and 
 toilsome wandering, would be, he thought, a cruelty and an 
 injustice. But yet, how to part with her, how to resign that 
 which was dearer to him than a crown, how to sacrifice the 
 brightest and the purest light that had ever shone upon his 
 stormy way ! Yet he resolved to do so. But though he had 
 loved truly and well, he knew not all the strength of woman's 
 affection. Catharine knew the dangers, the difficulties, the 
 privations that lay before him ; she foresaw the anguish, and 
 perhaps the degradation that was in store. But such was not 
 
100 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the monoent that a true-hearted woman would choose to fly 
 from her husband's side ; and when Richard Plantagenet 
 sailed from the shores of Scotland with less than two hundred 
 followers, Catharine Gordon his wife went with him. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 There had been an insurrection in Cornwall. The grasp- 
 ing spirit of the miserly king and the rapacity which he tol- 
 erated, if he did not encourage, in his collectors, had roused 
 the indignation of the lower classes of his subjects to a higher 
 point than it had ever reached before. You may do much 
 with an Englishman, ye men in power, but beware how you 
 finger his purse too carelessly. The Cornishmen lost patience. 
 They had seen many a subsidy exacted upon the plea of wars 
 which never took place, and expeditions which never set sail. 
 They believed not the king's pretenses ; they did not like the 
 grant which Parliament had made ; they resisted the exac- 
 tions of the collectors. They were a rude, ill-disciplined set ; 
 but they found two or three of much courage and some ability 
 to lead them, and an unprincipled all-hazard lord to put him- 
 self at their head. They were misled into Kent, at a mo- 
 ment when their efforts promised fair, and were defeated by 
 regular forces with which they were not capable of contend- 
 ing. Their three leaders were executed, and the rest pardon 
 ed and dismissed. 
 
 This lenity is not altogether unaccountable in a man who 
 was not by nature lenient. There might be some truth in 
 the \aew which the Cornishmen took thereof Henry was in 
 somewhat perilous circumstances. There was a Scottisli 
 army upon the English border ; there was great discontent 
 among the nobihty of the kingdom. Many were but kept 
 down by terror. Others waited and watched for opportunity. 
 The king's title to the throne was questioned. A rival for 
 the crown was in the field ; and it was not safe to irritate the 
 great mass of the people by severities, which may have great 
 effect upon individuals, but lose their terrors when exercised 
 upoa the crowd. The Cornishmen, returning to their homes, 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBBOK. 101 
 
 declared that Henry had not dared to punish them ; but they 
 should have added that they had not yet combined, with the 
 offense of the revolt, the crime which the monarch never for- 
 gave, an assertion of the rights of York. 
 
 The taxes wore still collected. The same odious officers 
 were employed. The discontent spread far and wide ; and 
 now, taking a Wider view, the conspirators prepared to follow 
 a still bolder and more decided course than before, and not 
 only to resist the collection of the taxes, but to strike at the 
 king who oppressed them. 
 
 It was rumored, though not clearly ascertained, that Rich- 
 ard Plantagenet, the son of Edward IV., after leaving the 
 shores of Scotland, had once more landed in Ireland ; and 
 deputies were sent from the men of Cornwall and Devonshire 
 to find the prince, and ask him to put himself at their head. 
 Many had fallen from him in despair of his fortunes, and 
 those who were with him were neither the most wise nor the 
 most experienced. His hopes in Ireland had been extin- 
 guished more speedily than even his expectations of support 
 from Scotland. His means of sustaining the small force 
 which was with him were rapidly diminishing ; and pressed 
 by his advisers, and led on by specious promises, he consented 
 to lead the insurgent forces, and strike one more stroke for 
 the crown. Still, his bright and beautiful Catharine accom- 
 panied him ; and, with a hundred and forty fighting men, he 
 set sail from Ireland, and landed on the Cornish coast on the 
 7th of September, 1498. The castle on St. Micheal's Mount 
 fell into his hands at once ; and on the shores of that beauti- 
 ful bay he parted forever with her who had given happiness 
 to some portion, at least, of his existence. Catharine re- 
 mained in the castle, while he marched forward to Bodmin ; 
 and the first news she heard was, that in a few hours three 
 thousand men in arras had flocked to her husband's standard. 
 
 His forces increased daily ; but their utter want of disci- 
 pline, their ignorance of the use of the arms they possessed, 
 and the impossibility of preserving any thing like order among 
 them, filled him with alarm and doubt. He issued a new 
 proclamation, however ; and, knowing that a first success is 
 often but the herald of many more, he hastened on into Dev- 
 onshire, and approaching the city of Exeter, demanded ad- 
 mission within its gates. He promised the citizens protection 
 and the confirmation of all their privileges, together with ad- 
 vantages which they had not previously enjoyed. But the 
 men of Exeter feared the Cornish rabble ; their walls were 
 
102 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 considered strong in those days ; the prince's army — if it 
 could be considered an army — had no artillery ; and admis- 
 sion into Exeter was refused. 
 
 All who had any skill or experience in the camp of Rich- 
 ard Plantagenet saw that it was needful to obtain some im- 
 portant town, both for the collection of stores and as a place 
 of retreat. He resolved, therefore, to storm the city ; and 
 the attack was gallantly made and gallantly resisted. One 
 of the gates was partly burned ; possession w£ls well-nigh ob- 
 tained of the walls ; but the attacking parties were at length 
 repulsed, and the Cornishmen found that they had lost two 
 hundred men. They looked gloomy and discontented ; and 
 news reached the camp that immense forces were marching 
 rapidly to attack them in the open field. 
 
 Prosperity has always friends. The Earl of Devonshire, 
 Sir Edmund Carew, Stafford, duke of Buckingham, Sir 
 Thomas Fulford, Sir William Courtenay, Sir John Croker, 
 Edgecombe, St. Maure, Trenchard, and a whole host of 
 Courtenays, gathered troops together, and marched toward 
 Exeter, while the Lord d'Aubeny, though he had seen a near 
 relative sacrificed to the jealousy of the first Tudor, led a 
 powerful army against the undisciplined forces of the prince. 
 The news, too, ran that Henry himself, with a mighty host, 
 was following quick, and it was necessary to prepare for re- 
 sistance or to seek safety in flight. 
 
 The position near Exeter could not be maintained, and 
 Richard retreated, slowly and in tolerable order, to Taunton, 
 in Somersetshire. There he prepared to resist to the last ; 
 and some there were among his followers who came to him, 
 and with the courage of despair swore to shed the last drop 
 of their blood in the maintenance of his cause. But there 
 were others who looked very doubtful ; and several, who pos- 
 sessed the most power over the minds of the people, withdrew 
 from the town, and were heard of no more. 
 
 In the midst of busy preparations for resistance, the day 
 passed with the eager activity of desperate courage, leaving 
 little time for thought to wander. But night fell heavily, 
 and with it came thd darkness of dismay. Vague rumors 
 spread. Men's hearts grew cold. Sadness fell upon the 
 greater part of the small force, and though there was much 
 silence, there was little sleep. In two quarters, however, 
 there were persons who saw and talked. There was a group 
 of men from Bodmin on the outskirts of the town, where the 
 sight could stretch up that beautiful vale of Taunton, as it 
 
ENGLAND^FERKIN WARBECK. 103 
 
 Jay in the moonlight, along the road upon which the first par- 
 ties of the enemy were expected to appear. They were lead- 
 ing men of the insurrection, and they spoke in low but eager 
 tones. What was it they discussed ? It was the force 
 marching down upon them. Some said a hundred thousand 
 men surrounded them on all sides. That was nonsense ; but 
 we can hardly believe that a mite in a microscope is not a 
 leviathan ; and they were much afraid. The Lord d'Aubeny 
 had twenty thousand men. The Earl of Devon came on with 
 ten thousand. Buckingham had as many. The king's force 
 was unknown, and doubt magnified it. Each one asked the 
 other what was their chance of victory, what was their chance 
 of safety 1 One man said, in a low, dull tone, that the only 
 chance was in delivering a great enemy into a tyrant's hand. 
 Thereupon all mused ; but one of them rose and went away 
 before any thing was decided. 
 
 In another place, at a house near the church, sat Richard 
 Plantagenet and a small group of friends, receiving the re- 
 ports of scouts and messengers from a distance. Oh, what a 
 sad detail was poured upon the ear of the hapless youth that 
 night I There was no rising in bis favor. Those who had 
 owned his right, acknowledged his birth, promised their aid, 
 sat still and dull. There was an oppressive dread upon them. 
 
 The old adherents of the house of York, the friends, the 
 servants of his father, stirred not. Those who had most mur- 
 mured at the cold oppression of Tudor, drew not a sword in 
 support of a cause which they might easily have rendered suc- 
 cessful. An apathy of terror benumbed all men. Then came 
 the tale of the forces mustering against him. It reached him 
 in a more definite but not less terrible form than the rumors 
 which spread among his followers. Forty thousand men were 
 round about him, and he had not six thousand. They were 
 all trained and disciplined ; his were ignorant and disorderly. 
 The strife would be a massacre, and not a fight. He thought 
 of Catharine, and his heart was very sad. His friends advised 
 him to seek safety in flight. They represented that the Corn- 
 ishmen must submit, and that mercy to them, at least, would 
 follow submission ; but that with him destruction must follow'' 
 defeat. 
 
 One of the most zealous, or the most fearful, ordered horses 
 to be saddled ; but the prince moved not. At length a man 
 entered the room and whispered a few words in his ear. It 
 was the same who had left the other group ; and as he spoke, 
 Richard turned very pale. He had met with unkindness ; 
 
104 DARK SCENKS OF HISTORY. 
 
 he had seen his hopes blasted ; he had found friends grow 
 cold ; he had often had to repine at promises unfulfilled and 
 aid withdrawn ; but he had only once before met with treach- 
 ery, and then it had been fatal to his best friends. Richard 
 hesitated no longer ; but the question was, whither should he 
 fly ? All his hopes, all his afiections, turned toward St. Mi- 
 chael's Mount ; but the Earl of Devon was between hira and 
 Cornwall, and escape in that direction was cut oft'. 
 
 Time pressed ; the largest body of the enemy was near at 
 hand ; intelligence was received that even during the dark- 
 ness Henry's officers were pushing forward their parties in all 
 directions ; and, a little after midnight, Richard Plantagenet 
 mounted his horse and rode away from Taunton. He had 
 five or six friends with him, chance for his guide, and Provi- 
 dence for his only protection. Thrice during that night was 
 he turned from his course by meeting with bodies of the ene- 
 my ; but at length he reached the monastery of Bewly, which 
 had the privilege of sanctuary. With slow and trembhng 
 hands, an old monk brought forward the register ; and, while 
 one of the prince's followers watched at the door, Richard of 
 York inscribed his name, a^ a sanctuary man of Bewly. The 
 pen was hardly out of his hand, when the watcher at the door 
 exclaimed, 
 
 ** Make haste, my lord, make haste. There is a body of 
 horse coming over the hill." 
 
 All the others registered their names without delay ; and, 
 a few minutes after, D'Aubeny's cavalry surrounded the ab- 
 bey, and set a guard at every gate, to prevent the escape of 
 any one from within the walls. 
 
 What were the feelings of Richard then? They must 
 have been sad indeed. Hope itself seemed at an end. For- 
 tune had passed away forever. He was in the power of an 
 enemy ; and nothing but the thin thread of superstition kept 
 the sword from his neck. 
 
 Henry did not venture to violate a sanctuary, however. 
 For nine long days the cavalry of the king kept their watch 
 round the abbey, and left no possibility of escape. The harsh- 
 ness of their tone, the strictness of their examination, when 
 any monk passed beyond the walls, made the good brethren 
 dread that the poor fugitives would be dragged from their place 
 of refuge ; but at length a royal officer presented himself, and 
 was admitted to Richard Plantagenet. They conversed long ; 
 but no one knows fully what were the ofiers Henry's envoy 
 was authorized to make. Certain it is, that he held out the 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. lOs' 
 
 threat of violating the sanctuary, unless Richard surrendered 
 himself. Certain it is, that he promised life, at least, if the 
 prince, by yielding himself a prisoner, spared his enemy an act 
 against which the interests and the pride of Rome were sternly 
 armed. Some say that he promised more ; but, at all events, 
 Richard of York knew not how the cunning and the bold can 
 render promises of no avail, and keep the letter of justice 
 while they cast away the spirit. After much bitter thought, 
 after calculating all the humiliation he might have to under- 
 go, he yielded himself a prisoner, and in a few hours was on 
 his way to London, guarded by a large party of horse. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 " Hurra ! hurra !" the boys shouted in the street. " Hur- 
 ra ! hurra I Here he comes. Here he comes !" 
 
 But when he did come, every tongue was silent ; for, as he 
 rode on, with a sufficient space between those who guarded 
 him and himself for all the crowd to see his person perfectly, 
 there was an air of calm dignity in his carriage, an expression 
 of patient firmness in his coimtenance, that, for a time, rebuked 
 even the violence of a Lancastrian mob. There was no ap- 
 pearance of terror or of shame. Sad he might be, indeed ; he 
 might look melancholy and gloomy ; but there was nothing 
 which could be rightly called dejection. He bore his head 
 high and proudly ; he rode his horse with ease and grace ; he 
 looked at the crowd which lined the streets on either side 
 with a grave, firm gaze ; and not even the stare of many 
 thousand eyes, nor the hootings and yellings which were soon 
 recommenced — perhaps by paid voices — could make him bend 
 his brow or cause his eyelids to wink. Twice they took him 
 through the city. Twice they exposed him to the gaze of the 
 rude multitude ; but they produced no alteration in his de- 
 meanor. His firmness remained unshaken from first to last. 
 
 The King of England was disappointed by the dignity of 
 his captive ; and the composure with which Richard bore in- 
 dignity taught many men to believe that he did not deserve 
 it. Nor was Henry's next step more successful. He placed 
 
 E2 
 
106 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 his captive in the hands of strict guardians, with orders to 
 watch him narrowly, but to admit the nobiUty of England to 
 his presence with sonie show of liberty. Many went to see 
 an impostor, but found a prince — a prince in every look, and 
 word, and jesture. They went to see the son of a poor Flem- 
 ish Jew counterfeiting Richard of York ; they found an En- 
 glishman, noble in manners, highly educated, speaking the 
 English tongue in the utmost purity, without the slightest 
 foreign accent. They looked in his face for some trace of that 
 remarkable race which God chose from out the nations of the 
 earth, and on which he set a mark that has never been ef- 
 faced ; and they found no Hebrew, but saw the living image 
 of Edward Plantagenet. They could perceive no signs of im- 
 posture there. 
 
 Many went away convinced ; and it became necessary to 
 find some excuse for hiding Richard of York from the eyes of 
 the people. We know not how it was brought about — Avhether 
 new indignities were threatened or delusive hopes held out — 
 but Richard escaped from those who watched him and took 
 his way toward the coast. He was hotly pursued, for his 
 escape was instantly discovered, and he had only time to enter 
 himself as a sanctuary man at Shene. This time, however, 
 Henry respected no sanctuary. The fugitive was dragged 
 Torth, notwithstanding the remonstrance of the prior, and car- 
 ded straight to Westminster, whence he was removed to the 
 Tower.* It was rumored through London that he had made 
 a confession of imposture ; and, some time afterward, such a 
 confession was pubUshed by the king, who alleged that it had 
 been publicly pronounceJi That confession, however, was 
 never really made by him who called himself Richard, duke 
 ")f York. It is mentioned by subsequent writers favorable to 
 he house of Tudor ; but eo temporaries are silent. t 
 
 * At the Monastery of Bethlehem, founded at Shene, by Henry V. 
 Some authors have it that the prior sought Henry, and exacted a prom- 
 i«e from him to spare Richard's life, before he would give him up. 
 
 t Polydore Virgil, who visited this country during the following 
 year, received his account of these transactions, I believe beyond all 
 doubt, from Henry himself. He wrote his history at that monarch's 
 express desire, and with the events fresh in the minds of all men. He 
 relates the indignities that were inflicted upon the prisoner, and gives 
 an account of his death ; but he mentions not the confession, and blasts 
 the tale by his silence. P'abian, too, the dull chronicler, who told with- 
 out method or discrimination all he heard, who lived, and watched, 
 and wrote at the very time, mentions not the confession either. Poly- 
 dore Virj^l might, perchance, in the spirit of criticism, know and reject 
 a confession produced by the king, which he knew to be spurious ; but 
 
ENGLAND— PEIlIvIN WARBECK 107 
 
 And where was Catharine Gordon all this time, the beau- 
 tiful wife of the unforttinate Richard ? She had been eager- 
 it had evidently not been produced in the time of Fabian, or Fabian 
 would have mentioned it. Grafton is, I believe, the first who ever 
 ventured to publish this confession, which never could have been made 
 by Richard of York or Perkin VVarbeck, as it is full of absurdities which 
 account in no degree for those circumstances that tended to prove the 
 justice of his claim. He is said, in that confession, to have learned 
 English in Flanders; he is said to have been persuaded by the Mayor 
 of Cork to assume the character to which he pretended ; he is said to 
 have completed his English education in Ireland, and to have been 
 selected to perform the character of Edward's son because he had got 
 on some silk clothes belonging to his master. But there is no explana- 
 tion given of how a foreigner, by occasional conversation with English- 
 men in Flanders, and a few weeks' tuition in Ireland, learned to speak 
 English with the most perfect purity and without theslightest foreign 
 accent. No explanation is given of his extraordinaiy resemblance to 
 Edward IV. No explanation is given of the intimate knowledge which 
 he possessed of the court of that monarch, and of the minute transac- 
 tions which occurred toward the termination of his reign ; for, in the 
 pretended confession, the story previously circulated of his having been 
 tutored by the Duchess of Burgundy is altogether giveil up, and her 
 name is not even mentioned. Neither is any explanation given of how 
 he persuaded the King of France, the archduke, the Duchess of Bur- 
 gundy, and the King of Scotland to acknowledge his claims in the full- 
 est manner, and admit that he had proved his royal birth. It is clear 
 that the confession is a fabrication, that it was never made by the un- 
 happy young man himself, nor even published till long after his death. 
 Bacon and Hall readily adopted any tale which was likely to' please 
 the monarch whom they served; but Hemy might have produced 
 much more convincing testimony of the imposture, had there really 
 been any. He asserted that his spies in Flanders had traced the whole 
 of Warbeck's history from his infancy, and obtained positive proof of all 
 the leading facts. Not one of these proofs was ever brought forward, 
 although they might easily have been obtained after the youth's expul- 
 sion from Flanders. Many persons were still living who had seen, 
 known, and conversed with Richard, duke of York. They could have 
 been confronted with the pretender, and could have been told to state 
 if they believed liira to be the son of Edward or not. The mother and 
 several of the sisters of Ihe prince were still in existence; but the 
 mother was in close confinement, and was never asked if she could 
 recognize her son. It might have been very dangerous to do so, so 
 dangerous, indeed, that Henry VII. never ventured to bring Warbeck 
 to trial for treason, or for any crime which would have compelled the 
 production of evidence regarding his identity with Richard Plantage- 
 net. This fact has not been sufficiently dwelt upon by historians. It 
 may be said that Henry promised him life on his surrendering oat of 
 sanctuary. But that did not at all preclude his bringing him to trial 
 for heading a rebellion in the kingdom. He jiromised him life, but not 
 that he would abstain from proving him an impostor, and could he have 
 done so, most assuredly he would have done it. He shrunk from the 
 trial, however, got possession of the person of his rival, entangled him 
 in schemes which created an offense not immediately connected with 
 the qtiestion of his birth, and tried and executed hina for that offense. 
 
108 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 ly sought by her husband's enemy as soon as he had crushed 
 the Cornish rebellion, and perhaps, happily for her, his move- 
 ments were so quick that she had not the protracted agony 
 of hearing of her husband's repulse from Exeter, his retreat 
 upon Taunton, his flight and captivity by slow degrees. 
 Anxiety she must have felt, but it was not long protracted. 
 Ere she knew of a difficulty or reverse, St. Michael's Mount 
 was sununoned to surrender, and yielded to the king ; and 
 she learned at once that Richard was a prisoner, and all 
 bright hopes at an end. She was brought into the presence 
 of the successful usurper at Exeter, with the tears of bitter 
 anguish flowing down her cheeks ; but her grace, her beauty, 
 her distress, touched even the hard, cold heart of Henry. He 
 treated her with tenderness, with gentleness, at least, and 
 commended her to the care of his fair queen, where womanly 
 sympathy might soothe, if it could not console. It did soothe ; 
 and Elizabeth and Catharine wept together ; the one 'for the 
 harshness, the other for the misfortimes of her husband. . 
 
 Doubtless, Catharine, whose love had stood every test, be- 
 sought permission to share the lot of Richard, to fulfill the 
 duties to which she had pledged herself, to comfort and sup- 
 port him m adversity. But such was not the policy of Hen- 
 ry. He suffered his queen and his courtiers to call her the 
 White Rose, and thus indirectly to acknowledge the title of his 
 rival. He treated her with decency and respect himself, not 
 alone on account of her sorrows and her virtues, but on ac- 
 count of her relationship to the King of Scotland ; but he 
 never suffered her to see her husband more. No, no ; he 
 ^would have no more heirs to the house of York. There 
 were too many already. Warwick was alive ; the persecu- 
 ted, unhappy Warwick ; he who from early youth had known 
 no home but a prison ; he who, without a fault, had been 
 subjected to the doom of a malefactor, deprived of all the 
 friendships and sympathies of life, and shut out from the fair 
 face of nature, till the common objects of the external world, 
 the beasts, the birds of the skies, the fields, the woods were as 
 much unknown to him as if he had been bom blind. War- 
 wick and Richard, they were two stumbling-blocks in the 
 way of ambition. The throne was not secure ; the crown 
 seemed to tremble on Henry's head. He hesitated : perhaps 
 
 without his claims being brought into discussion. Artfully and perse- 
 venngly was the whole transaction managed, so as to destroy the young 
 claimant to the Enghsh throne, without ever forcing his enemy to bring 
 forward proofs that his claim was false. 
 
ENGLAND— PERK IN WARBECK. 109 
 
 he had some remorse. But Ferdinand of Aragon gave the 
 impulse. That king refused to bestow his daughter Catha- 
 rine upon Arthur, prince of Wales, so long as a male heir of 
 the house of York still lived. From that moment it was de- 
 cided they must die. But murder startled the tender-con- 
 scienced king. No ; he resolved he would not murder, ex- 
 cept under form of law. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 Dragged from his place of refuge at Shene, exposed to ev- 
 ery sort of indignity for two whole days, Richard Plantagenet 
 knew that his treatment in the Tower would be rigorous. 
 He gazed up at the gloomy walls, which he well remembered ; 
 and it seemed as if it were but yesterday that he fled from 
 them. All the busy events of the last few years were but as 
 an idle dream. His heart was very sad. He looked along 
 the path of memory, and saw it strewed with withered flowers. 
 
 Then he asked himself to what dungeon he was to be 
 conveyed ; whether he should ever again see the light of the 
 sun, or hear the cheerful tongues of fellow-men, or behold the 
 bright face of nature, or exercise his limbs with freedom. 
 
 He was surprised to find that no such severity as he had ex- 
 pected was exercised toward him. A light and cheerful cham- 
 ber, attendants not irreverent, an ample preparation for his 
 bodily comfort, tended to relieve his mind. But yet, at first, 
 he was closely imprisoned, and the days were rendered weary 
 by vacant solitude. He was left to think over his fate, to give 
 his heart up to bitter regrets, to recall the image of her whom 
 he loved but saw no more, to dream of what might have been, 
 and to long for the power of striking one more blow at him 
 who wronged and oppressed him. 
 
 His heart burned within him to think how fortune favored 
 the cold-hearted Tudor, and how calumny and falsehood had 
 full room to deal with the name of one who had found no sup- 
 port in truth, in honesty no defense. 
 
 " He has already published far and wide," thought the un- 
 happy youth, " that I am a low and infamous impostor, and no 
 
110 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 one has come forward to refute it. The magic of this man's 
 fortune seems to overawe the princes of the earth, so that they 
 dare not raise the voice in behalf of truth and justice. Why 
 is my aunt of Burgundy silent ? Why does the King of 
 France not pubhsh in the face of the vrorld the proofs of my 
 birth which I gave him ? Why does the King of Scotland 
 not declare the evidence which led him gladly to ally his own 
 blood with that of Plantagenet ? Where is my poor mother, 
 that she speaks not one word in my behalf? Where is my 
 sister Elizabeth, that she does not tell the tale of my escape ? 
 All, all bowed beneath the influence of this fortunate usurper I 
 All without power or without courage I" 
 
 Wearily, wearily passed those days, till hfe became a bur- 
 den and time a heavy load. At length, nearly at the end of 
 a month, some slight change was made. There was a man, 
 a heavy, dull-browed man, who used to serve the prince in 
 prison wiih much civility and care ; and now he often looked 
 at him earnestly and thoughtfully, and sometimes stayed to 
 speak a few words. He gave him some little piece of news 
 from without : tidings from France or Italy, where great 
 things were taking place ; some idle courtly scandal, or the 
 history of pageant or procession that was the wonder of the 
 day. 
 
 Richard Plantagenet Ustened eagerly, for any thing that 
 broke the dullness of the day was a comfort. It was like the 
 singing of a small bird in a desert. He pondered over the in- 
 terest which petty things had acquired in his mind ; and look- 
 ing up in the man's face, with a sad smile, he said, 
 
 " The time was, my friend, when I should have little heeded 
 such matters; but now your tales are my only relief Per- 
 haps you know not, or disbelieve, that I once mingled in all 
 the splendor of a court, enjoyed such scenes as you describe, 
 took part in such events as you recount, till habit made them 
 pall upon the mind, and I knew not that I was sharing in 
 things which were the ambition of men who saw not their 
 emptiness as I did. So it was, however. Here, in this Tower 
 of London, was I received as a prince long ago, and then 
 treated as a captive, but still as a sovereign's son and brother. 
 Many courts, too, have I seen : England, and France, and Bur- 
 gimdy, and Scotland ; and in all have I lived as a prince. 
 You know not these things, but still so it is." 
 V " I know them right well, my lord," replied the man ; " and 
 I know, too, that if you had your rights you would still be a 
 prince. I have seen your royal father many a time ; and it 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. Ill 
 
 needs but to look in your face to see who you are. But what 
 skills it a man like me to speak of such things ? I am but a 
 poor servant of Sir John Digby, a hard master. However, 
 you look ill as well as sad ; and well you may, shut up here 
 without air or exercise. Might I advise, you would write a 
 few words to Sir John, requesting greater liberty. He would 
 surely give it, I think." 
 
 " But how shall I write ?" asked the prince. "What can 
 I call myself ? I will never take the name they would force 
 upon me ; and if I use my own, it will be a matter of offense." 
 
 " Call yourself the prisoner of the Cold Harbor Tower," re- 
 plied the man, readily. " There can be no harm in that, when 
 you seek to write to the lieutenant." 
 
 The paper was brought, the letter written ; and the man 
 carried it away, and laid it before Sir John Digby, who occu- 
 pied some apartments in the royal palace. The knight smiled 
 when he took it, and the man smiled too. 
 
 " Go tell him I must ask permission of the king," said Dig- 
 by. " Then return, and I will send you to his majesty." 
 
 On the following morning the doors of Richard Plantagenet's 
 prison were thrown open to him, and he was told that he might 
 roam at liberty within the inner walls, provided he presented 
 himself each night half an hour before sunset. Oh I how 
 grateful did he feel to the man who bore him the message : 
 and yet that man was betraying him. He thanked him eager- 
 ly. He went out with him down the stair. He walked with 
 him through the courts, and round the buildings, and told him 
 how he had played there in boyhood, pointing out to him the 
 different towers in which he had lodged, and giving him many 
 an anecdote of former times. 
 
 ** Who dwells there now ?" he asked, pointing with his 
 hand to one of the towers, where, at a grated window, he had 
 seen a face. 
 
 " ' Tis the poor E arl of Warwick, ' ' answered the man . "He 
 has been there many a year." 
 
 "What, my cousin?" asked the prince. "Would that I 
 could speak with him, and cheer him. We are both in the 
 (same unhappy case." 
 
 " It were very easy," answered the man. " I can give you 
 admission to him when I will." 
 
 Richard mused. 
 
 " It were better," he said, " to let him know that I am com- 
 ing. Tell him that I will be with him at this time to-mor- 
 row. Say who I am. He may, perchance, remember me. 
 
112 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 for we were nearly of an Age ; and though I saw him but lit- 
 tle, for his father was my father's enemy, yet I recollect him 
 well." 
 
 " I will, I will," replied the man ; " and I will come and 
 fetch you, or send one of ray comrades." 
 
 At the same hour the next day the man came himself, and 
 Richard foUpwed him gladly to the prison of the Earl of War- 
 wick. The door was opened by his guide, who withdrew as 
 soon as the prince had entered. Before him sat a young man, 
 of some four-and-twenty years of age, somewhat shorter than 
 himself, and with his mustache and beard grown long. His 
 face was pale, and there was a dull, despairing look in his eyes 
 which was painful to behold. He gazed earnestly on Richard 
 as he entered, and an expression of doubt — almost of fear — 
 came upon his face. He tried to cover it with a faint, sneer- 
 ing smile, and asked at once, 
 
 " Who are you, young man ? What brings you here ?" 
 
 " Edward Plantagenet," said Richard, holding out his hand 
 to him, " I am your cousin Richard, your brother in misfor- 
 tune, your fellow-prisoner. You are much changed. Good 
 Heaven I can I be so altered also ?" 
 
 " I do not know you, sir," said Warwick, coldly. ** My 
 cousin Richard died long ago — at least, so men say." 
 
 *' Men say many a falsehood," replied Richard, seating him- 
 self " I feel so little difference in myself that I had fancied 
 you would know me at once ; and although you are much 
 changed, yet I can trace in your face many a well-remembered 
 line. Do you not remember your cousin Richard at all ?" 
 
 " Ay, do I, right well," replied the earl ; "a curly-headed 
 boy, somewhat shorter than myself: and you are somewhat 
 like him ; but how can I know that you are he, indeed ?" 
 
 Richard smiled. 
 
 " Do you remember," he said, " when two boys played in 
 the gardens at Eltham, and tried to shoot their arrows over 
 the roof of the great hall ? how one sent his shaft through 
 the window, and was frightened at what he had done ; but 
 the other gave him his own arrow instead, and took the blame 
 upon himself?" 
 
 " My cousin I my cousin I" cried Warwick, throwing his arms 
 round him. " You are Richard indeed. Methinks, if you 
 were King of England, you would not keep me a prisoner here." 
 
 •' I should have no need," replied Richard. ** 'Tis only 
 usurpers who have cause to fear. You have been hardly dealt 
 with ; and. Heaven help me, Edward I I can not do you right. 
 
%■<'. 
 
 ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. 113 
 
 But we may comfort one another. Nay, perhaps the time 
 may come when we may help each other Ukewise." 
 
 *' Such hopes are vain," said Warwick, in a melancholy 
 tone. " For fifteen years, hope in my heart has been wither- 
 ing away. Even were I free, what should I be fit for, as i^- 
 norant of the wide world around me as a child — nay, God 
 help me I more ignorant far ;" and he hid his face in his hands, 
 as they rested on the table. 
 
 ** Cheer up; cheer up," said Richard, after gazing at him 
 for a moment, with many an indignant thought crossing his 
 mind at the sight of what tyranny can dare to do against pow- 
 erless innocence. " All the knowledge which is needful of 
 this world is soon acquired ; and, I fear me much, the school 
 of experience is as dangerous a one to the heart as it is in- 
 structive to the wit. It teaches man to be hard, suspicious, 
 selfish ; to have no trust in man's professions, no confidence in 
 his constancy, no expectation of honor, truth, or virtue, where 
 it has not been tried seven times in the fire. It teaches man 
 to strive for himself alone, knovidng that every man vvdll strive 
 against him. It teaches every man to yield nothing to the 
 claims, the rights, the needs of others, knowing that they will 
 yield naught to him. Thank God ! I have not lived long 
 enough in that world to learn all this, but only to learn that 
 it is so. Come, Edward, I will be your teacher, if I am per- 
 mitted, as I trust, to see you ; and you shall hear from me 
 what the world is, such as my experience shows it." 
 
 " You must begin at the first rudiments, Richard," replied 
 his cousin, looking up with a rueful smile. " I know not yet 
 my very letters. Show me a tree or flower, I can not tell 
 you what it is, unless it be one of the weeds that grow out of 
 these old walls. I know not a bird that flies through the air, 
 except the robin that perches on the window-sill, and sings 
 till I think it the happiest of created beings, or the pigeon 
 that whirls before the window, and makes me envy it its glo- 
 rious liberty." 
 
 " Alas I alas ! this is very sad," said Richard Plantagenet. 
 " Oh, what a curse must that man draw upon his head, my 
 poor cousin, who dares to deny, to an unoffending being like 
 yourself, the blessings which a God of Mercy poured forth for 
 the benefit of all. There must be a future state," he added, 
 musing. " This man is prosperous, successful in all he does, 
 pampered by fortune to the sating of all desires. There must 
 be a future state, where there is retribution. Still, we may 
 be a comfort to each other ; and all that I can teach, I will. 
 
114 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Who can say what may be the purposes of fate ? Prisoner 
 as I am here, I may still some day sit upon the throne of En- 
 gland, and, if so, I will redress these things. Or it may please 
 Heaven that I shall be taken hence, and you may hold the 
 scepter. If so, remember these hours. It were better, I do 
 believe, for all mankind, if kings, ere they received power, 
 were chastised by adversity." 
 
 , " Not too severely," answered Warwick ; " for I have felt, 
 and still feel, that misfortune may be carried to a pitch which 
 renders the heart callous instead of sensible — where man be- 
 comes so hardened by the repeated blows of Fate, that he 
 learns to estimate suflering too lightly. I know not whether 
 I should make a good king ; I do not think I should ; but 
 neither kingdom nor liberty will ever be mine." 
 
 " We can ndt tell," answered Richard Plantagenet. " This 
 man, who let me in to see you just now, seems well disposed 
 toward us both. Perhaps by his means, some time or anoth- 
 er, we may obtain our freedom. At all events, there are so 
 many sudden turns in human fate, changes of such import- 
 ance, brought about by the most remote and trifling accidents, 
 that we should never despair while there is life. When first 
 I was brought hither, I too gave way to deep despondency ; 
 but now this good man's conversation, and the greater degree 
 of liberty he has procured me, have revived my expectations, 
 and made me think that all is not yet lost." 
 
 '• My father died in the Bovv^er tower out yonder," an- 
 swered Warwick. " I have withered here for more than 
 thirteen years ; and I may well have learned that, for me at 
 least, there is no hope. But, even if there were, that man 
 could not raise it up. He is a dull and sullen being, who 
 never gave me a kind word or pitiful look. Trust him not 
 too far, Richard, for I doubt his honesty." 
 
 "I will have good proof before I trust," answered Richard 
 Plantagenet, " though what he could gain by injuring me, I 
 know not. By serving me, it is true, he would risk much 
 and gain little. However, whatever we do, it must be done 
 slowly and deliberately ; but the very hope of deliverance is 
 something which I would cherish, even if I knew it to bo 
 false ; for it will give life to existence within these cold walls, 
 where otherwise life were lifeless." 
 
 " Lifeless, indeed," answered Warwick. " Heavens, what 
 a life mine has been, without one act for fifteen long years ; 
 without a remembrance. I look back, and it is all a blank. 
 One day after another, the same, ever, ever the same. The 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBEOK. 115 
 
 sun rises, the sun sets. The day is fine, or it is foul. There 
 is sunshine, or there is rain ; the mid-day meal, the supper at 
 eventide ; these are all — all upon which memory has to rest 
 — all to which hope can look forward. Now, perhaps, there 
 may be a little change, there may be something more for me 
 i;a existence. I shall think each afternoon that you are com- 
 ing the following day, and in the morning wait watching the 
 hours. See you my clock there," and he pointed with his 
 hand to some lines traced with chalk upon the floor. " As 
 the light travels round," he said, " from one of those marks to 
 another, I know that a quarter of an hour has gone by ; and 
 then the chimes of the castle clock give me the regular hours ; 
 so I know, at least, how time flies, if I know nothing else." 
 
 " How long have I been here?" asked Richard Plantagenet. 
 
 " Well-nigh three quarters of an hour," replied Warwick; 
 " and they will not let you stay much longer, I am sure. 
 Your being here at all is a miracle to me, for I have seen no 
 human face but that of Digby, or his servants, for the last 
 three years. Now, however, there is a relief; for, were there 
 no other tie between us, it would still be a blessing indeed to 
 hold even a short commune with a fellow-creature." 
 
 Barely had he finished when the lieutenant's servant again 
 opened the door, and put in his head, saying, 
 
 '* I must not let you stay longer, my lord ; but I doubt not, 
 some day soon, if you will be very quiet and submissive, to 
 gain leave for both of you to walk in the private garden for 
 a short time each day." 
 
 Warwick started, and looked at him hard, and the man 
 turned away his face ; but Richard Plantagenet seemed to 
 perceive nothing, and, taking leave of his cousin, followed the 
 lieutenant's servant from the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 There were busy consultations, from time to time, in the 
 dark hours of night. The servants of the lieutenant seemed 
 to have much business in the chamber of Richard Plantag- 
 enet. First one came, then another, then another; and 
 
116 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 each stayed with him long ; but there were those in the 
 prison who knew what he knew not, that ever, when they 
 left him, they bent their steps toward the lieutenant's lodg- 
 ing, and remained closeted with him in secret. Sir John 
 !Digby laughed often, and talked gayly. He seemed to have 
 become a marvelous good-humored man. Under his orders, 
 the prison of the Tower had apparently changed its character^ 
 It was no longer a gloomy place of severity and restraint. 
 Prisoners were allowed to mingle with each other, with all 
 decent freedom. They had leave to walk in the gardens, -with 
 no other security than a warder at the gate. Even the Earl 
 of Warwick, the poor captive of so many years, was allowed 
 to enjoy something which seemed to him like liberty ; and 
 long and earnestly would he talk with his cousin Richard, as 
 they walked to and fro, along the smooth, hard, dry pathway 
 of the garden, at a distance from the rest of the prisoners. 
 
 An air of light and hope had come upon Richard Plantag- 
 enet. A new spirit seemed to have entered into his bosom, 
 and to have dispersed the dark cloud which hung upon him 
 when he first entered the gates of the Tower. Activity, en- 
 ergy, endeavor, they give life to hope ; and Richard was full 
 of them. 
 
 Warwick himself, too, seemed roused. The dull, heavy 
 gloom which had so long possessed him, was in part removed. 
 He began to fancy there was such a thing as hope. Hope 
 begat confidence ; and, though he thought it strange that 
 men who had so long dealt harshly with him should sudden- 
 ly unbend altogether toward his cousin Richard, yet he could 
 not but own there was a grace and charm about his com- 
 panion's manner, which might well move and win hearts, 
 that otherwise were hard. 
 
 From time to time, some of the other prisoners would come 
 and speak for a few moments with the two princes, with a 
 reverent manner and in a low tone. Now those prisoners were 
 more in number than they had been when Richard first en- 
 tered the Tower ; for several of those who had been his com- 
 panions in the field and in the sanctuary had been lately 
 sent in to the same prison with himself Though now in ad- 
 versity, though nothing but difficulty and danger surrounded 
 him, no portion of their respect was withdrawn. He was to 
 them, as he had ever been, the son of Edward Plantagenet ; 
 and fortune made no difierence in their eyes. 
 
 There was an old man, however, a dull, stern old man, 
 who had been for many years a captive in the Tower. He 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIiN WARBECK. 117 
 
 seldom spoke with any one. He never spoke with either of 
 the princes ; but, from time to time, as they walked in the 
 gardens — for he too enjoyed the imusual privileges granted — 
 he turned a cold, sarcastic look upon them, and then, averting 
 his eyes again, resumed his meditations. One day, however, 
 when Richard and Warwick were going forth together, he 
 came near, and said, in a low, gloomy tone, 
 
 " Young men, they are befooling you. When a cat plays 
 with a mouse, it is but to devour it. When tyrants become 
 gentle, they have some dark end in view." 
 
 He said no more, but walked on, and never more approach- 
 ed them. 
 
 " There is some truth in what that man says," remarked 
 Warwick, as they proceeded toward their several rooms ; for 
 Warwick was easily depressed. " I can not fancy that these 
 servants of Sir John Digby should really change so rapidly 
 from the stern, harsh men they were before you came, to kind 
 and zealous friends." 
 
 " It were well, indeed, to try them further ere we trust 
 them," answered Richard. " They have named Thursday 
 night for our enterprise. I will put it off for a week, which 
 will give us more opportunity to observe." 
 
 He did so ; but nothing appeared to shake his confidence. 
 The men whom he had gained to favor his escape, with War- 
 wick and four of the other prisoners, seemed no way surprised 
 or disappointed at his change of purpose. 
 
 " Perhaps it were better," said the man to whom he spoke. 
 "The nights will be longer and darker a week hence ; and 
 there will be more time for preparation." 
 
 Richard of York told Warwick the result ; and they sat 
 long together the next day, pondering and considering their 
 scheme in all its aspects. 
 
 " Would to Heaven," said Richard, ** that in this week of 
 delay I could find means to give notice to my dear Lady 
 Catharine, and beseech her to join me on the road." 
 
 " Why can you not ?" asked Warwick. *' Methinks, if 
 these men are faithful, they could easily be brought to convey 
 to her a letter or message. Oh Heaven, what a blessing it 
 must be to have some one whose fate is linked to yours by 
 the sweet bonds of affection. You think yourself unfortunate, 
 Richard, in having been deprived of a throne, denied your 
 birth-right and your state ; but, had God given to me such a 
 companion as you describe your wife, I should have thought 
 I possessed a treasure in her heart, to which the throne of the 
 
IW DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 world could add nothing. Were I you, I could not go with- 
 out trying, at least, to take her with me." 
 
 '• Yes, you would," replied Richard ; "for if you loved as I 
 love, you would not risk her safety. Should these men prove 
 unfaithful, while I refrain from telling her of my plans, I 
 hazard naught but my own life ; but if I make her a sharer 
 of the secret, I may put it in the tyrant's power to strike at 
 her as well as me ; and that I will never do. If I escape, 
 she will find means to join me, of that I am right sure ; but 
 BO long as danger surrounds me on every side, I will take my 
 course alone." 
 
 The day came at length ; and all preparations were made. 
 Four servants of Sir John Digby had been gained ; and every 
 thing was ready by the hour of midnight. The prisoners who 
 were in the secret were collected in the chamber of Richard 
 Plantagenet ; and they only waited for the arrival of him 
 who was to be their guide, to proceed to the lieutenant's 
 lodging, in order to secure his person and obtain the keys. It 
 was calculated that the number engaged would be quite suf- 
 ficient to overpower the small guard on night duty, and so to 
 secure the soldiers, that no alarm would be given. At length 
 the man appeared, bearing a common warder's lantern in his 
 hand ; the lights in the chamber were extinguished ; and in 
 darkness and silence the party descended the stairs. 
 
 All was quiet in the courts and buildings around ; and 
 they traversed the open space before the lieutenant's lodging 
 without impediment, guided by the lantern through the deep 
 obscurity of a November night. Richard Plantagenet follow- 
 ed close after the guide, with Warwick a little behind him, 
 and the rest following ; and thus they reached the door of the 
 building to which they went. It was quietly opened by the 
 man who preceded them ; and he went in. Richard was 
 about to follow ; but the moment he put his foot upon the 
 threshold he found a partisan at his breast. He now knew 
 that he was betrayed, and was turning to his followers to 
 bid them escape quickly, when, by the faint light, he saw the 
 gleam of weapons all around them. Resistance would have 
 been in vain ; and the whole party were easily made prison- 
 ers, and conveyed to separate chambers. 
 
 WKdn day broke, it found Richard Plantagenet with his 
 hcdd still leaning on his hand, in the position which he had 
 first assumed when brought back from his unfortunate at- 
 tempt. 
 
 " The cup is full, and I must drink it to the dregs." 
 
ENGLAND— PERKIN WARBECK. IIJ? 
 
 That was the sum of all his thoughts ; and those words he 
 had repeated to himself frequently throughout the liight. 
 But, though all hope was gone, dignity and courage did not 
 forsake him in the last, most trying hours. It was announced 
 to him, not long after, that he was to be tried on the 16th of 
 November by a commission of oyer and terminer. 
 
 " For what crime ?" he asked. 
 
 " For an attempt to break prison, in order to excite insur- 
 jrection in the country," was the reply. 
 ' Richard mused gloomily for a few moments, and then said, 
 
 " He has been successful !" 
 
 Those words were the only comment he uttered ; but they 
 showed that he now understood the whole ; that he saw the 
 scheme by which he had been betrayed, and the object of 
 that scheme. He saw that it had been needful to his enemy 
 to fix upon him some offense which brought not into question 
 his birth and claims, and that Henry had indeed been suc- 
 cessful. He knew that it was all over, that his last stake 
 was played, that the game was lost ; and he nerved his mind 
 for the final endurance. 
 
 The court was held at the time appointed. The prisoner 
 was brought before it. He protested against its competency, 
 but he made no defense. He knew that defense was useless. 
 The judgment went against him ; but he was not aware till 
 the judge spoke that there was a degradation to undergo. 
 He had fancied that the block and the ax were to be his 
 doom, not that he was to die like a common felon ; and, when 
 the terrible words were pronounced, he stood stupefied and 
 speechless. That was the bitterest blow of all. It seemed 
 to crush his heart, to beat down the energies which had so 
 well sustained him ; and he was removed from the court like 
 one in a dream. At that moment he thought less of himself 
 than of another. 
 
 " Catharine, Catharine," he murmured ; and, burymg his 
 face in his hands, he gave way for a short time to the weight 
 of the infliction. His spirit soon rose again, and when the 
 hour came it found him prepared. 
 
ISO DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 PERKIN WARBECK. 
 
 There were thick and gloomy clouds over head. There 
 was an obscure and foggy atmosphere below. Not a breath 
 of air stirred in the sky. The sun had not shone upon the 
 world all day. Cold, cold and chilhng was the damp vapor 
 that hung over the scene, and every object, to every sense, 
 was sad and gloomy. 
 
 But under a group of large old elms, nearly at the summit 
 of a httle rise some two miles from London, as London exist- 
 ed in that day, was gathered together an immense crowd of 
 people. These elms were, as I have said, upon the side of 
 the rise, not at the top, for the top was occupied as a gallows. 
 They were not far distant, however ; for they stretched out 
 their long, naked, brown branches to within twenty or thirty 
 feet of the instrument of death. 
 
 Tyburn elms had seldom seen a greater multitude collected 
 than on that 23d of November ; and there were many differ- 
 ent sensations among the people. Some came from mere cu- 
 riosity, or the barbarous taste for death scenes so strong in the 
 English people. Some came, anxious to hear what the pris- 
 oner would say before his death ; whether he would give the 
 lie to his whole hfe, or maintain liis truth and innocence to 
 the last. Some came, with feelings of commiseration and 
 burning indignation, to see the consummation of a base act 
 they could not prevent. Some came to triumph, and some 
 to weep. 
 
 The spectacle was long delayed ; and they looked anxiously 
 toward the city, while a few thin drops of rain began to fall 
 through the mist ; and they hoped the fog would clear away, 
 that they might have a better view. The fog persisted, how- 
 ever, and even grew more thick ; but at length the creaking 
 sound of a cart's wheel was heard, and those who were near- 
 est to the road perceived the head of the procession approach- 
 ing, the sherifi" riding on horseback, and the soldiers, with 
 their steel caps, surrounding the vehicle. 
 
 There were three figures in the cart : a man in the robes 
 of a priest on the right hand ; a stout, heavy-looking man 
 
ENGLA^ND— I'ERKIN WARBECK. 121 
 
 seated on the edge to the left ; and another tall, graceful fig- 
 ure between the two. Througli the dim and hazy air, the 
 eyes of the multitude could see him stand, firm, calm, and 
 erect, with his unpinioned arms crossed upon his chest. The 
 features of his face they could hardly discern ; but there was 
 sometliing in the air and the attitude not to be mistaken. 
 There was no fear or trepidation there. 
 
 The cart moved on till it reached the foot of the gallows ; 
 and the soldiers formed a ring around, keeping back the peo- 
 ple, who pressed eagerly forward. By that time there was 
 hardly a heart among them that was not moved with com- 
 passion. There was some little tumult occasioned by the ef- 
 Ibrts of several persons to get near ; and those who were on 
 the outside of the crowd saw the scene that was passing but 
 faintly through the mist, the figures looking like gray shad- 
 ows rather than living thmgs. But still that princely form 
 towered above the rest. The priest pressed close to him with 
 eager words, holding up the crucifix ; the hangman busied 
 himself with the cord ; another man came a little forward on 
 the platform at the foot of the ladder, and began to read 
 something from a paper in his hand. No one heard what it 
 was ; but they all saw the suflerer make an impatient and 
 an indignant gesture, and some exclamation burst from the 
 people near. Then was a good deal of hurry and confusion ; 
 and, the next instant, Richard Plantagenet ceased to be. 
 
 Who shall attempt to tell the feelings of his heart during 
 that dreadful morning ? who depict the burning, bitter, pow- 
 erless indignation with which he, the son of a king, who had 
 come but to claim his own, was led forth, with shame and 
 contumely undeserved, to die the death of a dog ? Who 
 shall say whether his faith did not waver, whether his trust 
 in God did not fail, when he fomid that cunning, and artifice, 
 and injustice prevailed against honor, and integrity, and 
 right ] 
 
 Let us trust that it did not, and that the conviction 
 wrought upon his mind by his own sad fate was the same 
 which he had expressed to Warwick : " There must be a fu- 
 ture state, where there is retribution." 
 
 The result was not what Henry the king had expected. 
 He had put an enemy to death. He had loaded him with 
 every sort of degradation ; but he failed to make the great 
 mass of the people believe that Richard Plantagenet was an 
 impostor. Courtly historians, under the Tudors and those 
 who derived from them, corrupted the truths of history, and 
 
 F 
 
122 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 grafted upon Ihe bare facts transmitted to them by colempo- 
 raries, interested fabrications of their own. 
 
 But another act was still to be performed, and some words 
 to be spoken, which completed the tragedy and explained its 
 cause. The helpless, hapless Earl of Warwick was brought 
 to his trial before his peers. He was tried for a treasonable 
 conspiracy against the person and government of the king. 
 There was no danger, in his case, of any claims being assert- 
 ed which Henry would have found it difficult to disprove. 
 The Earl of Oxford presided at the trial. The peers went 
 prepared for their task. Warwick pleaded guilty to having 
 consented to his cousin's attempt to escape. He was con- 
 demned for high treason, and closed a life of misery^ under 
 the ax upon Tower Hill. There was a roar of indignation 
 throughout the land, for his birth and his innocence were un- 
 doubted. Henry strove to quiet the murmurs of his people, 
 by boldly proclaiming the reasons of state poHcy which in- 
 duced him to commit a deliberate, cold-blooded public mur- 
 der. The King of Aragon had refused to give his daughter 
 to the heir apparent, so long as there was any male heir liv- 
 ing of the house of Plantagenet ; and it was necessar}^ " va- 
 cuam domum scelestis nuptiis facere." 
 
 Thus died, within five days of each other, Richard and 
 Edward Plantagenet. The heir of Tudor obtained the daugh- 
 ter of Ferdinand the Catholic. The death of Arthur con- 
 signed her to the arms of his brother ; and the marriage of 
 Catharine with Henry severed England from the domination 
 of Rome. The male line of Tudor became extinct in one 
 more generation ; and policy and crime efiected nothing to 
 perpetuate the dynasty. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 123 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The fatal battle of Tiberiad, and the fall of Jerusalem be- 
 fore the victorious arms of Saladin, terminated the Christian 
 kingdom of Jerusalem, founded by Godfrey of Bouillon. True, 
 the Franks continued to hold for some years various strong 
 places in the Holy Land. True, the mighty arm of Richard 
 Coeur de Lion brought temporary hope, and a brief prospect 
 of success to the defeated and disheartened Christians of 
 Syria. True, Henry of Champagne, Almeric, and Isabella, 
 and others after their death, called themselves sovereigns of 
 Jerusalem ; but they never possessed one stone of the Holy 
 City ; nor were they or their followers permitted to set a foot 
 within its walls, except by permission of the victorious Moslem. 
 
 Vice, luxury, and idleness had taken possession of the de- 
 scendants of the early crusaders ; and the sole bulwarks of the 
 Christian power were the two great orders of the Temple and 
 Hospital. Often rivals, often enemies, these bodies of milita- 
 ry monks were rarely found wanting in harmony and zeal at 
 the moment of danger and distress ; and the misfortunes which 
 fell upon the Christian kingdom after the return of Richard 
 I. to England united them in defense of the little which re- 
 mained of all the fair possessions which had been won from 
 the infidels. 
 
 The greatest, the most valiant, and the most powerful of 
 the monarchs who arose after the death of Saladin and his 
 immediate successors, to oppress the remnant of the Christians 
 in the East, was the Sultan of Egypt, named Bibars Bondoc- 
 dar ; and step by step, his course, which was as often marked 
 by private assassination as by valiant deeds of war, brought 
 under the rule of the cimeter Cesarea and Arsouf, Sifed and 
 Kora, Schakif and Antioch. The second crusade of St. Louis 
 diverted him, for a time, from his career in Syria ; but, as 
 soon as that danger had passed away, Bondocdar once more 
 turned his arms against the Syrian Christians, and menaced 
 
124 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Ihe county of Tripoli. The savage conqueror announced his 
 approach by a letter characteristic of the man. 
 
 " Where canst thou save thyself now ?" he wrote to the 
 count. " By the living God, I know not what prevents me 
 from tearing out thy heart and cooking it I" 
 
 Submission turned him from his purpose, however ; and, 
 soon after, the arrival of Prince Edward of England gave a 
 shock to his power, and brought one more gleam of glory on 
 the Christian arms. Edward came, indeed, with a mere 
 handful of brave warriors ; but he showed what skill, pru- 
 dence, and courage might still effect. Nazareth was taken ; 
 a large Moslem force was defeated, and Bibars Bondocdar 
 found that he had an adversary to deal with more dangerous 
 than any who had yet risen up against him. He had re- 
 course to the hand of the assassin ;* but even then he was 
 unsuccessful. The assassin penetrated to the presence of the 
 prince upon the pretense of bearing him a letter. When near 
 enough to his victim, he drew a poniard from his robe, and 
 stabbed him in more than one place ; but Edward instantly 
 seized him with his powerful arm, cast him headlong on the 
 ground, and stabbed him to the heart with his own hand. 
 The dagger of the assassin was supposed to be poisoned ; but 
 the wounds tlie prince had received did not prove mortal. 
 Shortly after, a treaty of peace was concluded for ten years, 
 ten months, ten days, and ten hours between the Sultan of 
 Egypt and the Christians of the Holy Land. But Edward 
 himself would not enter into conventions with the infidel : the 
 treaty ran in the name of Hugh, king of Cyprus ; and the 
 English prince sailed away for his native shores, at the earnest 
 prayer of his father. 
 
 An efib|t was made shortly after to rouse the spirit of Eu- 
 ropean nations to a new crusade. Theobald Visconti, arch- 
 deacon of Liege, had dwelt in the Holy Land, had witnessed 
 the miseries of the Christians, and had become deeply inter- 
 ested in the recovery of Jerusalem. He was still at Acre, 
 when he was raised to the papal throne ; and his first eflbrtg, 
 on his return to Europe, were directed to raise forces for the 
 great object of his heart. A general council was summoned 
 
 " Mills, and almost all the modern writers on tho cnuades, lay the 
 blame oT the attempted assassination of Edward upon the Mussulman 
 governor of Jatla. They were apparently iffnorant of tho testimony of 
 tho Arabian historians ; for Ibn Ferat clearly shows that tho governor 
 of Ramla and Jaffa was merely a tool in the hands of Bibars, and em- 
 ployed the assassin who stabbed Bdward at the express command of 
 tiie sultan. 
 

 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 125 
 
 to meet at Lyons, in May, 1 274 ; and the grand masters 
 of the Temple and the Hospital attended, to advocate the 
 cause of the Syrian Christians, Monarchs and princes gave 
 their aid : Rudolph of Hapsburg, Philip of France, Michael 
 Palacologus, Charles of Anjou and Sicily, with many another 
 noble name, took part in the movement ; and every thing 
 promised fair, when, after a short period of rule, Gregory X. 
 was removed by death from the scene of his exertions, and 
 the trumpet of the crusades ceased to sound in Europe. 
 
 Disappouitcd and desponding, the grand master of the Tem- 
 ple, William de Beaujeu, returned to Palestine. He took 
 with him, it is true, a gallant band of knights of hif^ own 
 order, sent by the various Temple houses in England and 
 France ; but he found Acre, now the capital of the Christian 
 power in the Holy Land, one scene of confusion, contest, and 
 vice. In the council of Lyons, Mary, princess of Antioch, 
 descended from the youngest daughter of Isabella, queen of 
 Jerusalem, had ceded to Charles of Anjou her claim to the 
 throne of a kingdom which had long existed but in name. 
 The claim itself was visionary ; for Hugh III., king of Cy- 
 prus, was lineally descended from the Princess Alice, an elder 
 da.ughter of Isabella ; and it only served as a pretext for dis- 
 putes, of which there were already too many. The energies 
 of the Christians of Syria were divided and weakened by con- 
 tests for a visionary crown ; and the period of peace was wast- 
 ed either in indulgence or discussion, instead of being employed 
 in preparations for war. 
 
 Nevertheless, the resolution of the grand master remained, 
 unshaken ; but it was all in vain that he endeavored to in- 
 spire the same spirit into the breasts of others ; and all aid, 
 but that of a few ItaUan free companions, was refused by 
 Europe to the petitions of the Syrian Christians. ^ Negotia- 
 tions with the infidel, and gradual encroachments upon the 
 Christian territory, filled up a considerable space of time, dur- 
 ing which a nominal peace existed. The Sultan Bibars 
 died. His son succeeded him, and was dethroned ; and an- 
 other Mamaluke was raised to power, who inherited the cour- 
 age, the skill, and the inveterate hatred of the Christian name 
 which had distinguished Bondocdar. 
 
 Malek-Mansour Kelaoun, the new sultan, soon displayed 
 the course he intended to pursue ; but his operations were im- 
 peded by an event which might have afforded to the Chris- 
 tians of Syria a chance of recovering some portion, at least, 
 of their lost empire, had they had force, energy, and union t^ 
 
126 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 take advantage of the favorable occasion. Alaschker, viceroy 
 of Syria, raised the standard of revolt against the usurper of 
 the throne of Egypt. He called to his aid Tartars, Georgians, 
 and Armenians, and even applied for aid to the Christians ; 
 but a general battle, won in the neighborhood of Emessa, re- 
 stored the power of Egypt in Syria, and Kelaoun determined 
 to seize the opportunity of driving the Franks into the sea. 
 He soon found pretexts for violating treaties which were en- 
 cumbered with numerous minute stipulations ; and his own 
 historians do not deny that his commanders first began the 
 war, by desolating the territories of the Hospitalers in the 
 neighborhood of the fortress of Margat.* 
 
 The knights of St. John took vengeance of the enemy ; 
 and the menacing incursions of the Tartars induced Kalaoun 
 to agree to another hollow and deceitful truce. Treaties 
 were also entered into with Templars, and with the town of 
 Acre ; but ail these engagements were delusive ; and on the 
 17th of April, 1285, Malek-Mansour appeared under the walls 
 of Margat with an overwhelming force. For more than a 
 month the brave Hospitalers resisted the whole efforts of the 
 Mussulman army. An accident, indeed, aided their efibrts ; for, 
 when a practicable breach had been effected, one of the towers 
 of Margat fell, and filled up the open space. A mine, how- 
 ever, having been carried on into the very heart of the fortress, 
 the knights perceived that resistance could no longer be effectu- 
 al, and, after a gallant defense, obtained an honorable capitu- 
 lation. They retired to Tripoli and to Tortosa ; and another 
 truce succeeded, destined to be as speedily violated as any 
 which had preceded it. Two years had hardly passed be- 
 fore Kelaoun fabricated a cause of quarrel with the Count of 
 Tripoli ; and Laodicea was attacked and taken almost with- 
 out resistance. Its principal defenses had been ruined by an 
 earthquake ; and the cunning Mamaluke took advantage of 
 the moment to attack the city before they could be repaired. 
 The Christian, says the Arabian historian, feared to resist an 
 army protected by earthquakes and the angels of heaven, and 
 offered to capitulate. ' 
 
 Tripoli was now in a state of anarchy. The count him- 
 self was dead ; and various persons strove for command in that 
 important city. None of the neighboring Christian princes, 
 except the King of Cyprus, allbrded it any aid ; and, notwith- 
 
 * Millu, as usual, takes the part of the Moslem, and, in direct oppo- 
 sition to the Arabian historians themselves, declares that " the restless 
 Franks" gave the first otfeuse. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 127 
 
 standing its situation and its magnificent fortifications, it fell 
 an easy prey to the Egyptian sultan. 
 
 Three men on horseback could ride round the top of the 
 walls of Tripoli abreast. The peninsula on which it stood 
 was only joined to the land by a very narrow isthmus ; and 
 the Isle of St. Nicholas, separated from the land by a small 
 arm of the sea, was a citadel in itself But nineteen military 
 engines of enormous size now battered the walls incessantly ; 
 fifteen hundred engineers were employed in undermining the 
 ramparts, or in throwing Greek fire and other combustibles 
 iuto the city ; and more than forty thousand men cut off the 
 small garrison from all resource. The Knights Templars of 
 the preceptory of Tripoli fought with their accustomed valor 
 and devotion, and expiated, by their death in defense of the 
 place, some treacherous practices against the count, of which 
 they had been convicted. But the inhabitants of Tripoli 
 were a manufacturing, self-indulgent people, ill-fitted to com- 
 bat with the warlike Moslem. At the end of thirty-four days, 
 the cavalry of Kelaoun passed over the breach encumbered 
 with dead bodies of Hospitalers and Templars ; and the town 
 was given up to fire and pillage. Abul Feda, the historian 
 prince, was present at the fall of Tripoli, and tells the horrors 
 which he himself witnessed. 
 
 Acre, the last and strongest of the Christian cities, might 
 well now tremble ; but the menacing aspect of the Tartars de- 
 terred Kelaoun, for some time, from executing his meditated 
 attack upon the remnant of the Christians. 
 
 Both Mamalukes and Tartars treated, in the mean time, 
 with the European sovereigns ; and many a curious page of 
 history is occupied with an account of these negotiations be- 
 tween the East and the West. The Tartars sought to in- 
 duce the Christian princes to engage, with their alHance, in 
 a new crusade ; the Egj^ptians to deter them from interfering 
 in the affairs of SjTia. But the crusading spirit was now but 
 a spark in the ashes, and Europe held out no hand of help to 
 Christian Palestine. 
 
 Several other small towns fell after the destruction of Tripo- 
 li ; and then Malek-Mansour made vast preparations to attack 
 the town of Acre. A pretext was speedily found in an act of 
 wild justice perpetrated by a Christian upon a Mussulman who 
 had seduced his wife ; and the greatest armament was collect- 
 ed for the attack of Acre which had ever been seen in Egypt. 
 
 The state of Acre itself seemed to invite a conqueror. It 
 is thus described by Fuller in his Holy War : 
 
128 DARK SCExNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 •* la it were some of all countries ; so that he who had lost 
 his nation might find it here. Most of them had several 
 courts to decide their causes in, and the plenty of judges 
 caused the scarcity of justice, malefactors appeaUng to a trial 
 in the courts of their own country. It was sufficient inno- 
 cence for any offender in the Venetian court that he was a 
 Venetian. Personal acts were entitled national; and made 
 the cause of the country. Outrages were every where prac- 
 ticed, nowhere punished ; as if to spare Divine revenge the 
 pains of overtaking them, they would go forth and meet it. 
 At the same time, they were in fitters about prosecuting their 
 titles to this city, no fewer than the Venetians, Genoese, Pi- 
 sans, Florentines, the kings of Cyprus and Sicily, the agents 
 for the kings of France and England, the princes of Tripoli 
 and Antioch, the patriarch of Jerusalem, the masters of the 
 Templars and Hospitalers, and (whom I should have named 
 first) the legate of his holiness, all at once, with much vio- 
 lence, contending about the right of nothing, the title to the 
 kingdom of Jerusalem, and command of this city, like bees, 
 making the greatest humming and buzzing in the hive when 
 now ready to leave it." 
 
 The city was divided into many quarters, and these quar- 
 ters were apportioned each to one of the different nations 
 which it contained. The Mohammedans from the neighbor- 
 hood came and went, and some, it would appear, even pos- 
 sessed houses within the walls. Frequent feuds and sanguin- 
 ary encounters took place among the inhabitants, and vice 
 and debaucher}' of every kind were frightfully prevalent among 
 all classes. The riches of the city were immense ; the arts 
 were cultivated ; luxury was at its height ; private houses, as 
 well as the numerous churches, were decorated with pictures 
 and statues, and windows of glass. We read of nothing but 
 marble fountains, silken canopies, gold, and embroidery. The 
 markets were supplied "w-ith the produce of all countries, and 
 scribes and interpreters were found to write and translate 
 every language of the e^,rth. 
 
 The walls of Acre, repaired by Richard, had been strength- 
 ened at various times since his death, and consisted of a double 
 rampart, with immense towers at intervals of a stone's throw. 
 Within the walls were lour fortified buildings, which might 
 be considered as citadels, though the real citadel or castle was 
 called the King's Tower. The other three consisted of the 
 house or convent of the Knights Templars, the strongest and 
 most important of all, capable of containing several thousand 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 129 
 
 men, and furnished with imnnense and well-constructed de- 
 fenses, the convent of the Hospitalers, and that of the Teu- 
 tonic Knights. The sea washed the walls of the city on one 
 side ; and an artificial port, with fortifications for its protection, 
 completed the defenses of the place. Toward the sea, how- 
 ever, the wall was single ;* but on the land side no means 
 had been left unemployed to strengthen the fortifications ; and 
 a deep ditch surrounded the whole of the city. 
 
 Such was the state of Ptolemais, when Kelaoun gathered 
 together his immense host for the attack of the city, and pre- 
 pared the mihtary engines which were to destroy its fortifica- 
 tions. The work of conquest, however, was reserved for an- 
 other hand. Kelaoun was seized by illness ere he could set 
 out on his expedition, and died at Cairo in the beginning of 
 1291. He was succeeded by his son, Malek-Aschraf Khalil, 
 who hesitated not a moment to take upon himself the unac- 
 complished enterprise of his father. The troops were imme- 
 diately put in motion. A wild enthusiasm for the destruction 
 of the Christians seized upon all the Mussulman states ; the 
 volunteers were more numerous than the regular soldiers; 
 enormous military engines were constructed, one of which re- 
 quired a hundred wagons to carry it ; and two hundred thou- 
 sand men, horse and foot, encamped under the walls of Acre 
 in the beginning of April, 1291. 
 
 The inhabitants of the city were immensely numerous. 
 The port was filled with merchant shipping, besides the gal- 
 leys of the Hospital and the T«mple. The Island of Cyprus 
 offered a near and secure place of refuge ; but yet, strange to 
 say, comparatively few, even of the women, the children, or 
 the aged and incapable, relieved the doomed city of their pres- 
 ence. About twelve thousand fighting men, besides the sol- 
 diers of the Temple and the Hospital, formed the garrison of 
 Acre ; but they had a worse enemy within the walls than even 
 the foe who assailed them from without. Dissension was rife 
 among the people. A scanty band of troops, which had been 
 sent by the pope, gave themselves up to drunkenness and de- 
 bauchery. The Genoese, the Pisans, and the Venetians, 
 were in open contest in the port and in the streets, and refused 
 to obey the commanders, who had been chosen from the mil- 
 itary orders. Confusion, strife, crime, disarray, pervaded the 
 city from end to end when the standard of the crescent ap- 
 peared before the gates. 
 
 * Herman Cora^. 
 F2 
 
130 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 The whole weight of the defense fell upon the military or- 
 ders ; and it would appear that the principal command was 
 intrusted to William de Beaujeu, grand master of the Temple, 
 whose age, experience, and skill well justified the choice. Fori 
 six weeks the siege continued. Night and day the contest! 
 lasted. The miners attacked the walls and towers ; the en- 
 gines hurled immense masses of stone and pots of fire into the 
 town ; houses and palaces were crushed and burned ; multi- 
 tudes were killed in the streets ; sallies innumerable took 
 place ; but the progress of the enemy, though from time to 
 time retarded, was great ; and at length, one of the principal 
 defenses, called the Cursed Tower, fell with a tremendous 
 noise. 
 
 Early in the siege, the King of C}T)rus arrived to the aid 
 of the inhabitants, with a small force of horse and foot ; and 
 for some time he continued the fight gallantly by the side of 
 his fellow- Christians. His post was in the neighborhood of 
 the Cursed Tower ; but when that important defense was de- 
 stroyed, he retreated to his ships, followed not only by his own 
 men, but by a considerable portion of the garrison, and made 
 sail for Cyprus. Greatly has he been blamed for this defec- 
 tion ; and some blame he certainly deserved ; but those who 
 have censured him most severely forgot to mention the awful 
 disorders that reigned in the city, and which might preclude 
 all hope of successful resistance to the enemy.* 
 
 A considerable number of the inhabitants followed the ex- 
 ample of the King of Cyprus, and seemed to give up the city 
 for lost. Still, however, William de Beaujeu and the grand 
 master of the Hospital conducted the defense with uncon- 
 querable courage, and for ten days after the fall of the Cursed 
 Tower, maintained the city against the whole force of the ' 
 Moslem. It would seem that, on one occasion, the town was 
 actually in the hands of the enemy; but a charge of the 
 Templars and Red Cross Knights drove the Mamalukes back 
 through the breach by which they had entered. 
 
 At length, however, the fatal day of the fall of Acre came ; ' 
 and on Friday, the 18th of May, some time before daybreak, 
 the whole of the infidel troops were drawn up ready for the 
 
 • In an account of the siege of Acre, said to have been given by a 
 monk of the order of St. Basu to the pope, the conduct of the King of 
 Cyprus is highly lauded, while great blame is cast upon many ol the 
 Hospitalers and Templars, who are said to have shown great insub- 
 ordination, and, scorning the commands of their superiors, to have re- 
 fused to take part in the dangers and labors of the siege. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 131 
 
 attack. Three hundred drummers, mounted on camels, 8ound-\ 
 ed the charge ; and the storming party rushed on toward a • 
 practicable breach in the wall, near the Cathedral of St. An- 
 thony. The first body consisted of fanatics, called Chages, 
 perfectly naked, who advanced sword in hand, as if for bat- 
 tle : but their devotion now had another object. Casting 
 themselves into the ditch in crowds, and lying prostrate among 
 the ruined walls, they filled up with their living bodies th^' 
 whole of the deep fosse, making a bridge for the Mamaluke 
 cavalry to pass over. With loud shouts and the clang of 
 drums, the Moslem poured in, and step by step won their way 
 to the heart of the city. 
 
 The defense was fierce and resolute ; for, though the Arabs 
 say the Christians soon fled, yet they allow themselves that 
 the Mohammedans did not effect an entrance for several 
 hours. Nothing, during this dreadful day, was wanting on- 
 the part of the grand masters of the Temple and the Hospi- 
 tal. For some time they fought side by side in the streets, 
 their knights forming a living barrier, with their mailed bodies, 
 against the torrent of infidel war. Hundreds and hundreds 
 fell ; and,- as a last resource, it w^as agreed that while William 
 de Beaujeu maintained the struggle in the streets, the grand 
 master of the Hospital, with five hundred knights, should is- 
 sue forth by a postern, and attack the enemy in flank. About 
 this time fell Matthew de Clermont, marshal of St. John ; 
 and hardly had the grand master of the Hospital departed, 
 when William de Beaujeu himself was slain by an arrow. 
 The rest of the knights of the Temple who were left ahve, 
 retreated, fighting step by step, till they reached their forti- 
 fied convent ; and the Hospitalers who issued forth to attack 
 the enemy's rear were all killed, with the exception of seven, 
 who with difficulty made their way to the ships, after hear- 
 ing that the place was actually taken. 
 
 Terrible was the scene which the devoted city now pre- 
 sented. The miserable inhabitants in thousands fled to the 
 port, hoping to gain the ships and find refuge on another 
 shore ; but, as if to add to the horrors of that day, an awful 
 tempest swept along the Syrian coast. Thunder and light- 
 ning, wind and rain, warred against the unhappy Christians 
 of Palestine ; and, in the words of the ancient Britons, the 
 barbarians drove them into the sea ; and the sea cast them 
 back upon the barbarians. But a small portion escaped in 
 the boats and ships ; multitudes were drowned in the attempt ; 
 as many were slaughtered on the shore. More than ten 
 
132 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 I thousand madly hoped to find pity in a heart more inexorable 
 I than the storm, and «ast themselves at the feet of Khalil 
 spraying for life. The sultan distributed them among his 
 emirs ; and each emir slaughtered his share. Not one was 
 left. The women, the children, the old men, fled to the 
 churches, embraced the altars, called upon the saints for help.^ 
 But there was no aid, no mercy, no sanctuary. The cimeter 
 and the torch pursued them wherever they turned. Palaces, 
 markets, temples, were fired without remorse ; and thousands 
 of shrieking women and young children perished with the ob- 
 jects of their superstitious worship. For two days, says an 
 eye-witness, the order of the barbarous conqueror was execu- 
 ted, to put every one, without distinction of age or sex, to the 
 sword. The third day an order was given to bum the corpses ; 
 and some mitigation of the Moslem fury took place. The 
 women and the children were spared to a life of slavery ; but 
 all the men capable of bearing arms were slaughtered. Riv- 
 ulets of Christian blood flowed amid the burning streets of 
 Acre. 
 
 Iji the mean time, one building, detached from all the rest, 
 and a fortress in itself, resisted the efforts of the infidel forces. 
 T ire Temple House of Acrc covered a large space of ground, 
 and was surrounded by walls and towers almost as strong as 
 those of the city. It is, perhaps, not very possible to describe 
 it accurately at present ; but we know that, within the walls, 
 it contained a palace, a church, a market-place, and a mon- 
 astery. There, as I have before shown, the surviving knights 
 of the Temple, somewhat more than three hundred in num- 
 ber, with the serving brethren and a considerable body of the 
 inhabitants of Acre, among whom were many women and 
 children of high rank, found refuge when the city itself fell. 
 In all, it would appear from the account of Aboul Mohas- 
 sen, the Temple House gave shelter to four thousand men. 
 The knights, as soon as the gates were closed and the place 
 in a position of defense, held a chapter of the order, and elect- 
 ed a grand master of the name of Gaudini, to supply the 
 place of their deceased leader, William de Beaujeu. They 
 then prepared to make the most strenuous resistance. 
 
 Their only hope must have been to obtain honorable terms 
 of surrender ; and it matters not much by whom the proposal 
 of a capitulation was first made. The Christians and the 
 Mohammedans differ. Certain it is, however, the sultan 
 agreed to grant, and the Tetnplars to accept, terms highly 
 honorable to themselves. The lives of all persons at that 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 133 
 
 moment within the walls of the Temple were to be spared. 
 Shipping was to be placed at their disposal to carry them to 
 some other land : and they were to be allowed to retire in 
 peace whithersoever they pleased, with the fugitives who were 
 under their protection, and so much of their more precious 
 goods as each man could carry. As a pledge of good faith, 
 the sultan sent the Templars a standard, and a guard of 
 three hundred Mussulman soldiers to insure the due execution 
 of the treaty. The standard was placed on one of the towers 
 of the Temple, and the Mussulman guard was admitted ; 
 but ^ shamel'ul violation of the terms very speedily took place. 
 The women had hidden themselves in the church of the Tem- 
 ple ; but they did not escape the eyes or the violence of the 
 Moslem. Attracted by their beauty, the guards, sent for 
 their protection, foi^ot the terms of the treaty, burst into the 
 church, and polluted the sacred edifice by infamous violence. 
 The Templars closed their gates, and slaughtered the crimin- 
 als to a man. 
 
 Immediately an attack from without began upon the Tem- 
 ple House ; but the knights made a gallant defense during the 
 whole of Saturday, the 19th of May. On the 20th, a depu- 
 tation was sent to explain to the sultan the offense offered by 
 his Mamalukes, and the cause of their massacre. The Franks 
 and the Arabs differ much as to what followed ; but both ac- 
 counts are equally unfavorable to the honor and justice of 
 Khalil. The Christians declare that he at once put the dep- 
 uties to death, and that Gaudini, finding the place could not 
 be maintained, selected a certain number of the knights, gath- 
 ered together the treasures of the order, and all the holy relics 
 it possessed, and escaping to the port by a secret postern, got 
 possession of a galley, and reached Cyprus in safety. The 
 Templars who remained defended the great tower, called the 
 Master's Tower, with valor and success, till the walls were- 
 undermined and the building fell, crushing to death all whom 
 it contained. 
 
 Such is the Christian account ; and there can be no doubt 
 that Gaudini, with a small body of the brethren, escaped by 
 sea. 
 
 The story, as told by the Arabs, is different and more char- 
 acteristic of Kahlil. After giving an account of the offense 
 and massacre of the Mamaluke guard, Aboul Mohassen goes 
 on to say that the standard of the sultan was thrown down, 
 the strife recommenced, and the Temple House was besieged 
 in form. The combat lasted all the Saturday. On the Sun- 
 
134 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 day, the Templars having again demanded to capitulate, the 
 sultan promised them their lives, and Hberty to retire whither- 
 soever they would. Thereupon they came down (this must 
 mean with all the fugitives), and were put to death, to the 
 number of more than two thousand. An equal number were 
 made prisoners ; and the women and children who were with 
 them were conducted to the tent of the sultan. Some Tem- 
 plars, however, resisted still, and, having learned the treat- 
 ment of their brethren, resolved to die with arms in their 
 hands, and would hear no more of capitulation. Such was 
 their rage that, having got possession of five Mussulmans, they 
 cast them headlong from the top of the tower. The tower, 
 however, was at length completely mined ; and once more a 
 promise of life was made to the Christians, if they would sur- 
 render. A body of Mussulmans approached to take possession ; 
 but at that moment the tower fell, and Christians and Mo- 
 hammedans were crushed together under the ruins. Such is 
 the Arabian account. 
 
 Thus fell the Temple House at Acre. The town was fired^ 
 in four places ; the walls were razed to the ground ; the 
 churches and the houses which escaped the flames were cast 
 down ; and nothing remained of Acre but a pile of stones. 
 
 The Order of the Temple, however, still subsisted. Numer- 
 ous preceptories were to be found in various Christian coun- 
 tries ; Limisso, or Limesol, in Cyprus, became the chief estab- 
 lishment of the order ; and a powerful fleet, great wealth, and 
 considerable bodies of troops rendered it an object of terror to 
 the infidel and of jealousy to many Christian princes. Gau- 
 dini did not long survive the expulsion of the Christians from 
 the Holy Land. He died in Cyprus during the year 1295 ; 
 and James de Molay, of an illustrious family of Burgundy, 
 then grand preceptor in England, was elected grand master 
 . of the order. His predecessors had fought and died in arms 
 against the infidel ; but the last grand master, James de Mo- 
 lay, was destined to fall before the evil passions of his fellow- 
 Christians. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 136 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 
 
 Strange that the first grand triumph of the Order of the 
 
 Temple, after more than a century of disaster, should take 
 place at the period of its greatest depression, on the very eve 
 of its utter extinction ! 
 
 Why are there such rejoicings in Jerusalem ? How is it 
 that the Church of the Holy Sepulcher shines again as in the 
 days of Christian rule ? Who arc these men with white gar- 
 ments and the red cross emhroidered on the heart, who tread 
 Moriah as conquerors ? Who are these who celebrate on 
 Mount Sion, with holy songs and rejoicings, the return of 
 Easter ? 
 
 The Templars are again in Jerusalem. The Christians 
 stand as victors in the Holy City. Now, ye nations of Eu- 
 rope ; now, ye descendants of those who shed their blood to re- 
 cover from the infidel the scene of our Lord's earthly pilgrim- 
 age, now is the time to give aid to the soldiers of the Cross, 
 and Palestine is yours forever 1 
 
 How did this marvelous change come about ? and how is 
 it that the followers of Mohammed haTO been driven back ? 
 
 Strange is the destiny of every nation ; but it would seem 
 that the changes and revolutions of Eastern countries are far 
 more rapid than those of the West. Histories are enacted in 
 a few years ; and dynasties shoot up and perish with a rapid- 
 ity unknown in other climates. Twelve years since, Kelaoun 
 marched from conquest to conquest. Eight years since, the 
 last of their possessions in Syria was wrested from the hand» 
 of the Christians ; and yet now the Templars stand triumph- 
 ant in the midst of Jerusalem, and give glory to God on 
 Mount Sion. But a new race has descended from the mount- 
 ains, to drive back the flood of Egyptian conquest. A new 
 people has appeared in the great arena of Eastern warfare ; 
 and for a moment — for a brief moment, indeed — ^the religious 
 fate of Asia hangs in the balance. Shall that whole vast 
 continent become Christian ? Shall the followers of the false 
 prophet of Mecca be expelled by the sword of as fierce, as act- 
 ive, as unsparing a tribe as themselves ? There is a chance 
 of such a result. 
 
106 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Where are the preachers of Christendom now ? Where 
 are the bishops, the missionaries, the zealous servants of the 
 Lord ? They slumber. The tongue of St. Bernard is silent 
 in the grave. The voice of Fulke is heard no more. Popes, 
 and kings, and priests are busy with selfish cares and mun- 
 dane interests. There is little laith, less zeal, no enthusiasm ; 
 and the hour goes by. 
 
 Somewhat less than a hundred years before the time of 
 which I speak, the famous Zingis-Khan went forth from the 
 highlands of Asia to conquer the nations of the plain. China 
 felt the edge of his sword ; and with seven hundred thousand 
 men, Moguls and Tartars, he descended from his hills, and 
 swept the whole country from the Persian Gulf to the Caspi- 
 an. The banks of the Indus owned his sway ; and the Eu- 
 phrates saw him pass by like a tempest. His sons and grand- 
 sons rivaled the glory of their ancestor ; and it was reserved 
 for Houlagou-Khan, one of his many grandchildren, to extin- 
 guish the califate of Bagdad, by the death of Mostasem,* the 
 last of the Abbassides. Asia Minor had been invaded. Aleppo 
 and Damascus were pillaged ; and though the Egyptian Mam- 
 alukes, under the Sultan Kotouz, toward the year 1250, drove 
 back the stream of Mogul conquest across the Euphrates, 
 Bagdad, Iran, and the whole of Persia remained in the power 
 of the shepherd warriors. 
 
 Simple idolaters themselves, the Tartars, or Moguls, if it 
 be necessary to make a difference, showed themselves far more 
 disposed to embrace the doctrines of Christianity than to re- 
 ceive the tenets of Mohammed. They entered into close and 
 almost constant alliance with the Christian kings of Armenia, 
 and treated them more as friends than as conquered tributa- 
 ries. Constantly menacing the Syrian territories of the Sul- 
 tans of Egyfrt, they retarded, though they did not prevent, the^ 
 subjugatibn of the Christians of Palestine ; and it was under 
 one of the greatest of their monarchs that the Templars once 
 more entered into the city of Jerusalem. 
 
 * Mostasem was put to death, in what way we are not very sure. 
 It is said that, when the unfortunate calif was brought before his con- 
 queror, the latter ordered hira to be shut up in a room filled with gold 
 and silver, observing that ordinaiy food was not fitted for such a priuce, 
 and that silver, ^old, and precious stones, of which he was so fond, 
 ought to be sufficient for his nourishment. Others declare that he was 
 forced to swallow molted gold; and others, that his head was cut off. 
 The latter is the most probable account, although there can bo no doubt 
 that the Mogul barbarians entertained a great contempt for the lovers 
 of gold and silver. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 137 
 
 Leon, king of Armenia, had a daughter of the most exquis- 
 ite beauty and of the highest virtue and accomplishments. 
 The great monarch of Persia, Cazan-Khan, the friend and 
 ally of the Armenian sovereign, demanded her in marriage. 
 The princess was a Christian, the Persian emperor an idola- 
 ter ; and polygamy was not forbidden, either by religion or 
 custom, to a Mogul prince. From five to seven hundred wives 
 and concubines was a moderate establishment with the de- 
 scendants of Zingis ; and the princess might fear, in the mul- 
 titude of her rivals, to possess but a small portion of influence 
 with her imperial lover. Nevertheless, she became his wife, 
 and not only won his almost undivided affection, but obtained 
 great authority in his counsels, and by her moderation and 
 wisdom, as well as by her extreme beauty, maintained the 
 influence she had justly acquired. The free exercise of her 
 own rehgion was permitted to her; a Christian temple was 
 erected for her worship ; and she drew closer and closer the 
 bonds of alliance between her husband and her fellow-Chris- 
 tians. Such was the state of affairs in Bagdad when Cazan- 
 Khan, seeing the immense progress of the Moslem in Syria, 
 and judging that a struggle must come between himself and 
 the Sultan of Egypt, determined to strike the first blow, and 
 to pass the Euphrates with an overwhelming force. 
 
 The fate of the Templars had in the mean time been hard. 
 The first reception by the King of Cyprus of the little band 
 expelled from Syria had been kind and hospitable ; but the 
 numbers, both of the red-cross knights and the Knights of St. 
 John, which now flocked to the island, alarmed the monarch ; 
 and, before Gaudini's death, a system of petty annoyance and 
 exaction had begun, which the Templars resisted in vain. 
 Three great preceptories of the order, at Limesol, Nicotia, and 
 Gastira, with several smaller buildings, already belonged to 
 the Knights of the Temple ; but the King of Cyprus forbade 
 any further establishments, and endeavored to impose a capi- 
 tation tax upon the order, in common with the rest of the in- 
 habitants of Cyprus. The soldiers of the Temple pleaded 
 exemption under many decrees from Rome ; but the descend- 
 ant of Guy of Lusignan seemed to have little reverence for 
 the papal mandates ; and the disputes between the king and 
 the order were running high, almost to open war, when the 
 brief and inglorious career of Gaudini terminated. 
 
 James de Molay was a man of a very different character, 
 firm but moderate, full of religious zeal without fanaticism, 
 devout, strict, and disinterested. He was in England as grand 
 
138 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 preceptor vhen his elevation to the head of the order was an- 
 nounced to him ; and, after framing various wise regulations 
 for the government of the knights in this country, he crossed 
 the sea to France, acted as godfather to the son of Philip the 
 Fair, and then hastened to join his brethren in Cyprus. He 
 found the dissension between the knights and the sovereign of 
 the island at its height ; and the rash efforts of Boniface VIII. 
 in favor of the Templars only rendered the dispute more vio- 
 lent. An opportunity soon presented itself, however, of quit- 
 ting the island with dignity and propriety ; and James de 
 Molay seized it at once. 
 
 The preparations of Cazan-Kahn for the greatest enterprise 
 of his whole reign were now complete. He had resolved to 
 drive the Mamalukes from Syria. He demanded the co-op- 
 eration of Georgia and Armenia. He negotiated even with 
 the pope, and with the Christian princes of Europe ; and he 
 agreed that Palestine, if recovered from the Sultan of Egypt, 
 should remain in possession of the Christians. Georgia and 
 Armenia readily answered to his call ; but the only European 
 Christians who joined him were the knights of the military 
 orders. James de Molay did not hesitate ; but, gathering to- 
 gether as large a force of the Templars as could be spared 
 from the preceptories, he set sail early in the year 1299, once 
 more to plant the standard of the cross on the shores of Syria. 
 
 A large Tartar, Mogul, and Armenian force had already 
 entered the territories over which the sultan claimed domin- 
 ion, and had encamped among the ruins of Antioch. The 
 distance from Cyprus was but small ; and the galleys of the 
 Temple reached Suadeah in safety. There, for the first time 
 after many years, close by the ancient Selusia, with its sepul- 
 chral rocks, and under the towering heights of Mount Casius, 
 with the mouth of the Orontes near at hand, and within a 
 short march of that city whence Paul and Barnabas were sent 
 forth to preach the Gospel among the isles of the Gentiles, 
 the great standard of the cross was raised once more by the 
 soldiers of the Temple. Under the shadow of the Beauseant 
 they marched on at once to join the forces of Cazan-Khan ; 
 and a division, consisting of thirty thousand men, having been 
 placed under the command of James de Molay, the combined 
 forces of Moguls, Armenians, and Franks commenced their 
 march toward Damascus. 
 
 The rulers of Egypt, however, were not inactive. Levies 
 were instantly made, and led rapidly into Palestine. Damas- 
 cus added her muhitudes ; and at Hems, on the high road 
 
rHE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 139 
 
 between Aleppo and Damascus, the two armies met and en- 
 gaged. It seemed as if on that action depended the fate of 
 Asia, and perhaps the ascendency of the Christian or Moham- 
 medan faith in the East, and the troops on either side fought 
 with desperate valor. But the forces of Islam were totally 
 defeated ; and the victorious Moguls, with their Frankish al- 
 lies, pursued and slaughtered them, till night stopped the car- 
 nage. 
 
 Aleppo, it would seem, had already surrendered. Damas- 
 cus fell an easy prey to the conquerors. The Mussulmans 
 abandoned the towns on the road to Jerusalem, and the Holy 
 City itself was left nearly undefended. The Templars march- 
 ed on and took possession of Hierosolyma, and it was now that 
 they celebrated the feast of Easter in triumph and rejoicing. 
 
 One more effort was made by Cazan to rouse the European 
 Christians to seize the favorable opportunity, and had it been 
 successful, what might have been the result ? All were dull 
 to the call, however ; and though Pope Boniface, in his let- 
 ters, lauds the pagan protector of Christianity, he exerted him- 
 self but little to second the efforts of the Tartar. 
 
 In the mean time, disorders broke out in Iran, and Cazan 
 was obliged to withdraw, in order to restore tranquillity in his 
 own dominions. He left, however, a considerable force under 
 the command of the grand master, who, pursuing his success- 
 ful course, drove the Mamalukes back to Gaza, and forced 
 them even, it is said, to take refuge in the desert. 
 
 Then comes a period of doubt and darkness. Cazan trust- 
 ed, it would appear, to some Mohammedan officers, who be- 
 trayed his cause. The Mussulmans of Syria rose in defense 
 of their religion ; and, although supported by re-enforcements 
 from Persia, De Molay was forced to retreat. The struggle, 
 however, was again renewed ; but the illness of Cazan, his 
 death in 1303, and the decline of the Mogul power, deprived 
 the Christians of their last hope of recovering the Holy Land. 
 
 After all had been lost which the brief campaign of 1299 
 had obtained, a party of the Templars retreated to a small 
 island in the neighborhood of Tortosa, where they were speed- 
 ily attacked by an overwhelming force, and the greater part 
 of them were put to death or sent in chains to Egypt. Some 
 of them escaped, however, or were ransomed from captivity ; 
 and among them was James de Molay, who was reserved for 
 a fate more terrible than an honorable death by the sword of 
 the infidel.* 
 
 * John yillani gives some canons detaOs, both of the manner of life 
 
140 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 
 
 There is a vacancy in the history of the Templars for sev- 
 eral years. The order was still numerous in England, France, 
 Spain, Portugal, Germany, and Italy ; but we know little of 
 their proceedings, from a short time before the death of Cazan- 
 Khan, to the first open commencement of the infamous per- 
 secution of the order in the year 1307. The head-quarters of 
 the Templars had been re-established in Cyprus ; and there 
 was the chief treasury of the order, under the care of James 
 de Molay, who was apparently unsuspicious of any evil act 
 meditated against a body of men who had been for so many 
 years the main support of Christian Palestine. 
 
 Nevertheless, numerous events had taken place which might 
 have shown this brave, dignified, and amiable man the blow 
 that menaced the order, its object, and its cause. Right and 
 justice had been violated toward the Templars in many coun- 
 tries. Two Edwards had seized, without just cause, consid- 
 erable sums belonging to the Templars in England. Many 
 noblemen and sovereign princes had infringed their rights and 
 privileges. The clergy, generally, hated and menaced them, 
 
 of the Moguls, and of the events which took place in Syria at the end 
 of the thirteenth century. He declares that Cazan was actually con- 
 verted to Christianity by his wife; but he loads the story of the con- 
 version with a miracle which renders it doubtful. He asserts positive- 
 ly, however, that Cazau visited devoutly the Holy Sepulcher; and in 
 most particulars he confirms the accounts of other authors respecting 
 the Tartar invasion of Syria, and the recoveiy of Jerusalem. I am in- 
 clined to think that John of Ypres has confounded some of the actions 
 of Cazan with those of Houlagou, for it would certainly seem that the 
 author lived after the period at which his chronicle terminates. The 
 manners of the Tartars, as described by Villani, would appear to be 
 those which prevailed among the Moguls at an earlier period than the 
 reign of Cazau, for they had certainly, by that time, a<loptod many of 
 the habits of the nations they had conquered, and lost a great deal of 
 that rude simplicity which he attributes to them. It is very possible, 
 indeed, that they still drank the blood of their horses or their flocks, 
 when they could not got water; but their residence in Bagdad must 
 have inured them to many of the luxurious habits of civilized life ; and 
 it is clear, from other accounts, that the bow and arrow were not the 
 only weapons which they employed. 
 
THK LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLABS. 141 
 
 on account of the immunities which had been granted to them 
 by various popes. Separated from the rest of the world, and 
 deprived, to a great extent, of the ties of kindred, they had 
 few interests and feelings in common with the laity. The 
 spirit of the crusades had died out ; Palestine was lost ; they 
 were no longer admired as the incarnation of a wide- spread 
 enthusiasm ; they were no longer needed as the barrier to 
 Christian Europe ; but it was individual cupidity and person- 
 al malice which prompted their destruction, and directed the 
 blow. 
 
 The Templars were not faultless. There is a certain de- 
 gree of cold arrogance almost invariably generated by unsocial 
 isolation ; and the Templars, proud of their order, were prob- 
 ably ofiensively haughty to less devoted, if not less courageous 
 persons. There is no proof that they were ambitious ; but 
 the fact is notorious that they took part in the feuds and war- 
 fares of the countries which they inhabited, and, on more than 
 one occasion, drew, in the service of a secular prince, the 
 sword which they had dedicated to the service of God, as they 
 understood that service. Many Templars fell on the field of 
 Falkirk, aiding the most iniquitous oppression that any prince 
 ever attempted to inflict upon an independent people. They 
 took part in the wars of the rival houses of Aragon and An- 
 jou ; and they supported Boniface VIII. in his opposition to 
 Philip the Fair. This was a great crime in the eyes of the 
 French king ; but there was a still greater : the Templars 
 were exceedingly wealthy. 
 
 Philip was a man, cold, calculating, remorseless, but am- 
 bitious and avaricious to a high degree. He mounted the 
 French throne when only seventeen years of age, and very 
 soon began to show the quaUties which he afterward displayed 
 more fully. His barbarous treachery toward Guy de Dam- 
 pierre, count of Flanders, and his young daughter, in the year 
 1297, left a stain upon his name which nothing could eflace ; 
 and the death of the imhappy princess, from grief, roused the 
 indignation of all Europe, and produced a war between France 
 and Flanders, which, of course, terminated to the disadvant- 
 age of the weaker power. By a double marriage, Philip 
 contrived to detach England from the interests of the Count 
 of Flanders ; by another act of treachery, obtained possession 
 of the count, his two sons, and forty Flemish noblemen ; an- 
 nexed Flanders to the crown of France, and filled it with 
 blood-suckers, whose sole end and object seemed to be to drain 
 the rich country of its wealth. A revolt and a massacre were 
 
142 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the consequences ; and the king himself, not daring to quit 
 his capital, where symptoms of disaffection were exceedingly 
 strong, sent his impetuous cousin, Robert of Artoise, once more 
 to subdue and punish the Flemings. The army of France, 
 the choice of her nobility, supported by a large body of infan- 
 try, and comprising nearly five thousand men of knightly rank, 
 was defeated at Courtrai, by the peasantry and citizens of 
 Flanders. A terrible slaughter took place ; and four thousand 
 pairs of golden spurs, gathered on the field of battle, attested 
 the destruction of the chivalry of France, and won for the 
 event the name in history of the battle of the Spurs. 
 
 Vengeance was strong in the heart of the King of France ; 
 but he was prevented from gratifying it, for the time, by the 
 consequences of other crimes. The people of France suffered 
 under the same extortions as the Flemings. Tax upon tax 
 ground the lower classes to the earth ; and the debasement, 
 of the coin had reached to such an extent, that each piece of 
 silver or gold was only worth one seventh part of its nominal 
 value. The king and his ministers forced the unhappy sub- 
 jects of the crown to receive this money from the royal mints 
 at the same rate at which a purer coinage passed in the reign 
 of St. Louis ; and in the mouth of the people the name of 
 Philip the Fair was changed to Philip the False Money-maker. 
 
 Oppression, borne impatiently and long, at length roused 
 the people to resistance. Riots took place in many towns ; 
 and in the capital, the people rose against the king and his 
 ministers, pillaged the houses of their oppressors, and menaced 
 the safety of the monarch.,- Forced to fly from his palace, 
 Philip took refuge in the strong and defensible buildings of 
 the Temple The people followed him in arms, invested the 
 Temple House, and threatened to starve Philip into surrender. 
 For two days no provisions were suffered to enter ; but the 
 enthusiasm of fury died away ; tranquillity was restored in the 
 capital ; and the king escaped the fate which seemed to men- 
 ace him. 
 
 The Templars of Paris had given honorable shelter to the 
 monarch, closed their gates against his enemies, and promised 
 to protect his person. But there is much reason to believe 
 that he demanded more of them, that he required them to act 
 against his people, and that the Templars refused. It wa» 
 forbidden to them to draw the sword against their fellow* 
 Christians, except in their own defense ; and although, as in- 
 dividuals, they had occasionally violated this rule, yet they 
 had never done so in a body. Moreover, at that time th* 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 143 
 
 most vehement dissensions existed between the King of France 
 and the papal see, going on to indecent violence on the part 
 of Philip, which the Templars could not see without indigna- 
 tion, exercised toward a pontiff who had always shown him- 
 self favorable to their order. 
 
 This cause of offense was probably not forgotten, yet Philip 
 could dissemble ; and it would appear that no plan for taking 
 vengeance on the Templars, or stripping them of their wealth, 
 suggested itself, so long as the papal throne was occupied by 
 a pontifl' independent of the power of France. The popes 
 had so completely committed themselves to the support of the 
 order of the Temple, that with no degree of decency could they 
 withdraw their protection; and Alexander IV., in the middle 
 of the thirteenth century, had even defended the Templars, 
 both against the clergy and the monastic orders, with a vigor 
 and decision that repressed lor a time the jealousy which the 
 military monks had excited. 
 
 Boniface VIII., an intemperate and turbulent man, died in 
 the end of 1303, from the effects produced upon an exhausted 
 frame and vehement mind, by the ill treatment he had re- 
 ceived at the hands of Philip the Fair. He was succeeded 
 by a wiser and a better pontiff, Benedict XI,, cardinal of Os- 
 tia, not wanting in firmness, not wanting in moderation. He 
 quieted the dissensions of the Church, mitigated the severity 
 of the bulls which Boniface had fulminated against Philip, 
 but refused to grant the perfect reconciliation of that monarch 
 to the Church, till he had made more ample atonement for 
 his sacrilegious violence than he was yet inclined to do. It 
 was at this period that the French king, knowing that, under 
 such a man as Benedict, it would be impossible to execute a 
 scheme for the destruction of the Templars, affected, with a 
 common artifice of tyrants, the greatest attachment toward 
 those whose ruin he meditated. In an edict of 1304, by 
 which he granted them numerous privileges in France, he 
 burst forth in their praise with somewhat exaggerated pane- 
 gyric. 
 
 ''The works of piety and charity," he says ; " the magnifi- 
 cent liberality which the holy order of the Temple has exer- 
 cised at all times and in all places, and their noble courage, 
 which ought still to be excited to the perilous defense of the 
 Holy Land, have determined us to spread our royal bounty 
 over the order and its knights in our kingdom, and to afford 
 special marks of favor to an institution for which we entertain 
 a sincere predilection." 
 
 -nvi 
 
144 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Favors and praises, from a treacherous and unscrupulous 
 monarch, ought, perhaps, to have caused alarm ; but Philip 
 had as yet displayed no enmity of any kind toward an order 
 confident in its strength and proud of its services. The grand 
 master, James de Molay, had held the infant son of the French 
 king at the baptismal font. The Temple House at Paris had 
 been the monarch's choseft place of refuge in the hour of 
 danger. The order numbered among its knights nobles of 
 the highest rank in France, and princes allied to the blood 
 royal. They had no fear, no suspicion, even vi^hen their ruin 
 was determined, and nothing was wanting but opportunity. 
 
 Opportunity soon came. On the 7th of July, 1304, died 
 Benedict XI. ; and intrigues began for the tiara, on which 
 the fate of the order of the Temple depended. For many 
 months, the cardinals proceeded to no election. The conclave 
 was divided into two factions: the Italian headed by the 
 family of Cajetan, from whence had sprung Boniface VIII. ; 
 and the French led by Orsini. The factions were equal ; and 
 lor nine long months the despicable and detestable cabals con- 
 tinued. At length the Cardinal Bishop of Ostia, Nicolas di 
 Prato, one of the Italian party, was secretly gained to the m- 
 terests of Philip, and acted thenceforth with Italian cumiing 
 imder French influence. To settle the long-pending election, 
 he proposed to the conclave that the Italian party should 
 name three persons, none of whom should be an Italian, that 
 the French party should select one of the three, and that both 
 should then unite for his election. The suggestion was im^ 
 mediately adopted, and secret messengers were sent ofi'bearuig 
 intelligence from the Bishop of Ostia to the King of France. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 
 
 It was in the bright month of May ; and there is no month 
 when nature looks more beautiful in the south of France. 
 The fine old city of Bordeaux was full of fetes, pageants, and 
 processions ; and the splendid ceremonies of the Roman Cath- 
 olic Church lost nothing in the hands of the archbishop. It 
 was the 27th of May, Holy Thursday, Aecension-Uay. The 
 Cathedral of St. Andrew was crowded. A multitude of 
 
h 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS, r 145 
 
 «►• 
 
 priests surrounded the altar. The archbishop officiated in 
 person, blazing like a meteor in his gorgeous robes. 
 
 Wonderful it is, how many sins &.nd iniquities, satin, and 
 embroidery, and gold lace can cover entirely from the eyes of 
 the multitude in the warm and enthusiastic South. The peo- 
 ple gaze with reverence upon the majestic archbishop, and 
 bow the head in humble devotion for his apostolical benedic- 
 tion. But Bertrand de Got, Bertrand de Got, thou art not 
 a very holy man, if all tales be true I License and luxury, 
 avarice and simony, are said to have comfortable lodging in 
 thy palace ; and the fair Countess of Perigord, who moves 
 out of the church before thee, will probably go no further than 
 that palace for the day. 
 
 With dignified step and slow, surrounded by his officers, 
 and preceded by his cross-bearers, the archbishop moved down 
 the nave, in his pontifical robes, and out of the great portal, 
 willing to show himself, in his splendor, to the people who 
 thronged the square. But when he was near the door, a 
 chaplain pressed up to him, and whispered something in his 
 ear. A change came over the archbishop's face. His cheek 
 grew somewhat paler, and a frown came upon his brow. He 
 marched on, however, with even a prouder air than before, 
 and when he issued forth, looked to the right and left, as if in 
 search of something. Not far from the gates of the arch- 
 bishop's palace stood two or three men, holding dusty and 
 tired horses by the bridle ; but Bertrand de Got entered with- 
 out taking notice of them, and retired to his private apart- 
 ments, leaving his train in the halls below. 
 
 " Why you look angry, my lord," said the fair Countess of 
 Perigord. *' Has any thing evil happened since I left St. 
 Andrew's ?" 
 
 " Messengers have arrived from that beast, Philip of 
 France," replied the archbishop, who was not always very 
 choice in the epithets he applied in private to his enemies, 
 " 'Tis some new quarrel, I suppose, stirred up by that per- 
 turber of the peace of the Church. But we shall soon hear 
 more." 
 
 A few minutes after, a handsome and graceful boy brought 
 him a letter, closed with silk and a great seal ; and, tearing 
 it roughly open, the prelate read. The contents of the letter 
 produced a great change upon him. He smiled, and then 
 meditated, and then frowned, and then smiled again. Then, 
 turning to the Coimtess of Perigord, he said, 
 
 This seems a repentant son of the Church, this King of 
 G 
 
146 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 France. We must not reject the penitent. He invites me 
 to meet him secretly, on matters which much interest me." 
 
 " Does he give security for your safety ?" demanded the 
 countess. 
 
 " He does," replied the archbishop ; " and I will go." 
 Horses were saddled in haste, and attendants ordered to 
 prepare. A light meal was made ready, and taken ; and is- 
 suing forth, shortly after, by a private door of the palace, Ber- 
 trand de Got mounted a strong horse, and, followed by a few 
 attendants, set out in a northerly direction. His apparel was 
 a good deal changed. It was not altogether unclerical ; but 
 over all was a large mantle, which concealed the signs of his 
 profession. The archbishop rode well, and he rode fast. He 
 rose the hill of Carbon Blanc and that of La Grave, and he 
 drew not a bridle till he reached Cubzac. There he watered 
 his horses ; but he turned not aside ; and immediately after 
 rode on upon the way to Blaye. Here, however, he was 
 obliged to pause for the night ; for he had ridden six-and- 
 thirty miles since he set out, and darkness had overtaken 
 him on the road. He had a longer journey before him the 
 next day, and he rose early ; but there was a thick fog over 
 the river, and the bishop paused for an hour or two till it 
 had dispersed. As soon as the sun shone out a Httle, he was 
 on horseback again, and on his way to St. Aubin. He stop- 
 ped to breakfast at the priory, surprising the good monks by 
 his imexpected visitation. Then on to Mirambeau, as fast as 
 he could go, and thence to Pons, where he found hospitable 
 entertainment at the castle ; for the Lord of Pons was an old 
 boon companion of the archbishop. The wine was exceeding- 
 ly good and the archbishop tired. His horses, too, wanted 
 rest, so he was charitable to them and to himself; and he 
 stayed two hours. At the end of that time he mounted again, 
 and rode on five leagues more, to Saintes, which he reached 
 when the sun was not very far from the horizon. He had 
 not got to the end of his journey, however, by six leagues and 
 a half; and on he went, seeing the sun setting over the vines, 
 which were covering hill and dale in rich profusion. From 
 the last slight eminence, over which he passed before the close 
 of day, he could see the distant towers of St. Jean d' Angely 
 in the glowing light of the west, with its green vineyards, and 
 a deep wood, which at that time stretched far away on the 
 cast, all flooded with purple and gold. Forward he went ; 
 but as ho came near the town, it being then quite dark, he 
 conferred with one of his attendants on the best road to take, 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 147 
 
 and turned away to the right, about a mile before he reached 
 the gates. The road led through the forest ; and, after pur- 
 suing it for about half an hour, he stopped at some great gates, 
 above which, and towering over the trees around, rose the 
 walls and piimacles of an old abbey. Dismounting from his 
 horse, the archbishop applied for admission, and inquired of 
 the porter whether the Count of Puelle* had arrived there 
 that day. 
 
 " Not an hour ago," replied the porter. " Who is it wishes 
 to see him? I must not admit any one without warning." 
 
 " Tell him it is Father Bertrand, the poor priest of St. An- 
 drew's of Bordeaux," replied the archbishop ; and in a few 
 minutes more he was admitted. He walked on, through the 
 stone cloisters to the abbot's lodging, and was led by a lay 
 brother to a small room, into which he was ushered unan- 
 nounced ; but at a table before him, perfectly alone, sat Philip 
 the Fair, king of France, dressed in exceedingly plain gar- 
 ments, and looking somewhat aged and worn since the prelate 
 had last seen him, but still, perhaps, the handsomest man in 
 Europe at that time. 
 
 The archbishop bowed low, while the lay brother who had 
 guided him shut the door ; and Philip, without rising from 
 his seat, gazed in his face with a dark, searching smile. The 
 prelate advanced slowly to the table, not well knowing what 
 to think of his reception, and then stood looking at the king 
 with the lamp between them. The silence lasted nearly a 
 minute ; and then, with a low laugh, but in very distinct 
 tones, Philip asked, 
 
 " Will you be pope ?" 
 
 If he had struck him, the archbishop would have been less 
 astonished. He was too much accubcomed to dealing with 
 great things, however, to show all the surprise he felt. Since 
 his elevation to the archiepiscopal dignity, he had Hved in 
 continual disputes v^dth the King of France, and had thwart- 
 ed him on many occasions. Nevertheless, he grappled with 
 the question at once, and that boldly. 
 
 " Considering all things, sire," he said, " I should have 
 fancied myself the last man you would choose to name or 
 the conclave to elect ; but this I will say, that if you so favor 
 me, and they so honor me, both shall find that I am no longejr 
 the Archbishop of Bordeaux." 
 
 " I care not what they find," answered Philip, bluntly ; 
 
 * It was at Mous en Puelle that Philip and his brother gave a siguat 
 defeat to the Flemings. 
 
148 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 "but of course, my good lord, /expect to find a diiTerencc. I 
 am not unwilling to see men taken in their own net sometimes. 
 Now it is very possible that, simply because they thought you 
 the last man I would select, the cardinals have placed your 
 name upon this paper. You will remark that it contains three. 
 From these the Orsini faction are to choose one. I am to 
 name which they are to choose ; and whether I do choose the 
 man whom they least expect, depends upon the accuracy of 
 the judgment I have formed of him. I have found you an 
 unruly bishop, my lord, a contumacious archbishop ; but, me- 
 thinks, you may be made a very good pope, to my mind." 
 
 " You will find me most grateful for your majesty's favors," 
 replied the archbishop, " and submissive in all things to your 
 better judgment and your good designs." 
 
 " I must, of course, have certainties," replied the King of 
 France. " I mean, something more definite than vague as- 
 surances. Five positive engagements you must enter into with 
 me. Look, I will put down the conditions;" and, taking a 
 piece of paper, he wrote. When he had done, he raised the 
 paper toward the lamp and read : 
 
 " The first condition is," he said, " that you reconcile me 
 perfectly with the Church ; the second, that you shall annul 
 all ecclesiastical censures against my person, my ministers, my 
 subjects, and my allies ; the third, that you grant me, for five 
 years, the tenths of my kingdom ; the fourth, that you author- 
 itatively condemn the memory of Boniface — " 
 
 The king paused, not with the slightest appearance of doubt 
 — ^for he looked firmly in the prelate's face — but with that 
 calm, deliberate halt which is sometimes employed by orators 
 in speaking, to render what they arc about to say moreJ^im- 
 pressive. Bertrand de Got, at each of the four conditions re- 
 cited, had quietly bowed his head without raising his eyes, 
 which were fixed upon the table, as he stood in the attitude 
 of attention. 
 
 " The fifth," said the king, in continuation, " I shall keep 
 to myself for the present, but will let you know its nature at 
 the proper time and place." 
 
 Bertrand de Got gently bowed his head once more. Philip 
 saw that he was his ; that he was resolute to purchase at any 
 price ; and, putting the paper over to him, with a laugh, to 
 seal the compact, he said, " There, sign that, my lord, and you 
 are pope."* 
 
 * This interview and conversation tire not imaginary : at least, my im- 
 agination has nothing to do with it. The fact of the secret interview, 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 149 
 
 The Archbishop of Bordeaux, without the slightest hesita- 
 tion, signed the paper ; and Philip, laying his hand smartly on 
 his shoulder, said, "I congratulate your holiness. The courier 
 shall set out this very night (he is booted and saddled) and 
 bear the letter to the conclave. It is already written." 
 
 " I am glad your majesty judged so justly of my devotion to 
 your service," replied Bertrand de Got, " and comprehended 
 that, in the unhappy differences which have occasionally taken 
 place between us, I only had in view your real interests." 
 
 " Ha ! my lord," replied Philip, " we both understood each 
 other." 
 
 The letter was immediately dispatched. Both the Orsini 
 and Cajetan factions were surprised at the nomination it con- 
 tained. But they were bound by their compact. Bertrand 
 de Got was elected pope, and assumed the name of Clement 
 V. His coronation took place at Lyons ; and, to the con- 
 sternation of Italy, he declared that he would fix his residence 
 at Avignon. Ten cardinals were created at his coronation. 
 Nine of them were Frenchmen. It was clear to every one 
 that he had sold himself for a tiara. 
 
 He proceeded in haste to execute the four specified condi- 
 tions of the bond. What was the fifth ? A French historian 
 has said, " It has never been positively known what was the 
 fifth article of the convention ; but all historians have con- 
 jectured, perhaps from the facts which followed, that it was 
 the destruction of the order of the Temple." 
 
 Can any one doubt it ? Philip might well keep it secret, 
 even from the creature whose soul he was purchasing, till he 
 had in some degree prepared the way for a proposal the most 
 monstrous and the most frightful that ever was made by one 
 man to another. 
 
 To reconcile an offending monarch to the Church, to annul 
 
 the place, and the time, is admitted. The conversation, with its com- 
 pact, is told by almost eveiy historian of the time, with some small va- 
 riation in the words, but none in the sense, and very little in the manner. 
 All give the same description of the king's abruptness, and of the brev- 
 ity of the discussion. Philip and Bertrand de Got were here, as bad 
 men meeting, the one to sell, the other to buy. The former named his 
 price. The latter agreed at once to give it. This is the history of the 
 whole transaction. How historians happen to know the details, I need 
 not here inquire. Whether Philip, in one of his scornful moods, told 
 the anecdote of his creature the pope, or vvhether Bertrand, in some 
 amorous folly, divulged the secret history of his own disgrace, we do 
 not discover. Certain it is, that the only persons present were Philip 
 and the prelate ; but the agreement of all historians as to what took 
 place leaves little doubt regarding the facts. 
 
150 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 ecclesiastical censures, to grant ecclesiastical property to secu- 
 lar purposes, was nothing very new or very alarming. To con- 
 demn the memory of a defunct pope might, perhaps, form an 
 unpleasant precedent, and shake the authority of the Church ; 
 but it was a very difierent task from that of assailing, con- 
 demning, and destroying an order which had been the bulwark 
 of Christendom, the defense of the Holy Land, the favorite 
 child of the Church for centuries. It implied falsehood, in- 
 justice, oppression, cruelty, slaughter, murder. All this the 
 new pope was called upon to sanction ; and Philip might well 
 reserve his explanation of the fifth dreadful condition till the 
 mind of his bondman was familiarized with the contemplation 
 by degrees. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 
 
 A PRETEXT ? Where was the wicked man, armed with 
 power, who ever wanted a pretext ? " Give me one line of a 
 man's handwriting," said Richelieu, " and I will bring his 
 head to the block." In an order, comprising some thousands, 
 was not one traitor to be found ? or one coward ? or one weak 
 and irresolute man ? Among the chaplains, or the serving 
 brothers, could no one be wrought upon by fear, or pain, or 
 cupidity ? Torture and death on the one side ; life and riches 
 on the other : surely some one, out of many thousands, could 
 be found to lie, and to confess, and to betray. 
 
 The rules of the Temple were severe, burdensome to a de- 
 gree, which could only bo rendered tolerable by the sustaining 
 power of enthusiasm. Some must have failed in the trial. 
 Some must have yielded to temptation. Some must have 
 bent under the load. It was known that some had been ex- 
 pelled from the order ; that some had been severely punished ; 
 that some had been degraded and disgraced. 
 
 It is probable that Philip anticipated no great difficulty in 
 finding a pretext I and the manner in which it was found is 
 told in two ways, rightly, perhaps, in both instances. 
 
 The cloud was seen before the lightning, however. Rumors 
 were spread, which, in many instances, can be clearly traced 
 to the French capital, accusing the brethren of the Temple of 
 heresy, impiety, and many other crimes. These rumors burst 
 
 i 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 151 
 
 upon Europe suddenly, soon after the elevation of Bertrand de 
 Got to the chair of St. Peter. Good Heaven ! Bertrand do 
 Got in the chair of St. Peter ! 
 
 Previous to that time the regular clergy had grumbled, the 
 non-fighting monks had complained, many a noble and many 
 a sovereign had carped at and pillaged the order of the Tem- 
 ple ; but the brethren were universally admitted to be gallant 
 and devoted soldiers of Christ. Now, however, whispers were 
 heard that they were in reality infidels, worse than the pagans 
 against whom they had fought ; and the story soon assumed 
 a tangible form. 
 
 According to one version, a man of the name of Florian, a 
 citizen of Beziers, who had been condemned for manifold ini- 
 quities, made the first accusation. According to another, a 
 Templar of the name of Florentine, who had been condemned 
 by the grand preceptor of France to perpetual imprisonment 
 for his crimes, made a confession of the heresies and wicked- 
 ness of his order. The most probable account, however, is 
 that given by a French author, who combines these two state- 
 ments ; for, in regard to the first assertion, taken separately, 
 we do not see how a common criminal of Bezier could acquire 
 any information regarding the practices of the Templars ; and 
 in regard to the second, it is impossible to suppose that the 
 confession of a Templar, condemned by his own order to per- 
 petual imprisonment, could reach the ears of the King of 
 France ; for the Templars had jurisdiction and prisons of 
 their own. 
 
 The probable statement is this. Two criminals condemned 
 for civil offenses, one a citizen of Beziers, another an apostate 
 brother of the Temple, were confined in the same dungeon in 
 Paris previous to execution. Confessors were not in those 
 days allowed to ordinary criminals condemned to death ; and 
 these two men related, or confessed, to each other their several 
 crimes. The degraded Templar charged his order with a 
 multitude of iniquities ; and the citizen of Beziers (seeing a 
 chance of safety in the revelation of the secret he possessed) 
 announced to his jailers that he had most important disclos- 
 ures to make regarding the Templars, and demanded to speak 
 with the king in person. The two prisoners were consequent- 
 ly brought before Philip, who listened to their tale. 
 
 Here ends the statement abruptly ; and it is probable, the 
 author might have added, with truth, that these persons were 
 sought for, prompted, and promised life, on condition of serv- 
 ing the purposes of the monarch. 
 
152 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 It is admitted on all hands, however, that the first charge 
 against the Templars rested on the statement of one or two 
 condemned criminals. When this statement was made, we 
 do not exactly know ; but it would appear that Philip and 
 Clement diligently labored to get the grand master, James de 
 Molay, into their power, before they suffered their intentions 
 against the order to become apparent. It must not be sup- 
 posed, indeed, that even Bertrand de Got felt no reluctance to 
 comply with the cruel mandate of the French king. To him 
 was first made known the charges against the Templars ; and 
 he replied at once, that he could not believe them, that they 
 were " incredible, impossible, and unheard of"* 
 
 Philip, however, called for the execution of his bond. In 
 June, 1306, Clement invited the grand masters of the Temple 
 and the Hospital to join him in France, without delay, with 
 as much secrecy, and as small a retinue as possible, in order 
 to concert with him measures for the recovery of the Holy 
 Land. The grand master of the Hospital was wise, and re- 
 fused to come. The grand master of the Temple was simple 
 and unsuspicious. He was at this time in Cyprus ; and he set 
 out at once, with sixty knights, to confer with the pope. He 
 brought with him a considerable amount of treasure, which 
 he deposited at the Temple House in Paris, in the beginning 
 of the year 1307, and, after a friendly and familiar interview 
 with the King of France, proceeded to Poitiers, where the pope 
 at that time resided. He was there amused for some time 
 with proposals very different from those which he had expect- 
 ed. Some mention was made, indeed, of a new expedition to 
 the Holy Land ; but the principal object which the pope ap- 
 peared to have in view, M'as to effect a union between the 
 orders of the Temple and the Hospital. The discussions on \ 
 this subject were long. Jatnes de Molay refused to sanction 
 the union, declaring that the charge of dissensions between 
 the two great military orders was false, and that no jealousy 
 existed between them, except that rivalry which was neces- ■ 
 sary to produce a salutary spirit of emulation. 
 
 In the mean time, the King of France was secretly taking 
 his measures for the final catastrophe. A French historian 
 says, that he feared the order of the Temple, knowing how 
 unpopular he was in his own kingdom. 
 
 " To attempt to reform an armed body, and to warn it by 
 
 * ♦• Ad credendam qute tunc dicebantur, cum (juasi incrodibilia et 
 imposaibilia viderentur, nostrum animum vix potuirauB applicare. quia 
 tamcn plura incredibilia ct inauJitur," &c. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 153 
 
 public reproaches," says the author, " was to suggest to it to 
 take measures which might have consequences dangerous to 
 the tranquillity of the kingdom and the security of the king 
 himself. Policy required that it should be taken by surprise ; 
 and policy was attended to." 
 
 Secret letters were written on the 14th of September, 1307, 
 to the king's officers in all the provinces of France, charging 
 the Templars with the most atrocious crimes, with crimes so 
 monstrous and absurd as to refute the accusation, among which 
 were prominent, heresy, idolatry, sorcery, the renunciation of 
 the Christian religion, and mockery of the cross of Christ. 
 
 Two hundred and thirty knights of the Temple stood as 
 prisoners before Saladin, by the shores of the Lake of Tiberias. 
 One word spoken in acknowledgment of the false prophet, one 
 renunciation of their faith in the Savior, would have saved 
 their lives. But not a man was found to deny his Lord ; and 
 each died as he had lived, a Christian knight. From that 
 hour nearly to the hour at which the charge was brought, 
 generations of the same dauntless warriors had moistened the 
 soil of Palestine with their blood. They had maintained to 
 the last the breach at Acre. When all fled, the bosoms of the 
 Red Cross knights made ramparts in the streets. They had 
 defended the towers of the Temple to the last. They had 
 again entered Jerusalem triumphant, and had prayed to God 
 upon the heights of Mount Sion. Hundreds of them had died 
 in the Island of Aradus. Since the commencement of the 
 century, for the faith of Christ, many had perished in bonds, 
 as well as in the field ; but there was hardly an authentic in- 
 stance known of a Templar having renounced his faith to 
 save himself from death or slavery. Only three short years 
 before, the King of France himself had lauded their works of 
 piety and charity, their magnificent liberality, and their noble 
 courage ; and it was against these men that Philip the False 
 Money-maker brought the charge of idolatrous apostasy. It 
 was not a charge against one, but against all. It was not a 
 charge of sudden dereliction, but of habitual, long-continued, 
 systematic apostasy. The renunciation of Christ, he said, was 
 the rule of the order. 
 
 But to return to his letters. He commanded his officers in 
 the provinces to make preparations secretly, to seize upon all 
 the Templars, their houses and property, and then to hand 
 the brethren over to examination by torture if it should be 
 necessary. 
 
 Before the latter measure was to be employed, it seemed 
 G2 
 
154 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 needful to inform the unhappy Templars of what they were 
 expected to confess under the torture ; otherwise, in the igno- 
 rance of their crime, they might make some mistake in its ac- 
 knowledgment. The seneschals and others were, therefore, 
 directed to acquaint them, before proceeding to examination, 
 that the king and the pope had been convinced, by irreproach- 
 able testimony, of the crimes specified in the letter. The offi- 
 cers were, moreover, ordered " to promise them pardon and 
 favor, if they confessed the truth, and if not, to acquaint them 
 that they would be condemned to death." 
 
 The king's commands were executed. On the night of 
 Friday, the 13th of October, 1307, every Temple House wa^ 
 seized throughout the realm of France, and all the knighu* 
 and serving brothers made prisoners. 
 
 En eel an qu'ai dist orendroit, 
 Je ne sai k tort ou k droit, 
 Furent li templiers, sans doutance, 
 TouB pris par le royaume de France 
 Ou mois d'Octembre, ou point du jour 
 A un vendredi, fut le jour. 
 
 Thus does dd Godefroy of Paris tell the tale ; and the 
 king's secret must have been well kept, for it does not appeal 
 that there was suspicion, preparation, or resistance any where. 
 
 The moment the first act was successfully accomplished,! 
 and the gaUant knights, of whom there were at that time fif- j 
 teen thousand, we are assured, in the preceptories of Europe, > 
 the mask was thrown ofi*, and the charges made public to thei 
 world at large. Philip had, a few days before, communicated 
 them by letter to several neighboring monarchs, in the hope 
 of inducing others to follow his example, and work the over- 
 throw of the whole order throughout Europe at once ; but the 
 charges were so wild, so improbable, so incredible, that men 
 required time to think ere they even afiected to believe them. 
 Even Edward the Second, the weak king of England, son-in- 
 law to the French king, refused, at first, to give credit to the 
 ^tale. In Germany and Spain, the noble order was acquitted 
 of all guilt ; and the people of Cyprus bore honorable testi- 
 mony to the conduct of the Templars among them. In Ita- 
 ly, Sicily, and France, the persecution raged ; and his own 
 need of gold, the cupidity of his followers, and the bold in- 
 junctions of the pope, speedily extinguished the short-lived 
 sense of justice in the breast of Edward of England. It is, 
 however, upon France that our eyes must remain fixed, for 
 there the horriblo conspiracy was formed, and its great objects 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 155 
 
 executed. Every step in the whole proceedings of Philip and 
 Clement reveals the iniquity of their motives and the base- 
 ness of their object. Preaching friars were specially appoint- 
 ed to declaim against the order of the Temple in the public 
 places of Paris, at the corners of streets, and in the royal gar- 
 dens ; and the charges made against the knights in these ser- 
 mons would have shocked the common sense of any enlight- 
 ened period. But this was an age of the most gross and 
 debasing superstition, when the idlest tales and the wildest 
 fancies, the most impudent quackery and most barefaced im- 
 posture found ready credence with the lower, the middle, and 
 many of the higher classes. 
 
 Let us look into these charges, both those which were form- 
 ally embodied in the act of accusation and those which were 
 diligently urged by the agents of a false and perfidious king. 
 Some, indeed, we must pass over in silence, for they are too 
 foul to appear upon a page intended for the sight of all. It 
 is well for innocence to remain unconscious of much that the 
 heart of the wicked can conceive. The Templars were ac- 
 cused then, publicly, of denying Christ, of worshiping, in a 
 dark cave, an idol, in the figure of a man covered with an 
 old human skin and having two bright and lustrous carbun- 
 cles for eyes ; of anointing it with the fat of young children, 
 roasted ; of looking upon it as their sovereign God, and trust- 
 ing in it for prosperity and success. They were accused, also, 
 of worshiping the devil, in the form of a cat ; of burning the 
 bodies of dead Templars, and giving the ashes to the younger 
 brethren to eat and drink mingled with their food. They 
 were charged with various unnatural crimes, frightful de- 
 baucheries and superstitious abominations, only to be credited 
 upon the supposition that the whole order was insane. More- 
 over, it was distinctly charged against them that, at their re- 
 ception into the order, or as soon as possible afterward, they 
 were compelled, besides denying Christ, the Virgin, and the 
 saints, to spit and trample upon the cross, and to gird them- 
 selves with, and wear continually, little cords which had 
 touched the heads of their idols, of which they had many, be- 
 sides the one already named ; and, moreover, that they be- 
 lieved the grand master, the visitor, and the preceptor could 
 absolve them from their sins. 
 
 Such is an abstract of the accusation. It is not to bo 
 doubted, indeed, that if the charges had been, in the first in- 
 stance, submitted to Bertrand de Got, that politic and cuu- 
 ning prelate would have perceived that the extravagance of 
 
156 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the accusation was sufficient for its refutation, and would have 
 so modified it as to render it more consonant with common 
 sense. It is probable, therefore, that Philip, who was utterly 
 careless of any disgrace attending the means, so that his object 
 was attained, hurried on, without consulting the pope on the 
 minor details. Clement endeavored, as far as possible, to 
 remedy these errors. He saw that it was a great mistake to 
 assert that the Templars had been long addicted to such prac- 
 tices ; that no one would believe a body of men who had 
 submitted to all privations, encountered all dangers, and un- 
 dergone every sort of death in the assertion of the Christian 
 faith, were themselves infidels and idolaters ; that it would 
 have been much more politic to accuse them of having devia- 
 ted of late into infidelity ; and he endeavored skillfully to put 
 forth this view of the case, and to withdraw attention from 
 the fact that the order of the Temple was actually charged 
 with having long been the most corrupt, faithless, heretical, 
 and idolatrous body on the face of the earth, and of celebra- 
 ting in full assembly, mystejies, the abominations of which 
 exceeded all parallel. Thus, in a letter to Edward, king of 
 England, and in a bull to the English bishops, he boldly ad- 
 mits the former zeal and orthodoxy of the Templars, and de- 
 clares that the well-known history of their sufl^erings and 
 exertions under the cross in olden times had prevented him, 
 at first, from behoving the reports, which had reached him 
 even before his election, of the apostasy and licentiousness of 
 the order. Now, however, he commanded a strict examina- 
 tion to be made ; implying that the King of France had laid 
 before him proofs which had rempved every tloubt from his 
 mind. 
 
 Some symptoms very soon appeared of the pope and the 
 kings, who were leagued together for the destruction of the 
 order of the Temple, quarreling about the division of the 
 spoil. Phihp and Edward seized all the property, estates, 
 money, and jewels of the Templars ; and Clement became 
 alarmed lest he should not obtain his due. proportion. He 
 wrote to both sovereigns, commanding them to place the vast 
 wealth of the order at the disposition of the Church, and hold- 
 ing out a very intelligible threat of thwarting their proceed- 
 ings in case of disobedience. But kmgs can grasp tight as 
 well as popes ; and both monarchs answered in a bold and 
 contumacious manner. It is probable, however, that some 
 concessions were made to the pontiff, or some promises given, 
 in order to avert his inconvenient opposition ; but avarice ii* a 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 157 
 
 very greedy passion ; and the pope, though he yielded, was 
 not fully satisfied ; for we find him afterward asserting, in a 
 plaintive tone, that he had got a very small share of the 
 plunder. 
 
 Philip, as I have shown, endisavored to draw from the 
 Templars, or from some of them» by a promise of pardon, on 
 the one hand, and a threat of death on the other, such an 
 avowal of guilt as would justify his iniquity by their weak- 
 ness. But every man remained firm, till something more 
 terrible than menace was employed. Philip might not wish 
 to destroy or to tear the bodies of the Templars, if he could 
 attain his objects by other measures ; but he was not very 
 patient ; and at the end of twelve, or, as some say, of only 
 six days, during which he continued to use threats and prom- 
 ises, he gave them up to the tender mercies of the Domini- 
 cans, who were never known to fail when any act of mon- 
 strous cruelty was to be performed. They had gone through 
 a long apprenticeship to the trade of torture, and were perfect 
 masters of the craft. Let us now turn to see how they exe- 
 cuted their function in this instance. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 
 
 , The Temple House at Paris, whence had issued forth, like 
 a glorious stream, a host of heroes to defend the Holy Land, 
 was again crowded with gallant knights ; but they were no 
 longer armed for the defense of the sepulcher. The sword 
 was no longer drawn for the fight. The battle-horse bore 
 them no more to the cnarge. Captives to their fellow-Chris- 
 tians, in the power of enemies more pitiless than the Saracens, 
 they lay in chains, each in his silent cell, loaded with base 
 accusations, and expecting death. All their immense posses- 
 sions were gone. Their wealth, the gift of pious and admir- 
 ing friends, filled the coffers of a tyrant or swelled the purses 
 of his minions ; and no one retained sufficient to pay even a 
 hired advocate to plead his cause before the judges. The 
 grand master of the Temple himself had not four sous to buy 
 him bread ; and bread was often wanting, for no sort of tor- 
 ture was forgotten. 
 
158 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Look into that dark cell, where Ues, upon his miserable 
 pallet, the form of an old man, with a long, white beard, and 
 floating locks as pure as snow. He is an old brother of the 
 order, of a princely race, with the blood of a long line of no- 
 bles flowing in his veins. Sixty-five years have passed since 
 his mother first held him with pride and dehght in her arms. 
 Watchful love hung over his cradle. Care and thought fos- 
 tered and instructed his youth. Wealth, and honor, and dis- 
 tinction were at his command. Every joy that the world 
 could give was his. But he abandoned all to become a sol- 
 dier of the cross ; and this is his reward. Forty-two years 
 ago he was received into the order of the Temple at the city 
 of Tyre ; and in many a field his blood has moistened the 
 sands of Palestine. He aided in storming Lilion. He was 
 at the attack upon Ascalon. He was one of the first in Bi- 
 san. He escaped, almost by a miracle, at the capture of Ces- 
 area ; and he held the standard of the cross at the Pilgrim's 
 Castle. At Safitza, and the Castle of the Kurds, he displayed 
 his valor ; and he was one of the few who, after the walls 
 were thrown down, and the citadel a heap of ashes, marched 
 out of Beaufort, lance in the rest, and banner displayed with 
 all the pageantry of war, in presence of the whole host of 
 Bondocdar, compelled to grant an honorable capitulation to 
 the unconquerable valor of the Temple. In many another 
 field he has fought, and in the defense of many another place 
 he has aided. The banner of the cross has never been dis- 
 graced by any one act of a long life ; and this is his reward. 
 
 They have kept him without food or drink lor eight- and- 
 forty hours ; they are condemning the old hero of the cross to 
 die the death of a wolf. Lank hunger is upon him, gnawing 
 his very entrails. He could tear his own flesh with his teeth. 
 He has knocked and called in vain at the barred and bolted 
 door ; and now he lies and gazes at it with a haggard eye, 
 listening as the steps pass and repass, but they bring him no 
 relief. This is one species of torture.* 
 
 In a great haU — where once the knights of the order were 
 wont to assemble upon solemn occasions, to receive a new 
 brother, to consult as to the means of succoring the Holy 
 Land, or to judge a malefactor — stretched upon a machine 
 formed somewhat like a bed, but having movable joints and 
 
 * " Others, in a word, tormented and driven by the famine, with 
 which they were opproBsed in prison, or compelled in a number of 
 other manners," says the continuutor of William of Nangia, speaking of 
 the Tomplan», imder the year 13U7. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 159 
 
 various wheels and windlasses, lay a taU and powerful man 
 of the middle age. His broad brow was knit with a stem 
 and resolute frown ; but his eyes had the anguish of appre- 
 hension in them ; and his teeth were firm set, as if to prevent 
 any sound escaping from his lips. His ankles and his wrists 
 were firmly fastened with cords to the beams of the machine ; 
 and his body, too, was fixed with a hoop of iron. By his side 
 stood the grand inquisitor, William of Paris. A number of 
 Dominican monks were around. Near at hand was a surgeon 
 with a vial and a cup ; but by the side of the machine stood 
 two powerful men, in a lay habit, with their arms bare. 
 
 " 1 exhort you, brother, in the name of God and the Holy 
 Trinity," said the inquisitor, in a low, sweet voice, " to make 
 confession of the truth, and save us the necessity of using 
 means to force it from you*" 
 
 " I have said the truth," replied the Templar, firmly ; " and 
 take notice, every one, that if, under your diabolical hands, I 
 speak otherwise than I have spoken, I lie. These are ray 
 last words. Do your worst." 
 
 There was a profound silence. The two strong men, bend- 
 ing by the machine, lifted their eyes, and gazed earnestly on 
 the face of the inquisitor. He spoke not, but made a little 
 sign, waving his hand so slightly you could hardly perceive it. 
 The men applied their whole force, and moved round the 
 winch. There was a creaking sound, as of straining wood. 
 The thick beams were forced apart. The joints in the wood- 
 en frame separated. The limbs of the Templar were drawn 
 slowly but forcibly from each other. You could hear the 
 stout sinews crack. There was a deep groan. 
 
 " Hold, hold !" said the surgeon, who had watched the tor- 
 tured man's face. But the inquisitor made no sign. The 
 strong men forced the wheels round ; and there was a shriek 
 of direful agony. 
 
 In the wide chimney of the refectory there was a great fire, 
 logs piled up and blazing high ; and before it were two screens, 
 covered with linen cloth. The fire had a cheerful light, blaz- 
 ing and flashing over the stone walls, and the arches of the 
 windows, and the great round columns. 
 
 But what is that before the fire ? It is the good knight 
 Bernard de Vado, stretched out upon an iron frame, pinioned 
 with cords, and bound tightly down, so that his limbs can 
 have no motion. The screens are so placed as to cover his 
 face and body from the blaze of the fire ; but his naked feet 
 are extended to the full heat, within a few inches of the burn- 
 
IfiO DARK SCEiNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 iiig logs. What are those incarnate devils doing, in their 
 gowns of black and white, those Dominican fiends, bred to the 
 art of torture 1 They ape greasing the scorched soles, to pre- 
 vent the flesh from being actually burned away. Vain are 
 his cries, his groans, his shrieks. It is speech they want ; and 
 he speaks not. They interpose one of the screens to moderate 
 the heat, and then ask him, " Wilt thou confess now ?" 
 
 He is silent : the Dominican moves his hand toward the 
 screen again. 
 
 "What must I confess? What must I confess ?" cries 
 the unhappy man ; and, with a smile,, the soft Dominican in- 
 structs him. 
 
 In the interior of a small cell, one of the cells of the order, 
 and on his own pallet-bed, is seen another knight, with a 
 single figure seated quietly beside him. Is the poor Templar 
 sick ? It must be so ; for see, the kind Dominican drops wa- 
 ter from a cup upon his mouth. Now this is charity indeed ! 
 
 Under the coarse rug that covers him, his body is bound 
 down to the bed. He can move neither hand nor foot. Over 
 his face is stretched a thick, wet cloth, through which he is 
 forced to draw the breath of life ; and ever, as the fearful heat 
 of his intense agony dries up the moisture, so that he can 
 breathe more freely, the Dominican drops more water on the 
 cloth, and renders every sigh a pang. See how convulsively 
 his chest heaves. See how the fingers move in the struggle 
 for air, now clinched, till the nails sink into the palms of his 
 hands, now extended wide with every sinew starting out like 
 a rope ; and now, faint and ill defined stains of crimson begin 
 to mark the cloth over his face. It is the blood starting from 
 his eyes and nostrils. 
 
 But let us drop the curtain over the awful scene. There 
 were more tortures ; and others too indecent and horrible to 
 be mentioned ; but be ye sure, my friends, no torment was 
 spared that human beings could inflict or sufier. Revenge 
 may be more fiery and impetuous than any other passion. 
 The evils wrought by ambition may be wide-spread and de- 
 structive ; but avarice is the most coldly cruel of all the vices 
 which afflict mankind. Thirty-six Templars died under the 
 torture without having uttered one word which could crimin; 
 ate their order. Many more were crippled for life ; but it 
 would appear that every one maintained the perfect innocence 
 of the soldiers of the Temple, till forged letters were shown 
 to them purporting to come from the hand of the grand mas- 
 ter, and exhorting them to confess their guilt. If James do 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 161 
 
 Molay yielded to anguish or to fear, who should resist ? Sue) 
 was the argument which some of the Templars probably usee 
 toward themselves ; and seventy of the brethren confessed, 
 under the torture, any thing that was dictated to them. 
 Those who confessed were formally absolved ; but they were 
 not yet set free ; and the inquisitors proceeded throughout 
 France, accompanied by lay commissioners from the king, and 
 in each of the preceptories of the order the system of murder 
 and torture was renewed. 
 
 These transactions were generally carried on in secret ; but 
 the tongue of rumor could not be kept quiet ; and amaze- 
 ment, horror, and alarm spread throughout Europe. The 
 pope himself interfered with an affectation of humanity ; but 
 his letter to the King of France savors strongly of avarice. 
 It exposes more clearly a design to get the whole property of 
 the Temple into the hands of the Church than a desire to 
 save the Templars. 
 
 Phihp treated his tool with very little ceremony. He 
 threatened and abused him ; but at the same time he feared 
 impediments, and suffered the pope to take the nominal con- 
 duct of the trial, while he himself, in reality, directed the pro- 
 ceedings. A commission was appointed by Clement to take 
 cognizance of the whole affair ; and now a scene was enact- 
 ed, little anticipated, either by the pontiff or the king. When 
 the knights of the Temple appeared before the commissioners, 
 in whose court greater publicity was assured to the prisoners 
 than in the secret tribunals of the inquisition, those from 
 whom confession had been extorted by the torture revoked all 
 the admissions they had made, almost to a man maintained 
 the entire irmocence of the order, and warned all men that 
 if, at any future time, mortal infirmity should induce them to 
 avow the guilt with which they were charged, to look upon 
 such acknowledgments as false. 
 
 They were denied all counsel or aid. No advocate was 
 permitted to defend them. Their friends were terrified into 
 inactivity, or punished for affording them assistance. The 
 grand master, who had been confined at Corbeil, was brought 
 before the commission in November, 1309, and with firm but 
 decent boldness, James de Molay maintained his own inno- 
 cence, and the falsehood of all the charges against the order. 
 He said he was a plain, unlettered man, not instructed in 
 the law, but ready to defend himself and his brethren against 
 the infamous accusations brought against them as best he 
 might. He showed that he had been stripped of every thing ; 
 
162 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 that he was dependent even for food upon charity ; and he 
 demanded an advocate, undertaking, if his just request were 
 granted, to make the innocence of the order apparent to all 
 men, even to their enemies. 
 
 To his amazement, a paper was produced by the commis- 
 sioners, purporting to be a confession made by himself at 
 Chinon, before certain cardinals, whose names were attached 
 as witnesses. For a moment, De Molay was speechless with 
 surprise, making three times the sign of the cross, as if some 
 evil spirit had appeared before him. He then vehemently 
 and solemnly protested that the confession was a forgery, and 
 called upon God to inflict on the hars who had signed it the 
 punishment assigned by the Saracens to willful slanderers. 
 " Their bellies they rip open," he exclaimed, " and their heads 
 they cut off." 
 
 Again and again he protested the innocence of himself and 
 his companions, and pointed out how completely the whole 
 public life of the Templars gave the lie to the charges against 
 them. He showed that their churches bore every mark of 
 devotion, that no body of men was more famous lor alms-giv- 
 ing, that none had ever so readily fought and bled in the as- 
 sertion of the Christian religion ; and he ended with a simple 
 profession of faith, with which even inquisitors could find no 
 fault. 
 
 The commissioners dared not excommunicate or put him to 
 death ; for the pope had restricted them for the time, in his 
 case, and in the cases of several of the preceptors of the order. 
 Nay, more, the firm attitude and the convincing defense made 
 by more than five hundred of the knights brought before the 
 commissioners, seemed to move or to shame the papal officers 
 into something like mercy. In a written defense drawn up 
 on their part, by one of the brethren, they stated the horrible 
 tortures to which they had been subjected ; they declared that 
 many had died under the infliction, that all were injured ir- 
 recoverably in health, and that many had been driven mad. 
 They demanded that the jailers and executioners should be 
 examined as to the dying moments of the Templars who had 
 
 Serished in the prison, maintaining that they had every one 
 eclared the innocence of their order when about to appear in 
 the presence of God. 
 
 Philip saw that the proceedings were taking a course un- 
 favorable to his pur{X)8e8 ; and he hastened to withdraw the 
 Templars from the hands of the commissioners, and to erect a 
 new tribunal. He had lately thrust into the archbishopri.o 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TEMPLARS. 163 
 
 of Sens a creature of his own, much against the views, it 
 would appear, of the pope himself; and a provincial council 
 was held by the archbishop in Paris, over which place his ec- 
 clesiastical jurisdiction extended. =* To this council the Tem- 
 plars were given up. In vain they protested. In vain they 
 sought to appeal to the pope. In vain they demanded protec- 
 tion of the papal commissioners. The archbishop was as rapid 
 and as resolute as Philip could desire. They were dragged 
 before this iniquitous tribunal ; and every one, without excep- 
 tion, who had recanted his confession, was allowed the option 
 of renewing it or dying at the stake. " All, however, without 
 excepting a single one," says the monk of St. Denis,t " refused 
 to the last to avow the crimes of which they were accused, and 
 persisted with constancy and firmness in a general denial, 
 ceasing not to declare that they were given up to death un- 
 justly and without cause." %» 
 
 Fifty-nine, or, according to some, fifty-four gallant knights 
 were led forth, in one day, to the fields at the back of the nun- 
 nery of St. Antoine, where stakes had been driven into the 
 ground, and fagots and charcoal collected. The sight did 
 not daunt them, and each was bound to the stake. The 
 fagots were piled round them ; the torches of the execution- 
 ers lighted ; and they were ofiered pardon if they would again 
 confess. They refused to a man, and were burned to death 
 by slow fires, calling upon the holy name of God in the midst 
 of their torments. 
 
 In other parts of France the same horrible scenes were 
 transacted. At Senlis, nine were burned, and many more in 
 other places. But the grand master and several other distin- 
 guished men were still detained in prison. The few who had 
 made confession of any part of the charge were set at liberty. 
 Those who denied the whole were condemned to perpetual 
 imprisonment. It is to be remarked that many escaped by 
 acknowledging an offense of no very heinous kind. One of 
 the charges against them, as I have shown, was simply this, 
 that they believed the grand master and the visitor, although 
 laymen, could absolve them from their sins. Many acknowl- 
 edged this belief, which was pronounced heretical ; and the 
 confession was judged suf&cient to merit absolution, though it 
 
 * There is some diflBculty upon this point, for the continuator of Will- 
 iam of Nangis says that the council was held by permission of the Arch- 
 bishop of Paris ; but the question is not of sufficient importance to be 
 discussed in this place. 
 
 t A cotemporary who continued the chronicle of William of Nangis. 
 
364 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 would appear that this simple acknowledgment was used by 
 the enemies of the order as if it had been an admission of the 
 whole accusation. Even this heretical belief, however, was 
 so explained by many of the Templars as to leave it no taint 
 of heresy at all, for they stated that it only implied that the 
 grand master and visitor could absolve from offenses against 
 the order, but not from offenses against God. All parties, 
 liowever, were anxious to show that many of the Templars 
 had confessed something, and had adhered to their confession, 
 trusting that, by a very common error of the human mind, »* 
 part would be taken for the whole. 
 
 Five long years and a half James de Molay remained in 
 prison ; and his existence during the greater part of that period 
 is involved in darkness ; but that he was more than once put 
 to the torture is certain. What he did confess, or whether he 
 did confess i9 all, in the torments which he suffered, can not 
 be told ; and it would appear probable that the confession 
 which he had already pronounced a forgery was that which 
 was principally relied upon throughout. 
 
 On the 18th of March, 1313, however, a scaffold was erect- 
 ed in front of Notre Dame, and the people of Paris were sum- 
 moned by the sound of trumpet, to hear the great officers of 
 the Temple confess the guilt of their order, and justify the 
 proceedings of the king. Their confession was said to have 
 been made in the presence of the Archbishop of Sens, the Car- 
 dinal Archbishop of Albano, and two other cardinal legates. 
 
 A multitude assembled to witness the extraordinary cere- 
 mony. The scaffold was crowded with guards and church- 
 men ; and, at the appointed hour, the grand master, James de 
 Molay, the grand preceptor of the order, the grand preceptor 
 of Aquitaine, and the visitor general, were brought forward to 
 the front of the scaffold loaded with chains. The Cardinal 
 Bishop of Albano then proceeded to read aloud to the people 
 the confession attributed to the Templars, and called upon 
 the four knights to avow it. Two of them, the visitor gen- 
 eral and the grand preceptor of Aquitaine, bowed the head 
 and signified their assent. But the grand master himself pro- 
 claimed aloud the falsehood of the confession, declaring that 
 it was a sin, both in the sight of God and man, to proclaim a 
 falsehood. 
 
 " My guilt consists," he said, " in having, under the agony 
 of the torture, admitted untruly horrible offenses against an 
 order which has ever nobly served and defended Christendom." 
 
 Guy, the grand preceptor, also boldly asserted the innocence 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF THE TExMPLARS. 165 
 
 of the order, and was going on in vehement tones, when he 
 was interrupted by the ecclesiastics, and hurried away by the 
 provost of Paris and his guard. They were only delivered to 
 this officer, we arc assured by the cotemporary monk of St. 
 Denis, to be safely guarded till the prelates could deliberate. 
 But Philip the Fair was not inclined to suffer any further 
 deliberation ; and he determined, " without speaking to the 
 clergy, by a prudent decision, to give up the two Templars to 
 the flames." 
 
 That very evening two stakes were planted on a small 
 island in the Seine, between the royal gardens and the Church 
 of the Hermit Brethren ; and, just before nightfall, James de 
 Molay, and Guy, the grand preceptor, were carried thither, 
 attached to the stake, and a slow fire kindled round them. 
 
 " They appeared," says the cotemporary monk, " to support 
 the anguish with so much calmness and indifference, that their 
 firmness and their last denials were matter of marvel and 
 stupefaction to all the beholders." 
 
 Thus perished the last grand master of the Templars, a vic- 
 tim to one of the foulest conspiracies that can be found even 
 in the aimals of princes and pontiffs. The order was extin- 
 guished. Its treasures had been plundered, much of its prop- 
 erty assigned to royal or to papal favorites, and the remnant 
 fell to the rival order of the Hospital, which did not, however, 
 obtain it without gratifying, by large donations, those who had 
 obtained possession of it by such barbarous and bloody means. 
 
 We should not be so presumptuous as to pronounce in any 
 case— except where we can trace the distinct connection be- 
 tween cause and effect, or where we are warranted by the 
 Divine Word — that very peculiar evils which we see fall 
 upon our fellow-creatures are special punishments for the 
 crimes which we believe them to have committed. It is, 
 nevertheless, a fact which has been considered well worthy of 
 remark by historians, that not one of all those who took a 
 principal part in the barbarous cruelties exercised upon the 
 Templars escaped an early and miserable end. 
 
 Philip the Fair, king of France, died in the year 1314, in 
 the forty-fifth year of his age, of a lingering disease unknown 
 to any of the physicians of the time, and his last hours were 
 embittered by the revolt of his subjects, the treason of his nobles, 
 the failure of his measures, and the domestic misery of his 
 children. One of the last acts of his reign was the flaying 
 alive of two knights, Walter and Philip d' Aunay, for adultery 
 committed with his two daughters-in-law. His armies retired 
 
166 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 unsuccessful from Flanders, and his people were in insurrection 
 in many parts of his dominions. He died one year eight 
 months and eleven days after James de Molay. 
 
 Bertrand de Got survived the grand master even a shorter 
 time. After a troublous and bloody, pontificate of less than 
 nine years, during which he had been constantly obliged to 
 humble the tiara to the will of the King of France, through- 
 out which his sole aim had been to amass treasure which he 
 could not enjoy, and to perpetuate enjoyments disgraceful to 
 his age, his profession, and his office, he was suddenly attack- 
 ed with illness at Avignon, in the midst of the festivities of 
 Easter, and was swept away by death, on the twentieth of 
 April, 1314, one year and one month after the consummation 
 of the ruin of the Templars. His body was carried to Car- 
 pentras, where a number of the cardinals had assembled ; but 
 while the corpse of the infamous prelate lay in the church, 
 furious dissensions arose regarding the choice of a successor, 
 and the palace and town were fired, it is said, by his own 
 nephew. The palace and the church were burned ; the body 
 of Clement was partially consumed by the flames ; and his 
 ill-gotten treasures were pillaged and squandered by brigands 
 and relations. 
 
 Edward the Second was deposed by a son and a wife, and 
 died or was murdered in prison ; and Enguerand de Marigny, 
 who is supposed to have prompted and conducted most of the 
 iniquitous acts of Philip the Fair, and who had, in the words 
 of the monk of St. Dennis, " become more, so to say, than 
 Mayor of the Palace," was hanged, in 1315, upon the gibbet 
 of the common robbers. 
 
 Thus perished the order of the Temple ; and thus perished 
 those who had persecuted it. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 167 
 
 THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 FRANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The abominations and the tyranny of the Church of Rome, 
 the horrible vices of the clergy, and the dissensions which ex- 
 isted between them and the monastic orders, had roused in- 
 dignation in the minds of many long before the commence- 
 ment of the thirteenth century. Sometimes this indignation 
 was salutary, sometimes the reverse. It has been wisely ob- 
 served, that " often the worst evil of bad government is not in 
 its action, but its counteraction." The same is the case with 
 every evil springing from the corruption of institutions. Men 
 always do more than redress. 
 
 The wealth, power, and influence of the clergy excited envy. 
 Their interference in many secular affairs irritated ; their ex- 
 actions alarmed ; their superstitions offended ; and their vices 
 disgusted. Many wise and good men, perceiving the errors 
 of the ministers, but not the flaws in the institution, severely 
 criticised the lives and doctrines of bishops, priests, and cardi- 
 nals, without attacking the Church. Others, more bold, went 
 further still, and assailed the whole system which produced 
 and sheltered such men and such conduct. Others, more fool- 
 ish, attacked the religion itself which these men professed to 
 teach and yet kept in darkness. They struck at the Savior 
 himself, because he was presented to them in disguise. Few 
 had the means of judging of religion by itself, because it was 
 so overlaid with superstitions that they could not distinguish 
 it. Few had the knowledge requisite ; and it is not, there- 
 fore, to be wondered at that heresies arose amid fruitless at- 
 tempts at reformation, and that in casting off' foul superstition 
 many cast off" pure faith. 
 
 In the hilly districts lying at the foot of the Pyrenean 
 Mountains, on those mountains themselves, and in the valleys 
 which intersect them, arose, at the end of the twelfth and the 
 
1«8 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 beginning of the thirteenth century, a sect, called Albigenses, 
 from the name of a small town in higher Languedoc, where 
 some of their principal convocations were held, and whence 
 many of their doctrines spread to the surrounding country. 
 There would seem but little doubt that the schism originated 
 m disgust at the superstitions and vices of the Roman Church, 
 and that the doctrines of the first teachers of the sect were 
 pure and scriptural ; but there would appear as Httle doubt 
 that, after a time, some few of the members of a body, which 
 became large, were tainted by the Manichsean heresy. The 
 question is a difficult one, as to how far these errors had gone ; 
 for religious fanaticism, party zeal, personal ambition, gross 
 avarice, virulent revenge, and almost every evil passion of 
 human nature, were called into action during the course of a 
 long war ; and every one brought its portion of falsehood to 
 blacken and obscure the page of history. 
 
 The writers who have advocated the cause of the Albi- 
 genses, represent them as a perfectly pure and highly rehgious 
 body of men. Those who have written against them, and it 
 is from them, let us remark, that our principal accounts are 
 derived, attribute to them every crime and^every error that 
 can disgrace humanity. The most moderate, perhaps, in his 
 statements is William of Nangis, the monk of St. Denis, who 
 accuses them of rejecting the supremacy and the decisions of 
 the Church of Rome, avoiding all bodies of Christians in 
 communion with that Church, denying or perverting the arti- 
 cles of faith, blaspheming against all religion, all worship, and 
 all religious order, and against the piety of the Catholic Church, 
 condemning all the human race except themselves and their 
 conventicles, and turning the Church of the Catholics into 
 ridicule. Through this charge we may, perhaps, see the spir- 
 it of the Roman Catholic monk, exaggerating the offenses of 
 those who rejected the errors and superstitions of the Church 
 of Rome. But others go much further ; and the fiery Peter 
 of Vaulx Cernay declares that the heretics of the higher Lan- 
 guedoc acknowledged two Gods, the benevolent and the ma- 
 levolent deity, that they attributed tlie Old Testament to the 
 second, and rejected it accordingly. Many other en-ors of the 
 same kind he cliargcs against the Albigenses ; but he suflers 
 to appear that the principal points of opposition to the Church 
 of Rome, put forth by those whom he calls heretics, were the 
 dogmas of that Church regarding transubstantiation, baptism, 
 and the worship of images ; and he clearly shows that there 
 were varioug different sects among this people, some of whom 
 
THE ALBIGENSE8. 1G9 
 
 greatly exaggerated the doctrines maintained by others. Many 
 
 of his accusations are so absurd as to be incredible. n 
 
 The papal throne, at the time when attention was first ^ 
 called to the opinions of the Albigenses, was occupied by In- 
 nocent III., a man of considerable ability, but violent, unre- 
 lenting, and of unconquerable resolution. The King of France 
 was the well-known Philip II., called Augustus ; and the 
 territories principally pervaded by the doctrines of the Albi- 
 genses were in the possession of various princely nobles, nomi- 
 nally vassals of the crown of France, but almost independent 
 of that crown, the principal of whom was Raymond VI., 
 count of Toulouse, nearly related to the King of France, who 
 undoubtedly coveted his territories, or at least desired a more 
 complete and perfect domination therein. The Viscount of 
 Beziers and the Count of Foix also deserve notice, both from 
 the extent of their possessions and the part they acted in the 
 w^ar which followed. The Count of Toulouse had married, 
 in the first instance, Beatrice, sister of the Viscount of Be- 
 ziers ;* secondly, a daughter of the King of Cyprus ; thirdly, 
 Joan, queen of Sicily, sister of Richard CoGur-de-Leon. He 
 was thus connected by marriage both with the Plantagenet 
 monarchs of England, and with Otho, emperor of Germany, 
 his wife's nephew, as he was also by birth with Philip Au- 
 gustus, by his mother Constance, daughter of Louis the Fat. 
 Joan of Sicily died in 11 99, a very short time after her brother 
 Richard ; and Raymond, in the following year, entered into 
 a fourth marriage with Eleanor, sister of Peter, king of Ar- 
 agon, another royal alliance which was highly serviceable to 
 him in the end. 
 
 Whether the Count of Toulouse had really embraced the 
 doctrines of the Albigenses or not, certain it is that he showed 
 them favor, and gave them protection ; but this in itself was 
 a crime in the eyes of the Church of Rome. The Arian 
 heresy had always found favor in the territories of the Count 
 of Toulouse ; and it would seem that the conduct of the Ro- 
 man Catholic bishops of his capital city had not done much 
 to check the course of error ; for Raymond of Rabastens, 
 bishop in 1201, was notorious for simony and other vices, for 
 which, in the end, he was condemned and deposed. 
 
 After a long series of disputes with Philip Augustus, after 
 having placed the whole of France under interdict, and forced 
 
 * He is said to have been previously married to Ermesiuda de Pelet, 
 but of this fact I am not quite sure, nor do I find any record of this 
 lady's fate. 
 
 H 
 
170 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 even its great aiid politic monarch to bow before tlie power oi 
 the Church, Innocent III. turned his attention to the heresy 
 of Languedoc, and at different times sent many distinguished 
 churchmen to endeavor, by milder means than might have 
 been expected from his character, to bring the people back to 
 the bosom of the Romish Church. The chief of these mis- 
 sionaries, it would appear, was Arnaud, abbot of Citeaux, who 
 set out from Rome accompanied by several other monks and 
 clergymen, among whom was Peter of Castelnau, also a Ber- 
 nardino monk of Citeaux, whom we find distinguished with 
 the title of legate, as well as Arnaud himself and the brother 
 Ralph, a third monk of the same order. 
 
 It would appear that the preaching of these reverend fa- 
 thers was very nearly in vain ; for though we find that they 
 disputed in many places with the leaders of the sect, we are 
 assured that they had done little or nothing for the conversion 
 of the Albigenses previous to the year 1206. In that year, 
 however, two new and zealous preachers were added to their 
 number. Diego Azebes, bishop of Osma, or Uxama, in Old 
 Castile, entertained the desire of resigning his bishopric, and 
 proceeding to the Holy Land to preach the Gospel to the in- 
 fidel. He accordingly set out for Rome, to lay his miter at 
 the feet of the pope. But Innocent III. would not accede to 
 his wishes, and, telhng him that his services were still want- 
 ed at his post, sent him back to his diocese. As he returned 
 from Rome, he met, in the neighborhood of Montpellier, the 
 Abbot of Citeaux and his two companions, who, disgusted 
 with their want of success, were about to give up their mission. 
 
 "Wherever they had attempted to preach," says Peter of 
 Vaubc Cernay, " the heretics had objected to them the very 
 wicked conduct of the clergy, adding, that if they would not 
 mend their manners, they ought to abstain from preaching ;" 
 a curious admission from so furious a Romanist. In this con- 
 versation with the Bishop of Osma upon the circumstances in 
 which they were placed, that prelate suggested to the leg- 
 ates a new line of conduct. He proposed that they should 
 go among the Albigenses in a more modest and humble guise, 
 that they should dismiss their numerous train and splendid 
 equipage, and on foot, in all humility, teach the Word of God 
 in the apostolic manner. The legates, it would seem, hesi- 
 tated, alleging that this was a novelty which they could not 
 undertake, unless somebody of greater dignity set the exam- 
 ple. The good Bishop of Osma at once offered to do so ; and 
 sending the whole of his train into Spain, he set out upon his. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 171 
 
 mission with only one companion, a Spanish recluse of the 
 name of Dominic, a gentleman of noble and ancient family in 
 the diocese of Osma, who had been his faithful companion* in 
 many previous journeys. It was now about the middle of the 
 year 1206, and, accompanied by the two legates, Pierre de 
 Castelnau and brother Ralph of Citeaux, the bishop and his 
 Spanish companion, afterward the famous St. Dommic, went 
 on to Montpellier, while the abbot returned to his abbey, in 
 the marshes near the town of Nuits, in order to hold a gen- 
 eral chapter of the order. 
 
 I need not trace the proceedings of these zealous men, who 
 went from castle to castle and town to town, preaching to the 
 Albigenses, and disputing publicly with their teachers. Suf-- 
 fice it to say, that, notwithstanding the assertions of some of 
 the Roman Catholic chroniclers, they seem to have met with 
 very little success.! At the toWn of Beziers, however, the 
 Bishop of Osma found it necessary to advise Peter of Castel- 
 nau to leave him for a time, as it would appear that legate's 
 violence had greatly irritated the people of the place, and his 
 life was in danger. Although there can be no doubt that few 
 men ever were commissioned to convert heretics who had a 
 stronger inclination to use the most vigorous measures against 
 them than St. Dominic himself, it would seem that either the 
 authority and example of the Bishop of Osma acted as a re- 
 straint upon the virulence of the saint, or that Peter of Castel- 
 nau greatly exceeded the latter in energy ; for we find that, 
 in the year 1207, before a recourse to arms, fire, or torture 
 had been thought of by others, he entertained the design of 
 extirpating the heretics of the Narbonnoise, and sought the 
 aid of the nobles of the country in executing his purpose. He 
 was opposed by the unfortunate Count of Toulouse, who was 
 not inclined to see his subjects slaughtered for their opinions ; 
 and the insolent monk lost all sense of decency and modera 
 tion, abused the prince in terms the most outrageous, and pro- 
 ceeded formally to excommunicate him, because he would not 
 make peace, on terms dictated to him, with men who had 
 shown themselves his inveterate enemies, and who were now 
 
 * Echard. Trivet. 
 
 t The Roman Catholic chroniclers contradict themselves continually. 
 Peter of Vaulx Cernay declares, in one part of his history, that the leg 
 ates converted all the people but a few at Carmaing, confounded the 
 heretic teachers in half a dozen places, brought over all the lower or- 
 ders at Pamiers ; and then, a little further on, he admits that all their 
 labors were of slender or no utility 
 
172 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 leagued with the legate for the extermiaatiou of the Wal- 
 denses. 
 
 The temporary loss of the fier}^ assistance of Pierre de Cas- 
 tehiau was more than compensated to the Bishop of Osma and 
 his two companions, Ralph and Dominic, by the arrival in 
 Upper Languedoc of Arnaiid, abbot of Citeaux, and twelve 
 other Bernardine abbots, who spread themselves over the coun- 
 try, preaching and disputing with all their might. Tlie bish- 
 op then retired for a time to his diocese in Castile, mtending 
 to return in the following spring to the field of his labors ; but 
 he was seized with illness in February, 1208, and died in 
 Spain. The legate Pwalph had preceded him to the tomb ; 
 twelve of the abbots returned to their monasteries at the end 
 of three months., ajid only one remained, namely, the Abbot 
 ^ of Vaulx Cernay. 
 
 St. Dominic, on the departure of the Bishop of Osma, be- 
 took himself to the small town of Fanjaux, founded the Ab- 
 bey of Prouille toward the end of the year 1207, and insti- 
 tuted the order of the preaching Friars, known as Dominicans 
 or Jacobins. 
 
 Peter of Castelnau, in the mean time, after having visited 
 his colleagues at Montreal, returned to the banks of the Rhone, 
 where he spent some months in endeavoring to convert the 
 Waidenses, and in thundering forth denunciations against the 
 Count of Toulouse. But that prince at length summoned the 
 Abbot of Citeaux and Peter of Castelnau to confer with him 
 at the town of St. Giles, with the evident intention of seeking 
 some means of accommodation. It is admitted, even by In- 
 nocent III., in his famous letter, that the count at first re- 
 ceived the legate with reverence and courtesy ; but violent 
 disputes (at least so asserts the pontilF) soon arose between the 
 prince and the fierce and vindictive monk. It is probable 
 that the legate's demands and his manner were extravagant 
 and overbearing ; and it is certain that he strove to exact 
 what Raymond of Toulouse indignantly refused to grant. 
 The pope declares that the count, in his lury, menaced both 
 the legates with death ; and it is not at all unlikely that his 
 language was threatening and violent. 
 
 Aniaud and Peter of Castelnau broke up the conference, 
 each party more irritated with the other than before the in- 
 terview ; and, on the following day, Peter of Castelnau was 
 killed by a gentleman attached to the Count of Toulouse. 
 
 Nothing can be more diflerent than the history of this mur- 
 der as told by Iimocent, and the account of the anonymous 
 
THE ALBI GENS ES. 173 
 
 monk who comixeed the history of the war of the Albigenses, 
 published by Don Vaissette. The pope, who rarely scrupled 
 to accuse the objects of his wrath of all sorts of crimes, insin- 
 uates, though he does not assert, that Raymond of Toulouse 
 commanded the murder to be committed. The historian, on 
 the contrary, though strongly Catholic, and opposed to the 
 Albigenses, tells, with apparent simplicity and good faith, a 
 very different story. His account is as foUoAvs : 
 
 " When the legate had sojourned certain days at St. Giles, 
 it happened that Peter of Castelnau, above named, had some 
 words and dispute npon the subject of the said heresy with a 
 gentleman of Count Raymond's ; and the dispute went so far 
 that, in the end, the said gentleman, the servant of Count 
 Raymond, ran Peter of Castelnau through the body with a 
 sword, and killed him, and made him die, which event and 
 murder was cause of a great evil, as we will tell hereafter. 
 Peter of Castelnau was buried at the cemetery of St. Giles ; 
 and the legate, as well as all his company, was very much 
 grieved and enraged at this murder and homicide. However, 
 history tells us that, when the gentleman had committed the 
 said murder, he fled to Beaucaire, to his friends and relations ; 
 for if Count Raymond could have got him, he would have 
 made of him such an example of justice and punishment that 
 the legate would have been content ; for the said Count Ray- 
 raiond was so enraged and grieved at this murder having been 
 committed by a man of his, that never was he so enraged at 
 any thing in the world." 
 
 Every action of Raymond, however, was misinterpreted by 
 the legates and by the pope ; and the extravagance of the 
 charges which they bring against him, as well as the violence 
 of the language used, and the evident concealments practiced 
 by the principal Roman Catholic historian of the crusade, 
 Peter of Vaulx Cernay, throw great suspicion upon all their 
 statements. It was from the Abbot of Citeaux, and the monks 
 who accompanied him, that Innocent received a partial and 
 distorted account of the death of Peter of Castelnau ; and the 
 violent and domineering pontiff^, who, in the course of his reign, 
 fulminated no less than four interdicts against four diflferent 
 countries, at once had recourse to the most violent measures, 
 and, aflecting to look upon the heretics of Albi as infinitely 
 worse than the Mohammedans of Spain and Syria, he ordered 
 a crusade to be preached against the unfortunate people of the 
 Toulousaine. Moreover, boldly aimouncing the horrible doc- 
 trine that no faith is to be kept with heretics, he declared the 
 
174 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 territories of the count forfeited, absolved his subjects and vas- 
 sals from their oaths of fidelity and homage, and called upon 
 all who might desire to enrich themselves at the expense of 
 a neighbor to rush into Languedoc and Provence, and seize, 
 pillage, and keep the lands and lordships of Raymond of Tou- 
 louse. 
 
 This Christian prelate was, perhaps, right in looking upon 
 the doctrines of the Albigenses, not, indeed, as more opposed to 
 the Christian religion, but as more dangerous to the See of 
 Rome than the tenets of the Koran ; for we find that those 
 doctrines, as stated by William of Puy-Laurens, in describing 
 a dispute between the legates and the heresiarchs, were very 
 much the same as those which were put forth by the Reform- 
 ers, who afterward shook the fabric of the papal power to its 
 foundation. It appears that, in the dispute at St. Real, Ar- 
 nold of Otho, one of the teachers of the Albigenses, called the 
 Romish Church and its doctrines " the church of the devil 
 and the doctrines of demons ;" proclaimed aloud that it was 
 that Babylon mentioned in the Apocalypse as the mother of 
 fornications and abominations ; asserted that its ordination was 
 neither good nor holy, nor established by the Lord Jesus ; and 
 contended that neither Christ nor the apostles had ever insti- 
 tuted the mass, as it was used in the Romish Church. 
 
 These were the doctrines publicly put forth by the ministers 
 of the Albigenses, according to one of the least partial of the 
 Romish historians ; but, even from this statement, it can be 
 easily understood why Innocent should determine upon exterm- 
 inating so dangerous a sect by fire and sword. 
 
 No sooner had the Abbot of Citeaux received the letters of 
 the pope, than he commenced the predication of the crusade, 
 and summoned a great comicil to assemble at Aubenas, in the 
 Vivarais. To all who took the cross was held out the induce- 
 ment of complete absolution " for all their sins, from the day of 
 their birth to the day of their death." To this was joined the 
 expectation of pillage ; and as the people of Europe were 
 somewhat fond of plunder, and not disinclined to sin, immense 
 numbers took the cross, and sot out well-armed for an expedi- 
 tion which promised greater advantages and less dangers than 
 a journey to the Holy Land. 
 
 Each man engaged himself for forty days ; and though 
 many stayed longer, many thought they had done enough 
 when they had fulfilled the letter of the bond. 
 
 Communications had taken place between the holy see and 
 the King of France ; and Innocent exhorted Philip either to 
 
THE ALDIGENSES. 175 
 
 march attains! the heretics himself, or to send his son. The 
 l^Vcnoh monarch, however, did not feel himself at all disposed 
 to second the views of a fierce pontiff' who had thwarted and 
 humiliated him, and refused to take part in the war. He per- 
 mitted, however, such of his subjects as thought fit to assume 
 the cross to do so, and every day swelled the army of the cru- 
 saders. To distinguish Chese fanatics from those who were 
 engaged to fight in the Holy Land, the cross was placed on 
 the breast instead of on the shoulder ; and a general rendez- 
 vous was given at Lyons, w^hence they were to march through 
 Provence, and sweep the whole country at the foot of the Pyren- 
 ees, from the Rhone to the Garonne, 
 
 Alarmed at these immense preparations, Raymond of Tou- 
 louse, who had never professed himself of the sect of Albi- 
 genses, set out with his nephew, the Count of Beziers, and a 
 large and formidable train, to present himself before the coun- 
 cil at Aubenas, and claim to be heard in his own justification. 
 Either from fear, policy, or conviction, he seems to have beeii 
 sincerely disposed to recoftcile himself with the Church of 
 Rome, and even to put down the sect of heretics or Reformers 
 in his territories ; but the monks were not at all disposed to 
 give him an opportunity of doing so. The council listened 
 coldly to his remonstrance ; and, in reply to his demand, that 
 his conduct should be investigated, and his guilt or innocence 
 established before any violent proceedings were taken against 
 him, the legate refused to institute any inquiry, and referred 
 him to Rome. 
 
 Thus rejected, the count and his nephew retired from the 
 council, and set out for the town of Aries. As they went, they 
 consulted what was to be done. The fiery Viscount of Beziers 
 proposed to oppose force by force, seeing that they had nothing 
 to hope from submission ; but the Count of Toulouse, aware 
 of the overwhelming number of the crusaders, determined to 
 exhaust every means of conciliation before he had recourse to 
 arms. A violent dispute ensued betw^een uncle and nephew ; 
 aad the latter, separating himself from the count, began the 
 war by ravaging the territories of his relation. 
 
 In the mean time Raymond reached Aries, and summoned 
 to council four of his personal friends, the Archbishop of Auch, 
 the Prior of the Hospital, the Abbot of Condom, and the Lord 
 of Rabestans. At his earnest entreaty, they agreed to set out 
 for Rome and negotiate his reconciUation with the pope, while 
 he remained at Aries, waiting impatiently for their return. 
 Their mission was successful, though the conditions imposed 
 
176 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 upon the count were very hard. Innocent a^eed, by treaty, 
 to receive Raymond into the bosom of the Church, as soon as 
 Ke should have proved his innocence of the murder of Peter of 
 Castehiau, upon the condition that he should, in the mean 
 time, as security, give up to the Church seven of his largest 
 and strongest castles. To these terms the count's envoys 
 agreed : the treaty was drawn up and signed ; an act of ab- 
 solution was expedited by the holy see ; and the envoys re- 
 turned to the count, accompanied by two commissioners on the 
 part of the pope, named Milo and Theodise, instructed to re- 
 ceive and hold the castles which were to be surrendered. 
 
 Hard as these terms were, Raymond received the envoys 
 joyfully, and agreed to fulfill the conditions ; but, if we are to 
 l)eUeve even Peter of Vaulx Cernay, the legate Milo had se- 
 cret and deceitful instructions from the pope to act entirely 
 under the directions of the Abbot of Citeaux, against whom 
 Raymond had already brought a charge of injustice and Yna- 
 levolence ; and, besides the seven castles, the surrender of 
 which had been agreed upon, Milo and Theodise, by the ad- 
 vice of the abbot and others, now demanded that the consuls 
 of the towns of Nismes, Avignon, and St. Giles should swear 
 that, if their lord the count refused to perform any of the com- 
 mands of the legate, they would hold themselves free from 
 their oath of homage toward him. 
 
 To this, also, the count consented ; and the castles were 
 given up into the hands of Theodise. The next act was, the 
 public penance and reconciliation of the count with the Church. 
 This was performed, apparently, in the beginning of the year 
 1209, in the great Church of St. Giles ; and there can be no 
 doubt that before it took place, Raymond had exculpated him- 
 self, to tl^e satisfaction of the legate, from all share in the 
 death of Peter of Castlenau ; for that was the distinct condi- 
 tion upon which the pope's promise of absolution had been 
 made. It must be remembered that, before the death of that 
 personage, Raymond had been excommunicated for other of- 
 fenses ; and, therefore, the public penance which he perfornjed 
 had naught to do with the assassination of the legate, and was 
 only intended for the glorification, of the Church of Rome, and 
 the abasement of a temporal prince beneath the sandal of the 
 monk. 
 
 On a day appointed, all the relics of the Church of St. Giles 
 were brought out into the porch, together with the host ; and 
 more than twenty archbishops and bishops assembled round 
 the legate at the door. Immediately after, the count pre- 
 
i 
 
 THE ALBIGENSES. 177 
 
 Bented himself in his shirt, and swore upon the relics and the 
 host to submit entirely to the holy Roman see. The legate 
 then threw a stole over the neck of the count, and leading 
 him thereby, as with a cord, conducted him to the grand altar, 
 striking him with a small cane, after which he received abso- 
 lution in form, and was considered as reconciled to the Church, 
 although he was certainly never forgiven. His castles were 
 still retained by the emissaries of the pope, although the pe- 
 riod for their restoration had arrived ; and it would appear 
 that he was required to join the crusade in person, and lead 
 the armies of the Church against the territories of his nephew. 
 
 Toward the end of summer in the same year, the crusaders 
 assembled at Lyons in enormous numbers. The Duke of 
 Burgundy, the Counts of Nevers, St. Paul, Auxerre, Poitiers, 
 Forez, and Bar sur Seine, with a number of bishops and arch- 
 bishops, and several of the greatest nobles of France, appeared 
 at the rendezvous ; but, before all the rest in zeal and fanati- 
 cism, was Simon, count of Montfort, F Amauryi sumamed the 
 Strong. These princes and prelates were followed by an 
 army, the strength of which it is impossible to estimate, some 
 historians stating that it numbered fifty thousand fighting 
 men, and others making it amount to five hundred thousand. 
 Let it be remarked, however, that this army varied contin- 
 ually in numbers, the- engagement of each man being only for 
 forty days, and large bodies falling away while other recruits 
 poured in. 
 
 The immense force collected soon began to march on to- 
 ward the city of Valence, menacing the territories of the Vis- 
 count de Beziers. That nobleman now became seriously 
 alarmed, and hastened to meet the legate at Montpellier, in 
 order, if possible, to avert the storm which menaced him. 
 The proud monk, however, who viewed this unhappy gentle- 
 man with peculiar ill-will, rejected his submission with con- 
 tempt ; and the viscount, driven to despair, retired to Beziers, 
 and called his friends and vassals to arras. They appeared 
 in considerable numbers ; and, with hope renewed, the vis- 
 count divided his forces into two parts ; and, leaving the most 
 experienced and best armed of the troops in Beziers, he retired 
 with the rest of his army to Carcassonne. The inhabitants 
 of Beziers, however, were highly indignant at his departure ; 
 and -the result proved that those he left in command were un- 
 worthy of his confidence. 
 
 H2 
 
}78 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 The richest and most beautiful district of France, perhaps 
 of the whole world, surrounds the town of Beziers. Within 
 a short distance of the sea, fertilized by the River Orbe, with 
 a warm valley filled with gardens, vineyards, and fields, fertile 
 in corn and in wine, and covered with plive-trees and mul- 
 berries, the whole scene is Hke the Garden of Eden, in the 
 midst of which, on the summit of a gentle hill, with the river 
 flowing at its foot, on one side commanding a view down the 
 bright valley, and on the other catching a sight of the distant 
 mountains, from the bosom of which the Orbe seems to pour 
 forth, stands the town of Beziers, crowning the whole. Such 
 is Beziers and its district now ; and such, or even richer, was 
 it when the army of the crusaders, moved by eager rapacity 
 and fierce fanaticism, poured into that beautiful valley pre- 
 pared to slaughter and destroy. 
 
 The anonymous cotemporary writer of the history of the^ 
 war, who seems to have written with great care and much 
 impartiality, declares that the army of the crusade was now 
 swelled to the number of three hundred thousand men ; but 
 he explains this immense assemblage, which no other historian 
 does. While the host was moving from Lyons and Montpel- 
 lier, he says, another great army was raised in the West, near 
 Agen, by the Count of Auvergne, with whom was associated 
 the Bishop of Bazas and the Archbishop of Bordeaux, with 
 two or three other prelates and noblemen. This force com- 
 menced its march through Quercy, in order to join the legate 
 before the attack on Beziers, and on the way took two strong 
 places named Puy Laroque and Chasseneuil. The first town 
 was found without a garrison, and was immediately burned 
 to the ground by the captors. The second had a strong cit- 
 adel well garrisoned by Gascons, who held out resolutely, and 
 in the end marched out, by capitulation, with arms and bag- 
 gage. As soon as they were gone, the lords and bishops en- 
 tered the town and commenced that course of atrocities which 
 rau through the whole crusade, burning every man and woman 
 whom they suspected of heresy. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 179 
 
 This duty of their religion having been performed, they 
 marched on and joined the army of the legate. This was not 
 the only re-enforcement, however, that his host received ; for 
 the Bishop of Puy had raised a still larger force, and advanced 
 with rapid marches, menacing the towns of Caussade and St. 
 Antonine. This bishop, however, loved money better than 
 blood ; and the two heretic places' purchased his abstinence 
 by a very considerable donation. The inhabitants of the town 
 of Villemur took fright at the reports from Chasseneuil and 
 Laroque, and retired from their city by moonlight, as the ar- 
 mies approached, setting fire to the town in many places, so 
 that it was entirely consumed. 
 
 As soon as it was known that the attack upon Beziers was 
 intended, the bishop of that place, Renault of Montpellier, 
 set out to meet the legate and intercede for the people of the 
 town. He obtained permission to endeavor to bring the in- 
 habitants to a treaty for the surrender of the place. The 
 garrison and the citizens refused boldly to yield without re- 
 sistance, and the bishop returned to the camp to communi- 
 cate the failure of his mission. The legate, on hearing their 
 resolution, took a very Christian oath, well suited to his char- 
 acter. He swore that he would not leave one stone upon 
 another in Beziers, but would give the town up to fire and 
 sword, sparing neither men, women, nor infants, and granting 
 quarter to none. The bishop then pointed out that there 
 were many Catholics in the town as well as heretics, and 
 asked how they were to be distinguished in such a terrible 
 execution. 
 
 " Kill all," replied the Abbot of Citeaux. " God fenows 
 his own." 
 
 The city was immediately invested and the tents pitched, 
 for every one expected that the siege would be long. Some 
 of the garrison, however, perceiving a knight ride vaunting] y 
 up to the very bridge over the Orbe, issued forth to meet him, 
 and he was hurled, dead, into the river. This brought on an 
 immediate assault of the walls. The immense multitude of 
 the crusaders overpowered all resistance. Ladders and planks 
 were brought forward ; the ditch was passed, the ramparts 
 scaled ; and the blood-thirsty multitude poured into the town. 
 " There took place," cries the historian, " the greatest massa- 
 cre that ever was seen in the whole world ; for they spared 
 neither old nor young, not even sucking infants. They put 
 them all to death." 
 
 As many of the unfortunate inhabitants as were able took 
 
180 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 refuge in the great Church of St. Nazaire ; and the priests 
 promised to ring the bells when the slaughter in the streets 
 had ceased. "But there came no sound of a bell in Beziers 
 that day ; for neither priest, though in his robes, nor clerk was 
 left alive. All were put to the sword ; not one escaped." 
 " The town was pillaged ; they set fire to it every where, so 
 that it was devastated and burned as we see it at present. 
 There was left nothing living within it." Such is the accounj; 
 of a steadfast Cathohc ; and well might he add, " It was a 
 cnjel vengeance I"* 
 
 From the ruins of Beziers, the host of the crusade advanced 
 upon Carcassonne, into which the young viscount had thrown 
 himself, and arrived under its walls on the day of St. Mary Mag- 
 dalen. According to the system of that day, Carcassonne was 
 strongly fortified ; the garrison was numerous, and composed 
 of veteran soldiers ; and the people of the place, strongly at- 
 tached to their lord and to the principles of the Albigenses, were 
 resolute in their resistance. Many assaults were given with- 
 out success. The suburbs were taken and destroyed ; and 
 yet no progress seemed to have been made. Sorties innumer- 
 able taught the besieging force the courage and determination 
 of their adversaries ; and the young viscount himself was ever 
 the first in the field and upon the walls. It was now the end 
 of August, however ; the weather was intolerably hot ; drought 
 soon began to be felt in Carcassonne. An epidemic disease 
 broke out, but the people declared that they would sooner 
 perish by the terrible death of thirst than submit to the piti- 
 less legate, and for many days the attack and defense were 
 continued without much advantage on either side. 
 
 The superior lordship of Carcassonne was, we are assured, 
 in Peter, king of Aragon, nearly alHed to the young viscount. 
 That monarch, therefore, hastened, as soon as he heard of the 
 siege, to interpose between the legate and his relation ; and, 
 announcing that he did not intend to aid either party, was 
 well received in the camp of the crusaders. All that he could 
 
 * I have taken my account of the storming of Bezioi-s from tlie anony- 
 mous historian of the wars of the Albigenses. He was evidently a co- 
 temporary, as M. Guizot shows, and though not so copious in his dates 
 aa some others, more impartial, more sincere, and in many respects 
 better informed. Peter of Vaulx Cernay is full of errors as to thid part 
 of the history, as well as of concealments of truth. Ho says that Be- 
 ziers was taken on the day of St. Mary Magdalen, and that the slaughter 
 took place in her church. It was taken several days before ; and there 
 never was a church dedicated to her in the town. The great church 
 was that of St. Nazaire, and the other that of St. Felix. He apparently 
 confounds the capture of Beziers with the siege of Carcassonne. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 181 
 
 obtain from the council, however, was an offer to allow the 
 viscount to march out with twelve of his companions, their 
 arms and baggage, provided he left the city and its inhabit- 
 ants to surrender at discretion. This offer was rejected by 
 the young noblemen with honest indignation ; and the king, 
 applauding his resolution, left him to make the best defense 
 he could. 
 
 The assault was renewed without success ; and the legate, 
 it would appear, then had recourse to cunning where force had 
 failed. The succeeding transactions are very dark, and the 
 statements very different ; but I can not ^t faith in the ac- 
 counts of Peter of Vaulx Cernay, whose insincerity is mani- 
 fest. He says that a capitulation was entered into, by which 
 the people were to be allowed to issue forth stripped to the 
 shirt, while the viscount was to remain a prisoner in the hands 
 of the crusaders. By his own accomit, however, very slight 
 advantages had been gained in the attack of the town ; and 
 the statement of the anonymous historian of the war is much 
 more credible. In the narrative of the latter, it is declared 
 that a treacherous envoy was sent to negotiate with the young 
 leader, and pledged his word to the viscount that, if he would 
 visit the legate, he should be permitted to return in safety. 
 No sooner, however, had Raymond Roger presented himself 
 in the camp, than he was arrested ; and the people of Car- 
 cassonne, finding that their lord had been made a prisoner, 
 with many of his best officers, escaped from the town during 
 the night by a subterraneous passage, which led them beyond 
 the camp of the besieging army. 
 
 This historian shows an intimate local knowledge of all the 
 places he mentions, which is quite wanting in the writings of 
 both Vaulx Cernay and Puy Laurens. His style is simple 
 and his impartiality extraordinary, considering his decided 
 condemnation of the tenets of Albi and his admiration for St. 
 Dominic. There are no miracles, no excuses for the excesses 
 of one party or the other, and none of that scandalous sup- 
 pression of the truth which, in Peter of Vaulx Cernay, is very 
 remarkable, and amounts to actual falsehood. Upon his state- 
 ments, therefore, we may rely with greater confidence than 
 upon those of any other writer on these wars ; and I entertain 
 no doubt that his account of the fall of Carcassonne is sub- 
 stantially correct. 
 
 Certain it is, that the young Viscount of Beziers fell into 
 the hands of the crusaders, and that he died in prison not long 
 afterward. It was very generally rumored that his death was 
 
182 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 violent, and a clear and impartial writer of modern times 
 seems to think that there can be no doubt of the fact. The 
 historian whom I have quoted above, however, distinctly de- 
 nies that such was the case, though he notices the rumor, and 
 asserts that the viscount died of dysenteiy, then very preva- 
 lent in the country. 
 
 In the mean time, a question was agitated, which had never 
 yet presented itself to the crusaders. The possession of Car- 
 cassonne and Beziers, with several smaller places which ha(^ 
 surrendered, gave the command of the whole viscounty to the 
 leaders of the host. What was to be done with this territory, 
 comprising one of the richest and most beautiful districts in 
 France ? The movable plunder in the two cities had been 
 great ; but the -possession of the viscounty would imply oner- 
 ous duties ; and the legate and council of the crusade offered 
 the territory to the Count of Nevers, and then to the Duke 
 of Burgundy, in vain. Both those princes were anxious to 
 return as speedily as possible to their own lands ; and, on their 
 refusal, the viscounty was ofi^ered to Simon, count de Mont- 
 fort, who had greatly distinguished himself in the various at- 
 tacks upon Carcassonne, and had also won honors in the Holy 
 Land. He was, indeed, in all respects a very remarkable 
 man, and sprung from a race, active, vigilant, and politic, 
 which at various times furnished many an illustrious name to 
 the roll of fame. He was above the ordinary height of men, 
 with a handsome and commanding countenance, broad chest, 
 long arms, and powerful limbs, combining the utmost strength 
 and agility. To the corporeal qualities of the knight he add- 
 ed gifts of mind and peculiarities of character, which seemed 
 to point him out for the station he was destined to fill. Ho , 
 was firm, shrewd, persevering, dauntless in circumstances of -\ 
 danger, fiery and yet thoughtful in battle. He was, more-l 
 over, ambitious, deceitful, and cruel, full of religious fanaticism, \ 
 and utterly unscrupulous of the means which he took to ad- 
 vance either his personal interests, or to insure success to the 
 cause he had espoused. 
 
 Such was the man to whofn the viscounty of Beziers was 
 now offered. He afi^ected, at first, to decline, as the other great 
 nobles had done ; but means were speedily found to induce 
 him to withdraw his refusal, though not, we are assured by 
 Peter of Vaulx Cernay, till the legate had actually gone upon 
 his knees to prevail upon him to accede. I do not mean to 
 Bay that I believe this story ; but it is in character vnth the 
 general extravagance of that historian's statements. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 183 
 
 The was now greatly changed its aspect. Its reHgious 
 tinge was not, indeed, altogether lost ; but the personal ambi- 
 tion of Simon de Montfort infused into it a new spirit. It 
 may henceforth be looked upon as a war for his aggrandize- 
 ment, in which he fought the neighboring princes with the 
 arms of religious fanatics, and encouraged in others the super- 
 stitious zeal which he himself felt, as much to advance his 
 own interests as to insure the triumph of the Church. 
 
 It is a very common thing for robbers to quarrel about the 
 spoil. 
 
 The crusading nobles could be looked upon only as brigands, 
 although they bore a cross upon the breast. They had at- 
 tacked a nobleman, again^ whom no crime was proved. 
 They had pillaged his territories, taken his cities, and slaugh- 
 tered his subjects by thousands, without discrimination or in- 
 vestigation, and without any lawful authority. Disputes no\v 
 arose among them ; and it is clear that the gift — made, in 
 reality, by the legate — of the viscounty of Beziers to the Count 
 de Montfort, was the immediate cause of these dissensions. 
 The Count of Nevers, the Duke of Burgundy, and an im- 
 mense number of the crusading nobles, announced theininten- 
 tion of immediately abandoning the crusade ; and the dis- 
 putes between Nevers and Burgundy went so far, that great 
 fears were entertained lest the two princes should kill each 
 other in the camp. De Montfort and the legate, frightened 
 at the defection, labored earnestly to persuade their compan- 
 ions to remain, and were successful with the Duke of Bur- 
 gundy and some of the nobles of Germany and Lorraine. 
 The Count of Nevers, however, and a great number of others, 
 marched away, instigated, we are assured, by the devil, which 
 we have no reason to doubt ; for as the devil certainly brought 
 them there, it is very probable that he took them back again. 
 
 The Duke of Burgundy and the Count de Montfort, with 
 the forces which still remained, marched out of Carcassonne, 
 after a few days' rest, in order to obtain possession of the towns 
 and castles of the viscounty, which still held out against 
 them. Some of these were of considerable importance, as 
 Minerve, Termes, and Cabaret ; but many other small towns, 
 terrified at the excesses committed by the crusaders, submit- 
 ted at once without resistance ; and others were abandoned 
 by their inhabitants, and were found vacant on the approach 
 of the army. Such was the case wdth Fanjaux, where St. 
 Dominic had established himself. 
 
 The inhabitants of Castres invited De Montfort to their 
 
184 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 town ; but he could not set his foot in any place without dis- 
 playing the spirit of persecution which animated him ; and a 
 very fair specimen of its operation is afforded by a transaction 
 which took place in Castres. Among other heretics brought 
 before the count and the legate, were a teacher and his neo- 
 phyte. The unhappy young man, seeing the preparations 
 lor burning himself and his master, declared his readiness to 
 abandon the doctrines which he had not yet fully imbibed, 
 and submit himself entirely to the Church. A great dispute 
 then arose between the crusaders present, as to whether he 
 ought to be burned or not ; and it was decided by De Mont- 
 fort in favor of the burning, lor the following reasons. " If 
 he be really converted," said the religious count, " the lire 
 will serve as an expiation for his sins; and, if he i§ deceiving 
 us, it will be a just punishment." 
 
 The young man, however, was saved by a miracle, we are 
 seriously informed, the flame which consumed his companion 
 only serving to burn the cords which bound him and the tips 
 of his fingers. This, if it was true, and if it was miraculous, 
 clearly showed that Heaven did not approve of the summary 
 proceedings of the Count de Montfort. 
 
 Before the end of the year, De Montfort and the legate, 
 while still aided by the Duke of Burgundy, carried on their 
 excursions on various sides, trenching on the territories of the 
 Count of Toulouse in one direction, and on those of the Count 
 of Foix on the other. It would be tedious to tell all the places 
 they attacked and took, or of which they obtained possession 
 by menaces ; but it is quite clear that they did not confine 
 their operations to the viscounty of Beziers. 
 
 Raymond of Toulouse, in order to save his territories from' 
 spoliation, had been driven by the Church to take the cross, 
 and to lead the armies of the legate against the territories of 
 his nephew. Passion, also, might have some share in his con- 
 duct ; for, as I have shown before, the young viscount had 
 commenced by levying war upon his uncle. The count, how 
 ever, had soon cause to regret the fatal mistake he had made. 
 The only chance of security left to any of the suspected princes, 
 after the preaching of the crusade, lay in firm combination 
 for resistainee ; and they ought to have known that no such 
 things as mercy or justice exist in a religious war. 
 
 After the fall of Carcassonne, it appears that, trusting to 
 the absolution of the pope, and suspecting the ambition of De 
 Montfort, Raymond proposed to the latter, when he had ac- 
 cepted the viBCOunty of Beziers, to dismantle the fortresses 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 185 
 
 upon the frontier of that district, and upon that, of his own 
 county of Toulouse, justly observing that otherwise -the gar- 
 risons might enter into disputes, which might lead to serious 
 consequences. He even proceeded to act upon this plan, and 
 threw down several castles of his own on the marches of Tou- 
 louse and Beziers. 
 
 We do not find, however, that De Montfort did the same ; 
 and his invasion of territories belonging either to Raymond 
 himself or to his neighbors and alHes, showed the unfortunate 
 prince what he was to expect when the leader of the crusade 
 was firmly estabhshed in his new possessions. From Carcas- 
 sonne, Raymond had retired to Toulouse, watching the pro- 
 ceedings of De Montfort and the legate with doubt and jeal- 
 ousy ; but his ambitious neighbor soon displayed his purposes 
 in a more clear and definite manner. Vague charges of her- 
 esy were spread abroad regarding the Count of Foix ; and 
 hardly was De Montfort firmly established in possession of the 
 viscounty, ere he wrote imperious letters to both the neigh- 
 boring counts, telling them, that if they did not immediately 
 come to some accommodation with him, he was determined to 
 fall upon them. Letters to the same effect, it would appear, 
 were written to the inhabitants of Toulouse, in which city De 
 Montfort had many agents among the priesthood. 
 
 The Count of Toulouse replied, that as to himself, his peo- 
 ple, and his territory, he had no question to settle with the 
 Count de Montfort, or the legate either ; that he had made 
 his peace with the pope, and had shown the terms, agreed 
 upon in writing, to the legate, with whom he did not propose 
 to enter into any other arrangements than those which he had 
 made with the sovereign pontiff'. He bade the messengers, 
 also, inform the count and the legate that, since they seemed 
 determined to harass him and strip him of his territories, he 
 was determined to go in person to Rome, and lay his cause 
 before the holy father. Innocent. 
 
 The Count of Foix was apparently less resolute than even 
 Raymond of Toulouse. He agreed to give up his youngest 
 son to De Montfort, till such time as he should have justified 
 himself from the chajge of heresy brought against him by the 
 legate. 
 
 It would appear, however, that Raymond's determination 
 to visit Rome gave great uneasiness to his enemies ; and fresh 
 difficulties and dangers were preparing for De Montfort, who 
 had yet to learn how slippery are the steps of ambition's lad- 
 der, and how short-lived is the effect of terror in producing 
 
186 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 submission. Before the end of the year, De Montfort had 
 possessed himself of Alzonne, Fanjaux, Castres, Lombers, Pa- 
 miers, Saverdun, and Mirepoix, and carried his arms even to 
 Albi itself On the other hand, he had in vain besieged Ca- 
 baret ; but he had gained Saisac, had bought the surrender 
 of Limoux, and laid siege to Preissan, a town belonging to 
 the Count de Foix, which, after it had made a gallant resist- 
 ance, that nobleman weakly surrendered to him, at the same 
 time that he gave his son as a hostage. In all these places 
 the most horrible cruelties were committed by order of the 
 count and the legate. Multitudes of men, women, and chil- 
 dren were burned alive or hanged ; and the records which 
 we find in different Roman Catholic authors are such as the 
 following : 
 
 " He took several castles which resisted the holy Church, 
 and hanged, of good right, many of their inhabitants upon 
 gibbets, which they had well merited."* 
 
 " The besieged, wearied out with a long siege, having fled 
 during the night, were stopped by our guards, who cut the 
 throats of as many as they could find."t 
 
 " The Count Simon, having thus taken the castle, caused 
 the above-named Aimeri, a notable nobleman, to be hanged 
 upon a gibbet ; also a small immber of knights. The other 
 nobles, with some who had mixed among them in the hope 
 that the knights would be spared, to the number of about 
 eighty, were put to the sword ; and, lastly, some three hund- 
 red heretics, burned in this world, were thus given over by 
 him to the eternal fire ; and Guiraude, the lady of the chat- 
 eau, cast into a well, was there crushed down with stones. "| 
 
 " Und^ a color of heresy, they (the legate and the Count 
 de Montfort) pillaged and destroyed the poor country, so that 
 it was sad to see all the evil and the damage that they did."^ 
 
 Oppression and butchery had passed the point at which 
 they excite fear, and had roused the spirit of vengeance and 
 resistance. The first check received by De Montfort came 
 from the King of Aragon. That prince held, under homage 
 to the King of France, or, as some contend, without such 
 homage, the superior lordship of Carcassonne and MontpeUier ; 
 and feeling that the donation of the former city by the legate 
 and the council of crusaders was invalid without the recog- 
 
 * Peter of Vaulx Cemay. t William of Nangis. 
 
 t Puy Laurens. 
 
 $ History of the War of the Albigenses. Dona Vaiwotte, Histoire de 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 187 
 
 nition of the King of Aragon, De Montfort was exceedingly 
 anxious to bo admitted to do homage for his new possessions. 
 Peter of Aragon met him at Narbonne, and even journeyed 
 with him in a friendly manner to Montpellier ; but he would 
 in no inanner recognize De Montfort's title to the viscounty, 
 and positively refused to receive him to homage. 
 
 The count's absence from Carcassonne, in the mean time, 
 had been the signal for a general revolt in the territories of 
 Beziers ; and even some of his most trusted friends had risen 
 against him. The Duke of Burgundy had retired from the 
 crusade ; winter was coming on ; and the troops, on which 
 he had relied, had, for the most part, abandoned him to return 
 to their own homes. The people of the country had taken 
 advahtage of the favorable moment. Castres and Lombers 
 had risen against the garrisons which De Montfort had left in 
 those places, had made prisoners both soldiers and knights, and 
 were prepared for vigorous resistance. The Count of Foix, 
 seeing the daily encroachments of the adversary, had broken 
 the truce, retaken the Castle of Preissan, and made an attack 
 upon Fanjaux. Amaury, lord of Mont Real, whose town had 
 fallen into the hands of De Montfort, it would appear, by 
 treachery, regained possession of the place. The two com- 
 manders, whom the count had left in Saissac, in making a 
 treacherous attack upon Cabaret, a fortress belonging to the 
 Count of Toulouse, were surprised by the old captain of the 
 latter place, named Peter Roger,* with a force of only forty 
 men, and completely defeated. Only one man, it is said, es- 
 caped alive from the field ; and only one, Bouchard de Mar- 
 ly, was made prisoner. Two brother knights, Amaury and 
 William of Pissiac, were besieged in a castle near Carcas- 
 sonne, and made prisoners ; and one of De Montfort's favorite 
 officers, named Gerard de Pepieux, had revolted against him, 
 in consequence of a private quarrel, and displayed more active 
 animosity toward him than any other of his enemies. 
 
 Peter of Vaulx Cernay conceals the cause of this noble- 
 man's indignation ; but we find from other sources that some 
 of the immediate attendants of De Montfort had murdered a 
 dear friend of Gerard de Pepieux ; and there is reason to sup- 
 pose that the count at first refused to do justice upon them, 
 though he afterward, in the same humane spirit which char- 
 acterized all his actions, seized upon the actual murderer and 
 caused him to be buried alive. However that might be, De 
 Pepieux, gathering as many men together as he could, at- 
 * He was a relation of the Viscount de Beziers. 
 
188 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 tacked the Castle of Puiserguier, within two leagues of Be- 
 ziers, took it, and, made prisoners of all the garrison. We are 
 assured, upon very doubtful authority, that he promised the . 
 knights who were there, not only to spare their lives, but to 
 convey, them in safety to Narbonne. The count, however,- 
 hastened with his forces toward the place, in the hope of re- 
 covering it before Gerard was prepared. De Pepieux, brought 
 up in a school of cruelty, the lessons of which he had learned 
 too well, cast all the common prisoners into the ditch of the 
 tower, and threw straw, fire, and stones upon them. He then 
 retreated to Minerve, taking two knights prisoners with him ; 
 and, immediately after his arrival, he put out their eyes, cut 
 off their noses, ears, and upper lips, and turned them out in 
 this state to find their way back to De Montfort. Such was 
 ; the lamentable state of the count's affairs toward the close of 
 the year 1209. 
 
 Hitherto the Count of Toulouse had taken no active part 
 in opposition to De Montfort and the legate, although they 
 had evidently encroached upon his territories, and sought pre- 
 texts of quarrel against him. Their intention of stripping 
 him of his lands, however, was so evident that he proceeded 
 in haste to execute his resolution, not only of seeking justice 
 from the pope, but of demanding in person aid from his friends 
 and allies. He accordingly set out for the court of Philip 
 Augustus, who had as yet afforded no assistance to the crusa- 
 ders, and on whom their near relationship gave some claim to 
 Raymond of Toulouse. The count was received with great 
 kindness by the king, with whom he fouud many of those who 
 had joined in the crusade. The Duke of Burgundy, the Count 
 of Ncvers, and the Dowager Countess of Champagne, sister 
 of his decea.sed wife, were present ; and from the latter he 
 met with every mark of affection and regard. It does not 
 appear that Philip of France absolutely promised him any as- 
 sistance ; but his friendship and countenance was in itself of 
 use ; and it is probable that the report made by Raymond, 
 and confirmed by the other crusading princes, of the conduct 
 of De Montfort and the legato, roused the jealousy, if not the 
 anger of the French monarch. Such feelings might, perhaps, 
 have been cultivated profitably by the Count of Toulouse ; 
 but he shortly after committed a mistake which lost to him 
 forever the favor of Pliilip Augustus. 
 
 Furnished with letters to the pope, from the King of France 
 and the crusading princes, Raymond then hurried to Rome, 
 taking with him one of the chief men (called Capi*'^"'..) of 
 
THE A1.BIGENSES. 189 
 
 Toulouse, to bear witness of his conduct since liis reconcilia- 
 tion with the Church. It would appear that some days 
 passed before he could obtain admission to the sovereign pon- 
 tilf; for De Montfort and the legate, as politic as they were 
 cruel, maintained a man named Robert of Mauvoisin as their 
 agent at the court of Rome, one of whose duties was to keep 
 up every sort of evil impression in the mind of the pope against 
 the unfortunate Count of Toulouse. At length, however, an 
 audience was granted ; and Raymond presented himself be- 
 fore Innocent and the cardinals, justified his conduct at large, 
 appealed to the testimony of the witness he had brought wdth 
 him, and warmly accused the legate and the Count of Mont- 
 fort of fabricating calumnies to cover the injustice of their 
 ambitious proceedings. 
 
 The appeal was not made in vain. Innocent himself was 
 moved, and his knowledge of human nature convinced him 
 there was much truth in the simple statement of the count. 
 How far he went in judging his cause is somewhat doubtful ; 
 but it is stated by a cotemporary historian that he investiga- 
 ted the case fully, personally heard the count in confession, 
 gave him absolution in the most formal manner, and, on his 
 departure, presented him with a ring from his own hand, and 
 a rich mantle of great value. 
 
 The companions and confederates of the legate state these 
 transactions very differently ; but as it is clear that De Mont- 
 fort and the Abbot of Citeaux determined not to act upon any 
 instructions from Rome in favor of the Count of Toulouse, 
 and misinterpreted the letters they received, it was very nat- 
 ural that their scribe should be instructed to put forth their 
 view of the case. It is clear, however, beyond all doubt, that 
 Innocent wrote monitory letters to the legate, warning him 
 not to begin hostilities against the Count of Toulouse, to pro- 
 ceed with greater circumspection in his war against the her- 
 etics, and to consult the French nobility and prelates as to the 
 best means of accomplishing the pacification of the country. 
 He also expressed his disbelief of the charges brought against 
 the Count of Toulouse, and clearly showed a favorable dispo- 
 sition toM^ard him. 
 
 On his way back from Rome, Raymond committed one of 
 the many indiscreet acts with which his memory is charged, 
 and went to visit the Emperor Otho for the purpose of request- 
 ing succor and support Irom him. It is true that Otho v/as 
 his superior lord for the county of the Venaissin, and was con- 
 sequently bound to give him assistance in case of an attack 
 
190 DARK SCEiNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 being made upon that territory. Raymond might also think 
 that no blame could be attributed to him for visiting the neph- 
 ew of his deceased wife Joan. But Philip Augustus was the 
 personal and inveterate enemy of the emperor ; and Otho had 
 already entered upon a course of hostilities against the Roman 
 see, which led to his excommunication, by a council held at 
 Rome in November of the same year. This imprudent step 
 deprived Raymond of all countenance from the King of 
 France ; and, although it could not annul the pope's absolu- 
 tion, it certainly rendered that pontiff indifferent, if not hos- 
 tite, in the subsequent dissensions between the count and his 
 enemies. 
 
 To the admonitions of the pope, the legate and the Count 
 de Montfbrt seem to have paid very little attention. They 
 published every where that the pope had repelled, and treated 
 with scorn and contempt, the appeal of the Count of Toulouse. 
 They induced the pope's legates in Provence to reject the ap- 
 plication of the count to purge himself of all the crimes of 
 which they accused him, in a solemn council held at St. Giles, 
 and prompted them to refuse to deUver up to him the seven 
 strong places which he had given as security.* 
 
 * To give the reader some idea of the infamous knavery of these men, 
 I will state the particulars of this transaction as they are given by their 
 great advocate, Peter of Vaulx Cemay, one of the actors in the crusade, 
 and nephew to one only second in cunning and fanaticism to the Abbot 
 pf Citeaux. After stating that the Count of Toulouse, on his return 
 from Rome, had demanded, according to his agreement with the pope, 
 to purge himself of the imputation of having murdered Peter of Castel- 
 nau, and of entertaining heretical opinions before the Bishop of Rieg 
 (sometimes written Reggip) and the pope's envoy Theodise, he goes on 
 to say, that Theodise, coming to Toulouse, had a secret conference with 
 the Abbot of Citeaux, touchmg the admission of the count so to clear 
 himself. " Now Master Theodise," he continues, " a man full of circum- 
 spection, and foresight, and solicitude for the aflfairs of God, desired 
 nothing so much as to be able lawfully to prevent the count from jasti- 
 fying himself as had been prescribed to him, and he searched for all 
 iiiequs of doing so." The historian then goes on to say that Theodiso 
 saw that, if the count were permitted to do so, it would be all over with 
 the Church in those countries. " While he tormented himself with 
 these apprehensions, and deliberated thereon, the Lord opened to him 
 a way ofgetting out of the difficulty, by hinting to him in what manner 
 ho might refuse to allow the count to ju-stify himself. Accordingly, he 
 had recourse to letters of our lord the ^po, in which, among other 
 tilings, the sovereign pontiif said, ' We will that the Count of Toulouse 
 should fulfill our commands.' Now there were several laid upon tho 
 count, such as to expel the heretics from his territories, to abandon the 
 new tolls of which we have spoken, and many other injunctions which 
 ho hru\ failed to accomplish.' We are then informed that, having ar- 
 ranged all this plan with hi* iniquitous companions, Theodise and the 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. IDl 
 
 This council was held toward the end of September, 1210; 
 but, in the mean time, various important events had taken . 
 place in Languedoc, which it is necessary to notice. 
 
 The influx of crusaders had totally ceased during the win- 
 ter, and Simon de Montfort was unable to do any thing of- 
 importance. His forces, however, always formed the nucleus 
 of an army which was sure to be swollen by immense numbers 
 of volunteers as soon as the fine weather set in. The first 
 auxiliaries which arrived in the spring of 1210 were brought 
 to him by his wife. Many more followed, and the war was 
 immediately renewed. Several small places were recovered 
 which had been retaken by De Montfort's adversaries during 
 the autumn of the preceding year, and the same horrible cru- 
 elties were exercised which disgraced his arms wherever they 
 were successful. The Castle of Brom was taken after a siege 
 of three days, and a hundred soldiers who w^ere found therein 
 were shockingly mutilated by the orders of this sanguinary 
 barbarian. Their noses were cut ofi', and the eyes of all of 
 them torn out, with one exception. A single individual had 
 one eye left uninjured, in order that he might lead the others 
 to the town of Cabaret. 
 
 De Montfort's flatterer, Vaulx Cernay, declares that he was 
 the mildest of men ; but the horrible spirit which animated 
 the crusaders is more plainly shown by their awful blasphe- 
 mies than even by the excesses they committed. We meet 
 continually such expressions as " Christ and the Count de 
 Montfort," " God and Simon de Montfort ;" and, after narra- 
 ting the brutal act of cruelty I have just mentioned, De Vaulx 
 Cernay proceeds to say, " From that moment the Lord, w^ho 
 seemed to have gone to sleep for a little, waking up to the 
 assistance of his servants, showed manifestly that he was act- 
 ing on our side." 
 
 The war was next carried on furiously against the Count 
 of Foix, but apparently without success. The whole country, 
 however, was ravaged by the forces of De Montfort and the 
 
 Bishop of Rieg, " iu order not to appear to molest the count or do him 
 wrong, held a council at the town of St. Giles, and allowed him to ap- 
 pear to clear himself; but the moment that Raymond began to provo 
 his innocence of the death of the legate and of the crime of heresy, 
 Theodise stopped him, saying that his justification could not be heard, 
 inasmuch as he had in no degree accomplished what had been enjoin- 
 ed him, according to the orders of the sovereign pontiff." The count, 
 we are assured, was so moved by the incessant persecution of these 
 men, that he actually shed tears ; and the council proceeded, in defiance 
 of the pope's absolution, to excommunicate him ou the spot. 
 
 k 
 
192 DARK-SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 •^• 
 legate, till a truce was obtained for the Count of Poix by the 
 intercession of the King of Aragon. 
 
 One of the most remarkable events of the campaign of 1210 
 was the siege of the strong town and castle of Minerve, situ- 
 ated in the gorges of the Pyrenees, in a situation almost im- 
 pregnable by any of the means then known. The attack be- 
 gan toward the end of June, in the midst of the great heats 
 of summer ; but the military engines of De Montfort and his 
 companions did little damage to the fortifications, and the siege 
 promised to be long and troublesome, especially as the garri- 
 son and the commander were known to be men of courage 
 and resolution. Unfortunately, however, they had been want- 
 ing in forethought. Water and provisions failed, and William 
 of Minerve proposed to capitulate. He went out himself, un- 
 der a safe-conduct, to confer with De Montfort ; and it would 
 appear the terms of a treaty were actually arranged, when the 
 legate, the Abbot of Citeaux, mterfered, and all that followed 
 is enveloped in darkness and falsehood. 
 
 We discover, however, from the admissions of Vaulx Cernay, 
 that a base treachery was practiced. He admits that the 
 Abbot of Citeaux desired very much that those whom he calls 
 the enemies of Christ should be put to death, and he goes on 
 to say, " Thinking, then, in what manner he could get rid of 
 the compromise which had been entered into between the 
 count and the said William, he ordered each of them to draw 
 up the capitulation in writing ; and he did this, in order that, 
 if the conditions put down by one displeased the other, they 
 might go back from the engagements they had made." 
 
 This detestable piece of knavery succeeded. De Montfort, 
 probably, prompted by the legate, refused to acknowledge the 
 terms put down by his adversary, and told him to go back and 
 defend himself as best he could. The Abbot of Citeaux then 
 dictated other terms, by which it was agreed that all per- 
 sons should be allowed to leave the fortress in safety, upon 
 condition that the heretics renounced their heresy, and sub- 
 mitted entirely to the Romish Church. William of Minerve 
 had no choice but to accept these conditions, or to return and 
 defend a town where the people were dying in crowds for want 
 of water. 
 
 The place accordingly surrendered, and then the slaughter 
 began. The choice of apostasy or fire was given to the un- 
 fortunate Albigenses. A great number preferred martyrdom 
 to the renunciation of their faith. An immense fire was pre- 
 pared before the gates of the citadel, and the Count de Mont- 
 
 i 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 193 
 
 fort and the monks exhorted the people to be converted, and 
 live. According to the testimony of one of their most invet- 
 erate enemies, these exhortations had no effect. "Neither 
 was there any need, in truth," says the monkish writer, "for 
 our people to carry them to the fire ; for, obstinate in their 
 wickedness, all cast themselves joyfully into the flames." 
 
 It appears that there were many women among them ; and 
 three of these were saved, actually out of the fire, by a lady 
 who was with the crusading host. A hundred and eighty, or 
 more, were thus burned altogether. , ' 
 
 The next siege undertaken was that of the town of Termes ; 
 and during the operations several large bodies of crusaders 
 arrived to swell the army of De Montfort, among whom were 
 the Bishops of Chartres and Beauvais, and the Counts 'of 
 Dreux and Ponthieu, together with a large party of Bretons. 
 Notwithstanding a gallant defense, and the constant efforts of 
 the garrison of Cabaret to assist their companions in Termes, 
 the garrison was at length reduced to such a state of distress, 
 both by the engines of the enemy and the want of water, that 
 the commander saw it would be impossible to hold out much 
 longer. In the mean time, however, violent disputes broke 
 out among the crusaders ; and the Counts of Ponthieu and 
 Dreux, with the Bishop of Beauvais, retired from the camp of 
 De Montibrt, in spite of every remonstrance. Before this 
 time, however, the garrison had commenced a parley with the 
 besiegers ; but a great quantity of rain falling in the night re- 
 vived their courage, and they soon perceived that the number 
 of assailants was greatly diminished. Almost any terms were 
 now offered to them ; but the Bishop of Chartres also depart- 
 ed, and De Montfort was left with the Bretons, a body of Ger- 
 mans, and his own troops to carry on the siege. 
 
 The intemperance of" the people of the garrison, however, 
 changed a blessing into a curse. The unexpected supply of 
 water seemed to them inexhaustible ; and, quenching their 
 thirst with large draughts, they brought on a pestilential dysen- 
 tery, of which so many died that the rest took flight and aban- 
 doned the place during the night, retreating across the mount- 
 ains into Catalonia. The greater part escaped ; but the com- 
 mander of the place, named Raymond de Termes, foolishly 
 returned, when almost in safety, remembering that he had left 
 some valuables behind him, and fell into the hands of the 
 Count de Montfort, who, contrary to his usual custom, con- 
 tented himself with keeping him in captivity. 
 
 The fall of Termes and Minerve, two of the strongest places 
 
194 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 in the whole district, brought about the surrender, withotrt 
 bloodshed, of many other castles and towns, so that De Mont- 
 ibrt and the legate were once more in possession of the whole 
 viscounty of Beziers, a large part of the diocese of Albi, and a 
 portion of the county of Foix. Many excursions were made 
 in different directions by De Montfort and his partisans, who 
 went about the country, to use an expression of his celebrated 
 historian, " burning innumerable heretics with great joy and 
 satisfaction." 
 
 It is to be remarked, that during all this time the Count 
 of Toulouse was not only an obedient son of the Church, sub- 
 mitting to its most iniquitous exactions without other recourse 
 than an appeal to the pope, but also was on terms of nominal 
 alliance with De Montfort and the legate, endeavoring to avert 
 the execution of their purposes against his territories by any 
 means rather than by arms. In these transactions he showed, 
 indeed, great weakness ; and although he knew his enemies, 
 was well aware of their falsehood and treachery, and clearly 
 saw their ultimate purposes (wliich were, indeed, but too evi- 
 dent), he nevertheless did many things to conciliate them, 
 and at one time placed his capital almost at their command. 
 This was brought about, it would appear, by the intrigues of 
 one of the most cunning, deceitful, and treacherous of the 
 Romish prelates, Fulk, bishop of Toulouse, whom the historian 
 of the war, though a steadfast Catholic himself, does not scruple 
 more than once to call "the accursed bishop." 
 
 Shortly after Raymond's return from Rome, buoyed up with 
 hopes by the pope's reception and the absolution he had receiv- 
 ed, he gave way to his natural hghtness and gayety of char- 
 acter, and yielded himself with little reserve to the guidance 
 of the bishop, who easily persuaded him that some new con- 
 cession to the legate, which would give him security against 
 the heretics, was all that was needful to turn away his malevo- 
 lence, and render the count and himself the most perfect friend* 
 in the world. De Montfort and the legate were brought to 
 Toulouse for a day or two, were splendidly entertained by the 
 count ; and in the end the legate declared, we are informed, 
 that not only would ho be perfectly satisfied with the sincerity 
 of the count, but would do every thing in his power to defend 
 him against all enemies, if he would but put him in posses- 
 sion of the Castle of Narbonnois, the strongest defense of Tou- 
 louse. The count, without consulting any one, and perhaps 
 under the influence of wine, consented to this proposal, and 
 gave up the castle to his enemy, the legate, who immediately 
 
THEALBIGBNSES. 195 
 
 took possession, and placed a garrison therein, much to the 
 horror and indignation of the people of Toulouse. 
 
 The date of this act I can not clearly discover; but it prob- 
 ably took place some time previous to the Council of St. Giles. 
 
 To the after-conduct of the Bishop of Toulouse, I must re- 
 fer presently ; but, in the mean time, it will be needful to fol- 
 low the proceedings of the count himself till such time as he 
 was actually driven to take arms in his own defense. 
 
 More than one meeting, it would appear, took place be- 
 tween Raymond and the legate of a private and informal 
 character ; and we find from a letter of the citizens of Tou- 
 louse to the King of Aragon, that at one of these conferences, 
 to which the count had gone at the express invitation of the 
 legate, De Montfort fell upon him with a body of armed men 
 and endeavored to take him prisoner, chasing him for the dis- 
 tance of more than a league. 
 
 -The King of Aragon interposed more than once in order to 
 bring about peace. Another council was held at Narbonnc 
 early in 1211, where nothing was decided, the legate offering 
 to restore to the count all those possessions which had been 
 unjustly detained from him, but upon conditions the exact 
 nature of which we do not know, but which must have been 
 very severe, for the citizens of Toulouse informed the King of 
 Aragon that their count had offered to put the whole of his 
 territories in the power of the legate, with the exception of - 
 Toulouse ; life, lands, and the descent of his property to his 
 children being guaranteed to him by the Church. This, how- 
 ever, was refused by the legate. Certain it is, the Coun- 
 cil of Narbonne produced no result ; and Raymond set off for 
 his own territories in haste, fearing for his personal safety. 
 
 As soon as the legate found that he was gone, he dispatched 
 messengers after him, and also letters to the King of Aragon, 
 commanding them both, in a somewhat haughty tone, to pre- 
 sent themselves at Aries, where he intended to hold another 
 council. Both the princes obeyed, but probably took with 
 them a sufficient train to insure them against danger. There 
 is reason to believe, however, that Raymond only went at the 
 request of the King of Aragon. 
 
 It does not appear that the Count of Foix was present at 
 Aries, although he had gone to the council at Narbonne with 
 as little advantage as the Count of Toulouse. In both these 
 assemblies a new legate appeared in the person of the Bishop 
 of Usez, who was commissioned to act with the Abbot of Ci- 
 teaux, probably in the expectation that he might moderate 
 
19% DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the rancor of the latter. But at Aries the two most virulent 
 enemies of Raymond, Theodise, who possessed his castles in 
 the name of the Church, and Fulk, bishop of Toulouse, added 
 their malice and cunning to the violence and knavery of the 
 Abbot of Citeaux, so that the Bishop of Usez, had he been 
 disposed to be moderate, would have had but little power in 
 tiie council. 
 
 "When Raymond and the Ring of Aragdn proceeded, after 
 their arrival at Aries, to visit the legate, he treated them with 
 the most contemptuous haughtiness, told them to go back to 
 their lodging till he sent for them, and commanded them not 
 to stir from Aries without permission of the council. The as- 
 sembly debated secretly, we are assured, upon what was to 
 be done in the case of the Count of Toulouse ; and a violent 
 and extravagant resolution was come to, which could only 
 have the efiect (for which, in all probability, it was intended) 
 of driving the count into 'open resistance. As soon as the de- 
 cision of the council was formed, it was notified to the count, 
 in private, by a deputy from the assembly. 
 
 " They did not dare to declare it in public audience," says 
 the historian of the war, *' for fear of a rising of the people ;" 
 for they knew that this resolution was against God and good 
 conscience. Its import was as follows : 
 
 " Imprimis, that the count shall send away immediately 
 all those who have come to aid and succor him, or shaU come 
 for that purpose, without retaining a single one. 
 
 " Item, that he shall be obedient to the Church, make rep- 
 aration for all the evil and damage which she has received 
 from him, and shall submit to her orders as long as he lives, 
 without any opposition. 
 
 " Item, that in all his territories there shall only be eaten 
 two sorts of meat. 
 
 " Item, that the Count Raymond shall expel and cast out 
 of his lands all heretics and their allies. 
 
 " Item, that the said count shall give and deliver into the 
 hands of the legate and the Count de Montfort, to do with 
 them according to their will and pleasure, each and every one 
 of those persons whom they shall declare and specify, and that 
 before the expiration of a year. 
 
 •• Item, that throughout all his territories, no one, whether 
 of the nobility or the lower classes, shall wear any rich vest- 
 ments, but merely common black stoles. 
 
 " Item, that he shall cast down and demolish, level with 
 
THE ALBIGBNSES. 197 
 
 tlie earth, without leaving any part thereof, all the castles 
 and places of defense throughout his territories. 
 
 •' item, that no gentleman or nobleman of the country shall 
 inhabit any town or placCj^*^ but shall live without in the fields, 
 as do the peasantry, 
 
 " Item, that throughout all his territories there shall be no 
 more tolls or customs, except those which used to be paid and 
 levied by ancient usage. 
 
 *' Item, that every head of a house shall pay each year to 
 the legate, or to those he shall charge to receive it, four de- 
 njers of Toulouse. 
 
 "Item, that the count shall restore all that he shall have 
 received from the reveimes of his land, and all the profits he 
 shall have had from it.f 
 
 " Item, that when the Count de Montfort shall ride through 
 his lands or territories, or any of his people, whether great or 
 small, people shall demand nothing from him for what he 
 shall take, nor resist him in any thing whatsoever. 
 
 " Item, that •when the Count Raymond shall have done 
 and performed all the above, he shall go over the sea to make 
 war upon the Turks and infidels, in the order of St. John, and 
 not return till the legate shall tell him. 
 
 " Item, that when he has done and accomplished all the 
 above, his lands and lordships shall be restored and given up 
 to him by the legate or the Count de Montfort, when it shall 
 please tltem." 
 
 This was a test of faith and trial of patience which Ray- 
 mond of Toulouse had not strength to endure. On hearing 
 the terms oflered, he first burst into a fit of laughter, and then 
 showed the paper to the King of Aragon, his brother-in-law, 
 saying, 
 
 " So much for you." 
 
 Without taking leave of the legate or the council, the two 
 princes immediately quitted Aries ; and Raymond, from that 
 moment, prepared lor war. 
 
 * I suppose this mast allude to fortified towns or places. 
 
 t This passage is very obscure ; but I render it as well as I can. 
 
198 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 While negotiations had been going on between the Count 
 of Toulouse, the King of Aragon and the Count of Foix on 
 the one hand, and the legates, De Montfort, and the bishops on 
 the other, the Bishop of Toulouse had been laboring diUgently 
 to create a party in the city itself against the count, and had 
 filled it with strife and confusion. From the account of Puy 
 Laurens, it would seem that he had so far succeeded in his 
 object as to induce a number of persons to form a brotherhood, 
 or, as we should call it now, a club, to destroy the heretics. 
 To these he gave the sign of the cross ; but they very soon 
 came to blows with their fellow-Catholics of the great suburb 
 of St. Cyprian, who instituted a rival brotherhood ; and fights 
 frequently took place both on foot and on horseback ; " for," 
 says the fanatic Romanist wha writes, "the Lord had come, 
 by the said bishop his servant, to bring among them not a fatal 
 peace, but a salutary sword." 
 
 The bishop himself, however, did not seem so well pleased 
 with the result of his own exertions ; and the detail of what 
 took place is given in simple but striking language by the in- 
 habitants of Toulouse themselves, in a letter to the King of 
 Aragon. After representing that they, the citizens of the 
 town, wore sincere Catholics, and had done every thing which 
 could be reasonably demanded of them to prove their ortho- 
 doxy, they show how the Abbot of Citeaux had continued to 
 persecute them, notwithstanding their appeals to the pope, 
 and the pope's express commands to the contrary. They suf- 
 fer, however, some curious facts to appear regarding the worthy 
 abbot's motives. They had promised, they say, to pay him 
 a thousand hvres, in aid of the proceedings against perverse 
 heretics and for the support of the Holy Church. Upon this, 
 the abbot consented to receive them to grace and favor, and 
 recognized the whole inhabitants of the city of Toulouse, town 
 and suburb, as true Cathohcs and legitimate sons of the holy 
 mother Church ; and in presence of the whole town, of Fulk, 
 bishop of Toulouse, of many other ecclesiastics of the diocese, 
 and of the Bishop of Usez, he, the legate, Bolemnly gave them 
 
THE ALBIGENSEfl. 190 
 
 his benediction. When, however, they had paid five hundred 
 iivres of the sum promised, certain dissensions having arisen 
 among the inhabitants, they did not pay the remaining five 
 hundred, because they could not collect the sum till tranquil- 
 lity was re-established. For that cause only, and without im- 
 puting to them any other fault, the legate excommunicated 
 the magistrates immediately, and placed the whole town un- 
 der interdict 
 
 " After having supported for some time an impudent act 
 of injustice," says the letter of the citizens, they humbled 
 themselves afresh, and gave hostages to the legate for their 
 submission, who chose out for that office the most important 
 men of the town, and sent them to the city of Pamiers to be 
 kept there by Simon de Montfort. 
 
 They there remained from mid-lent till the mcmth of Au- 
 gust ; and in the mean time took place the siege of Lavaur, 
 at which both the two brotherhoods of the toAvn assisted, in 
 «pite of the remonstrances and opposition of the count, who was 
 now fully aware of the intentions of the legate and De Mont- 
 fort toward him, and was eagerly preparing, with all his friends 
 and allies, for vigorous and determined resistance. 
 
 The town of Lavaur, situated on the River Agout, in its 
 course from the mountains toward the Tarn, at an equal dis- 
 tance from Albi and Toulouse, and now renowned for the 
 quantity and the quality of the silk produced in its environs, 
 was at that period famous as one of the principal places in 
 the hands of the Albigenses, the members of which sect were 
 exceedingly numerous within its walls. 
 
 The crusading array, swelled by an immense influx of pil- 
 grims during the spring of 1211, was in the first instance 
 destined to act against Cabaret, which had continually im- 
 peded its previous proceedings ; but the commander in that 
 town, seeing that resistance was hopeless if attacked in the 
 early part of the year, made his peace with De Montfort in , 
 the end of March or beginning of April, and gave up the cas- 
 tle with its territories, upon the condition of receiving other 
 lands of equal value. De Montfort then immediately turned 
 his arms against Lavaur, and laid siege to the place early in 
 the year, accompanied by the Bishop of Paris and a whole 
 iost of Coucys and Courtenays. The siege lasted long ; for 
 the garrison defended themselves valiantly, knowing that they 
 had no mercy to expect from the furious fanatics who assail- 
 ed them. Provisions, too. were exceedingly scarce in the army 
 of the crusade, so that more than once the enterprise was 
 
200 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 nearly given up in despair. Multitudes of fresh crusaders, 
 however, arrived during the progress of the operations, and 
 De Montfort and the legate were ashamed to abandon the 
 siege. At the same time, however, the friends and allies of 
 those within were not idle ; and while the Count of Toulouse 
 applied himself diligently to cut ofl' all supplies from the he- 
 sieging force, the Count of Foix, who was now in arms in self- 
 defense, watched for fresh parties of crusaders, as they passed 
 through the hilly country on their march toward Lavaur. 
 
 A large body of Germans, amounting to six thousand men, 
 arrived at Carcassonne toward the end of April, and shortly 
 after set off for Lavaur, tending toward Montjoyre and Puy 
 Laurens. They reached the former place in safety ; but in- 
 telligence of their march had been communicated to the 
 Count of Foix, who instantly set out by moonlight with what 
 troops he had at command, and sent intimation to the peas- 
 antry round that he was about to attack their abhorred 
 enemies, the crusaders. Multitudes flocked to his standard 
 as he passed on, till his force amounted to several thousand 
 men. With these, he stationed himself in a forest, through 
 which the Germans were obliged to pass on their way to La- 
 vaur, and waited impatiently for morning. At an early hour, 
 the crusaders set out from Montjoyre, and very shortly after 
 entered the forest, marching in close ranks as in an enemy's 
 country ; but they had proceeded only a short distance through 
 the wood, when they were attacked on all sides by the forces 
 of the Count of Foix, who had with him Roger Bernard, his 
 eldest 85n, and Gerard de Pepieux, who had already signalized, 
 on more than one occasion, his enmity to his former leader, De 
 Montfort. The pilgrims, there is reason to suppose, were ac- 
 companied or guided by several persons from Carcassonne ; and 
 one of these, breaking through the ranks of the enemy, carried 
 intelligence of the attack to the army which was besieging La- 
 vaur. De Montfort and the legate instantly mounted and 
 set out for the scene of action, followed by some fourteen thou- 
 sand men ; but they arrived too late. Not a man was left 
 alive and unwounded upon the field ; and it is remarked., as 
 a singular fact, that only one of the six thousand Germans 
 escaped without being kjlled, or made prisoners, or disabled 
 oy wounds. An immense quantity of rich arms, valuable 
 baggage and treasure, fell into the hands of the Count of 
 Foix. The country people dispersed, eveiy man to his home, 
 as soon as the fight was over, and the regular troops and 
 their leaders retired to Mongiscard with their spoil. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. ^ 201 
 
 Carrying off the wounded in carts, De Montfbrt and the 
 legate returned to the siege of Lavaur full of rage ; and the 
 crusading scribes wrote the most virulent abuse of the Count 
 of Foix and his son, for attacking those who came to plunder 
 his territory, strip him of his possessions, and burn all his sub- 
 jects who differed with themselves in regard to transubstan- 
 tiation. 
 
 The operations against Lavaur became only the more ve- 
 hement ; and, though the defense was gallant and undaunt- 
 ed, it proved unsuccessful against the enormous force which 
 surrounded the place on every side. The army was soon 
 after swelled by the arrival of the Count of Bar, and also 
 by that of the Bishop of Toulouse. This prelate had now 
 thrown off the mask toward the Count of Toulouse, and had, • 
 with an indescribable mixture of insolence and hypocrisy, en- 
 deavored to drive that prince out of his own capital, declaring 
 that he could not hold an ordination, which he intended to 
 perform, so long as the count was in the town, he being ex- 
 communicate, and " advising and begging him humbly to go 
 out of the place and amuse himself elsewhere." 
 
 This exhausted the patience even of Raymond ; and he at 
 once sent one of his knights to the bishop, to tell him to quit 
 the city himself without a moment's delay. 
 
 The bishop sent back a reply as insolent and hypocritical 
 as his first message, dared the count to turn him out, and, as- 
 suming that he would attempt to murder him, gave himself 
 the airs of a voluntary martyr. He remained thus for forty 
 days in Toulouse, till at length, finding that he could not pro- 
 voke the count to any act of violence, he retired to join the 
 legate and De Montfbrt under the walls of Lavaur. The 
 town was shortly after taken by assault, and every one put to 
 the sword, men, women, and even iafants, except, indeed, a 
 small party of ladies and young children, who had taken ref- 
 uge in a place of security, and were spared by De Montfort 
 at the entreaty of one of his noble allies. All the male pris- 
 oners were afterward slaughtered in cold blood ; and some 
 women, also, were killed. 
 
 In the mean time, the legate and the Bishop of Toulouse 
 had been dealing with the inhabitants of that city in a man- 
 ner for which we must recur to the letter of the magistrates 
 to the King of Aragon. " Informed with perfect certainty," 
 says that document, " by the report of many persons, that it 
 was their intention to march their army against us, we sent 
 them prudent men from among our consuls, who, in the pres- 
 
 12 
 
202 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 ence of the legates, of Fulk our bishop, and of the array of 
 the barons, declared that we were very much astonished that 
 they intended to march their army against us, since we were 
 prepared to do and to observe all that we had promised to 
 the Church, and seeing, above all, that since the oath we had 
 taken, since we had been reconciled to the Church, and our 
 hostages had been received, we had in nothing offended either 
 the barons or the Church. On hearing this, the legate, and 
 Fulk our bishop, replied, that it was not on account of any 
 crime or fault of ours that they intended to march the army 
 upon us, but because we still kept for our master the lord 
 count, and received him into our town ; but that, if we would 
 drive our lord the count out of our town, with his supporters, 
 renounce him, and withdraw from his domination and our al- 
 legiance, and swear fidelity and submission to those whom 
 the Church had given us for lords, then the army of the cru- 
 saders would not do us any harm ; but that, if we did other- 
 wise, they would attack us with all their power, and would 
 hold us for heretics and concealers of heretics." 
 
 The people of Toulouse unanimously refused to follow the 
 cowardly and treacherous course pointed out to them ; and 
 the legate and the bishop immediately enjoined the clergy of 
 the city to withdraw from it in a body, pubUcly carrying the 
 host out of the place. To the account given of the departure 
 of the clergy, the witty Toulosains add the remark, " and then 
 we pacified all the discords and dissensions which had existed 
 for a very long time in our town and suburb, and, by the aid 
 of divine grace, re-established union and concord in our whole 
 city, as well as it had ever been." 
 
 Nevertheless, the fall of Lavaur, and the terror inspired by 
 the frightful acts of the crusaders, induced the commanders 
 of a great number of neighboring places to submit to De Mont- 
 fort and his barbarous companions. Puy Laurens, a strong 
 place within three leagues of Lavaur, was abandoned by its 
 garrison, and immediately taken possession of by De Mont- 
 fort. This town being, without dispute, within the territory 
 of Toulouse, the seizing upon it was an open act of war against 
 the count. Casser was also taken by assault, and sixty per- 
 sons found within its walls burned without mercy. Mont- 
 joyre was taken and destroyed by the crusaders ; and Ray- 
 mond of Toulouse burned down his own beautiful city of Cas- 
 telnaudary, in order to prevent it falling into the hands of the 
 enemy. De Montfort, however, took possession of the place ; 
 and, seeing its importance to the defense of the territories he 
 
THEA.LBIGENSBS. 208 
 
 had acquired, rebuilt the walls, or probably merely repaired 
 them, as the time he stayed was too short for any great work 
 to be accomplished. 
 
 A number of other small places fell into his hands ; and 
 De Montfort also succeeded in inducing Baldwin, the brother 
 of Raymond of Toulouse, to betray the count and league with 
 his adversaries, at the very moment when he most needed aid 
 and assistance. 
 
 The history of this prince is somewhat curious. He was, 
 it would appear, born in France, after the mother of the 
 count had returned to her native land ; and he was also edu- 
 cated in that country, never setting foot in Languedoc till he 
 had reached man's estate. He then presented himself some- 
 what suddenly to his brother Raymond, who at first refused 
 to recognize him ; and Baldwin returned to Paris to obtain 
 proofs of his legitimacy. With these he once more sought 
 his brother, who now admitted his claim, employed him in 
 the wars which were at that time going on, and in the end, 
 when menaced by the army of the crusaders, placed him with 
 a strong garrison in the town of Mont-ferrand, which was per- 
 fectly capable of resisting a long siege. 
 
 Shortly after the fall of Casser, Mont-ferrand was invested, 
 and at first a vigorous resistance was made ; but De Mont- 
 fort induced Baldwin to come forth to a secret conference, and 
 held out such advantages to him, on the condition of his aban- 
 doning his brother's party, that Mont-ferrand was surrendered 
 immediately to the arms of the crusaders. This, however, 
 was but the first fruit of the negotiation, for there was evi- 
 dently a prospective understanding between De Montfort and 
 Baldwin. The latter retired with his troops to Toulouse, 
 and presented himself before his brother ; but Raymond had 
 received intelligence of his treaty with De Montfort, reproach- 
 ed him bitterly with the cowardly surrender of Mont-ferrand, 
 charged him openly with having sworn fidelity to his mortal 
 enemy, and commanded him to quit his presence, and never 
 appear before him again. Baldvdn took him at his word, and, 
 retiring with what men he could gather together, seized upon 
 the town and castle of Bruniquel, which belonged to his broth- 
 er, and allied himself closely with De Montfort from that mo- 
 ment. The whole frontiers of the county of Toulouse, except 
 on the side of the Pyrenees, were now in the hands of De 
 Montfort ; and, taking advantage of the presence of a firesh 
 body of crusaders, he prepared to attack the capital itself. 
 
204 DARKSCENBSOFHISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 % ■ 
 
 THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 The Count of Toulouse had not been idle while the army 
 of De Montfort and the legate was making progress in the 
 diocese of Albi. He had called to his aid all the friends on 
 whojn he could most depend, and had collected a strong force, 
 both of cavalry and infantry, in the town of Toulouse. His 
 principal companions were the Count of Foix and the Count 
 of Comminges ; and we find that he could bring five hundred 
 knights into the field, besides a strong force of infantry, with- 
 out depriving the city itself of the garrison necessary for its 
 defense. The whole population of the town was eager and 
 resolute in support of his cause ; and, always of a warlike and 
 enterprising character, the citizens were hardly inferior in the 
 field to regular soldiers. Thus they viewed the approach of 
 De Montfort and his army without fear, and prepared even 
 to meet them beyond the walls of the city, notwithstanding 
 the overwhelming numbers of the crusaders. 
 
 The force under the command of the legate and his gener- 
 al had been swelled by the arrival of the Count of Bar with 
 a large army, and by the junction of a considerable body of 
 men under the Count of Chalons. Immediately after the ap- 
 pearance of these two great barons in the field, a council of 
 war was held, and it was determined to march at once upon 
 Toulouse ; but the camp of De Montfort was not free from 
 the spies of the enemy, and intelligence was immediately 
 brought to Raymond of all the plans of the crusaders. The 
 bridges over the Lers and the Arrieges were broken down, 
 and the fords were guarded by strong bodies of the Toulou- 
 sians. At one point, however, a bridge was neglected, and 
 the army of De Montfort appeared while the troops of Tou- 
 louse were engaged in destroying it. A skirmish ensued, in 
 which the numbers of the crusaders overpowered the enemy, 
 though not without sufiering considerable loss ; and the army 
 passed the river, detaching a large body of horse to follow the 
 retreating forces of the Count of Toulouse. Before he reach- 
 ed the gates of his capital, however, Raymond, who had re- 
 tired in perfect order, halted his forces, made a gallant charge 
 upon the pursuers, drove them back again to a camp on the 
 
THE ALBIGJiNSES. 205 
 
 bank of the river, where the great mass of Do Montfort's 
 forces had halted, and then slowly retreated to the city, tak- 
 ing with him a number of prisoners, among whom was one 
 of the sons of De Montfort himself. 
 
 On the following morning De Montfort advanced almost to 
 the gates of Toulouse, and pitched his camp at a short dis- 
 tance from the walls ; but this day was to be marked by 
 every sort of horror and barbarity that could disgrace the arms 
 of the crusaders. The unofi(3nding peasantry laboring in the 
 fields were slaughtered without mercy or discrimination. 
 M,en, women, and even children were butchered wherever 
 they were found. Cottages, villages, farms, and country 
 houses, the citizens of Toulouse inform us, were burned to 
 the ground ; and, exercising their rage even upon inanimate 
 things, De Montfort and the legate, with folly not less than 
 their wickedness, ordered the whole standing crops to be de- 
 stroyed, and the vines cut down or plucked up by the roots. 
 This conduct created no fear or hesitation in the minds of the 
 inhabitants of Toulouse, but only rendered them more resolute 
 in resisting the barbarous enemies by whom they were assail- 
 ed. So far from showing the slightest dread, they opened 
 four new gates in their walls, in order to issue forth with 
 greater ease, and attack the enemy in various directions at 
 once. 
 
 Immediately after the arrival of the army of the crusade 
 under the walls, De Montfort, trusting in his immense force, 
 ordered his troops to make a general attack ; and they ad- 
 vanced with their usual fury, under cover of great bucklers 
 of boiled leather. The troops in the town, however, issued 
 forth to encounter the enemies as they approached, drove them 
 back with shame and confusion^ and carried several of their 
 great bucklers into the town. The Count of Foix, who seems 
 to have commanded the sally, although his horse was killed 
 under him and one of his most gallant knights slain by his 
 side, pursued his advantage, and chased the retreating enemy 
 even beyond their own camp : nor did he cease the combat 
 till night fell and he was forced to retire. 
 
 The rage of De Montfort exceeded all bounds ; for, besides 
 having lost an immense number in killed and wounded, two 
 hundred prisoners, among whom were several persons of dis- 
 tinction, were carried away into the town. He still made 
 vigorous efibrts, however, to retrieve the honor of his arms, 
 and more successful efforts, likewise, to avenge himself upon his 
 opponents, by the destruction of their property. He ravaged 
 
206 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the fields and vineyards for many miles around ; but he made 
 no impression on the town of Toulouse ; and the inhabitants, 
 enraged at the excesses he committed, determined to issue forth 
 and attack him in his camp, even in spite of the remonstran- 
 ces of tlieir count. Placing themselves under the command 
 of the seneschal of Agen, they sallied out a short time after 
 the jiiid-day meal, at an hour when the troops of the crusade 
 were accustomed to take repose during the heat of the day, 
 and, attacking the camp with the utmost fury, for some time 
 carried all before them, killing the crusaders in their tents, 
 and taking possession of an immense quantity of arms, horses, 
 plate, and money. Several of the garrison of Toulouse, who 
 had been made prisoners, were freed from their chains ; and 
 the Count of Foix, learning what was taking place, issued 
 forth with all the troops under his command, to support the 
 party who had made the attack. His arrival completed the 
 confusion in the crusading camp ; and it was long before the 
 Count of Bar and De Montfort could gather together a suffi- 
 cient force to oppose any thing like a regular and well-ordered 
 resistance. As soon, however, as one battalion was formed, a 
 rallying point was given for the whole host of the crusade ; 
 and seeing that they would be soon overpowered by numbers, 
 the seneschal of Agen and the Count of Foix collected their 
 parties, and retired in good order to Toulouse, taking with 
 them a valuable booty and a number of prisoners. 
 
 In the mean time, it would appear, dissensions had broken 
 out between De Montfort and the Count of Bar ; and the 
 consequences of the devastation of the country fell upon its 
 authors. None of the peasantry would bring in provisions to 
 the camp, and the parties sent out to forage were cut oft' by 
 bodies of troops from the town. Famine began to show itself 
 in De Montfort's host, and the price of bread rose till it could 
 not be purchased for the common soldiers. 
 
 Both the Counts Chalons and of Bar, having witnessed 
 with their own eyes the conduct of the legate and De Mont- 
 fort, became convinced of the baseness of their motives, and 
 raised their voices loudly against the iniquity of their proceed- 
 ngs, recommending them strongly to make peace with the 
 ^ount of Toulouse and his aUies, and announcing their determ- 
 ination to depart immediately. 
 
 In these circumstances, nothing remained but to raise the 
 siege ; and on the 1st of August, St. Peter's day,* the army 
 
 • Monoeor Guizot places the retreat of De Montfort in the month 
 ^f July; but the letter of the inhabitants of Tmilonse, who certainly 
 
 .4- 
 
THE ALBIGBNSES. 207 
 
 of the crusade disappeared from beneath the walls of Toulouse, 
 striking their tents in the night, and making a precipitate and 
 undignified retreat. The mortification of De Montfort found 
 vent in fresh excesses, and turning his steps toward the county 
 of Foix, he ravaged and desolated the whole land in the most 
 barbarous manner. The Count of Chalons quitted him im- 
 mediately with all his forces, ** for he saw well," says the his- 
 torian, " that the legate and the Count de Montfort had no 
 just cause or quarrel to eat people up as they did." The Count 
 of Bar, however, continued some time longer with the legate, 
 though in daily dispute with De Montfort, and scandalously 
 abused by the partisans of the latter. 
 
 Several small places were taken and retaken ; and every 
 cruelty that reUgious fanaticism, joined with merciless cupid- 
 ity, could suggest, was inflicted on the unhappy people of the 
 towns. After having exercised all his savage propensities in 
 the neighborhood of Foix, burned the towns and their inhab- 
 itants, destroyed the crops, hewn down the vines and fruit- 
 trees, and put the country people to the sword, De Montfort 
 turned his steps toward Quercy, at the invitation of the Bishop 
 of Cahors. The Count of Bar, however, now positively re- 
 fused to go with him any further, and left him with all his 
 forces, except a body of Germans, who agreed to remain with 
 the crusaders for a short time longer. While engaged in his 
 expedition to Quercy, the town of Puy Laurens was snatched 
 from the hands of De Montfort by the Count of Toulouse, 
 who was now making vigorous preparations for carrying on 
 an ofiensive as well as a defensive war against his enemies. 
 Friends and partisans flocked to his aid as soon as it was 
 known that he had actually been driven to that resistance 
 which, had it commenced two years earlier, might have proved 
 successful. Among the rest was the celebrated Savary de 
 Mauleon, a leader of the highest repute, who joined him 
 with a large band of Gascon nobility.* 
 
 must have known the exact time, ^xes it on St. Peter's day, the Ist of 
 August, before daybreak. 
 
 * This officer had greatly distinguished himself in the wars between 
 "^England and France, and has never been at all suspected of favoring 
 heresy or deviating into schism, yet such was the candor, Christian 
 charity, and good feith of the crusaders who took the pen in hand to 
 chronicle the achievements of De Montfoi-t, that we find him thus stig- 
 matized by Vaulx Cemay solely because he came to aid his friend and 
 ally, Raymond of Toulouse. He calls him " That very wicked apostate 
 and prevaricator, son of the devil in iniquity, minister of Anti-Christ, 
 Savary de Mauleon, surpassing all other heretics, worse than an infidel, 
 enemy of Jesus Christ, prince of apostasy, artificer of cruelty, author 
 
208 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 The forces of De Montfort had waned as Raymond's had 
 increased, and when the Germans withdrew toward the ap- 
 proach of winter, the army of the crusade was diminished to 
 a mere skeleton of its former self In these circumstances, De 
 Montfort retreated to Carcassonne ; and a number of small 
 places was recovered by the Count of Toulouse, who, pursu- 
 ing his advantage, marched onward with the purpose of at- 
 tacking his enemy in Carcassonne. De Montfort, however, 
 who possessed, at least, the virtue of high courage in a very 
 remarkable degree, threw himself into Castelnaudary, with 
 the determination of defending it to the last. The fortifica- 
 tions of that place had now been completely repaired ; and, 
 Mtuated on a high hill between Carcassonne and Toulouse, it 
 "Was, perhaps, the most advantageous point in which he could 
 have posted himself in order to defend the frontier of the vis- 
 county of Beziers. A small garrison only was required to 
 maintain this post ; and it afforded a convenient rallying-point 
 for the various bodies of crusaders scattered over Quercy, the 
 Toulousains, and the Albigeois. 
 
 If the army of Raymond of Toulouse was as great as his 
 enemies represent it, numbering a hundred thousand men, he 
 certainly committed a great mistake in not advancing upon 
 Carcassonne, and leaving a sufficient force to mask Castel- 
 naudary ; for the former important place was unprovided for 
 defense. But there is every reason to believe that his numbers 
 have been greatly exaggerated. However that may be, the 
 siege of Castelnaudary was soon established in form, though 
 it does not appear that the place was completely invested ; 
 for, from all parts of the country, succor speedily arrived to De 
 Montfort; and many large bodies of troops forced their way 
 into the place. A considerable force, led by the Bishop of 
 Cahors, Bouchard de Marly, and some other noblemen, was 
 attacked in the neighborhood of St. Martin by the Count of 
 Foix, and a sanguinary engagement ensued, in which, it would 
 seem, success inclined toward the forces of Toulouse, although 
 night separated the combatants. 
 
 Shortly after this event, however, Raymond of Toulouse 
 raised the siege of Castelnaudary, for what reason we do not 
 exactly know, as it is clear that he had obtained possession of 
 one of the suburbs of the town, and that the walls of the place 
 were greq,tly damaged. Raymond, indeed, suffered under a 
 great disadvantage from the major part of his troops being 
 
 of pcrveraity, opprobrium of munkiud, diabolical man, dovil altogeth- 
 er. Thare are more of such epithets ; but these are eiibugh. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 209 
 
 mere volunteers, led to his assistance by princes and noblemen 
 over whom Iiq had no control. Insubordination seems to have 
 been complete in his camp, every leader doing exactly what 
 he thought fit, without consulting the unfortunate count him- 
 self. This was strongly exemplified by the combat of St. 
 Martin, in which the Count of Foix engaged without the 
 knowledge of his ally. Indeed, so ignorant were Raymond 
 and Savary de Mauleon of what had become of their friend, 
 that when the Count of Foix arrived in the camp at night 
 he found they had given orders to take down the tents and 
 prepare for a retreat, thinking that he and his troops had ei- 
 ther abandoned them, or had been surprised and put to the 
 sword. 
 
 Although successful in retaining possession of Castelnau- 
 dary, De Montfort was evidently in no position to commence 
 offensive operations against the Count of Toulouse ; for, ac- 
 cord mg to the account even of his companion and eulogist, he 
 retired to Narbonne, while the Count of Toulouse and his 
 friends overran the whole country to the north and west of 
 the viscounty, and with extraordinary rapidity made them- 
 selves masters of^o less than seventeen strong towns, besides 
 more than fifty small fortresses and castles. 
 
 One of these towns, named Grave, which had been recov- 
 ered by the count, was almost immediately retaken for the 
 party of De Montfort by Raymond's brother Baldwin, who, 
 treacherously assuming the arms of the count himself, obtain- 
 ed admission with a large party of troops, and slaughtered his 
 brother's garrison without mercy, although we find it record- 
 ed that, at the very same time, the Count of Toulouse him- 
 self refused to attack the town of Bnmiquel, because he believ- 
 ed that Baldvdn was in it. 
 
 The spring of 1211 brought great re-enforcements to the 
 army of the crusade. Monks, priests, and bishops were en- 
 gaged in all parts of Europe, exhorting a superstitious people 
 to rush to the destruction of the Albigenses ; and we find 
 leaders from every Roman Catholic country engaged in this 
 unholy war, not even excepting England itself, which sent 
 Walter Langton, brother of the Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 Very early in that year a large body of French crusaders 
 joined De Montfort at Narbonne ; and, toward the feast of 
 Pentecost, he once more took the field to recover all that had 
 been lost during the autumn of 1210. Cahusac was speedily 
 regained ; and, calling to his aid the faithless brother of the 
 Count of Toulouse, he laid siege to the town of St. Marcel ; 
 
210 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 but, after continuing his operations against it for some weeks, 
 he was obliged to strike his tents and depart. This check, 
 however, was soon more than compensated by the arrival of 
 two immense swarms of crusaders from Germany and Lom- 
 bardy, and every thing which had been lost was regained. 
 The same horrid cruelties were committed as those which had 
 previously marked the march of the crusading armies ; and 
 we find recorded a sanguinary execution of the inhabitants of 
 every town taken by De Montfort, with the exception of St. 
 Antoine and one or two small places. 
 
 Every day the forces of the crusade increased, and town 
 after town tell before them, till at length the small city and 
 castle of Penne proved a stumbling-block in their way, and 
 detained them under its walls for nearly two months. The 
 want of water and provisions at length compelled the garrison 
 to surrender upon an honorable capitulation, and they march- 
 ed out with all they possessed. The town of Biron was tak- 
 en almost immediately afterward, and Peter Algais, who had 
 abandoned the party of the crusaders, and received the com- 
 mand from the Count of Toulouse, was d^awn through De 
 Montfort's camp at the heels of a horse, and then hanged. 
 Still, the forces of the legate and his companions increased, 
 and Moissac, Verdun, and Castel Sarrasin fell into their 
 hands. 
 
 In all of these transactions, one of the most active enemies 
 of the Count of Toulouse was his brother Baldwin ; and, to all 
 appearance, the unnatural war he carried on was not without 
 profit to himself. 
 
 Against the immense force which was now in the field the 
 Count of Toulouse and his allies could do nothing except carry 
 on a desultory warfare on the side of Foix, where the whole 
 country, which had fallen into the hands of De Montfort, re- 
 volted against its oppressor as soon as its natural lord appear- 
 ed. Castle after castle, and town after town was taken, till 
 De Montfort, who was vainly besieging Mont Auban, march- 
 ed with an immense force to recover the county of Foix. 
 Every thing fell before him, except the town of Foix itself, 
 which set all his efibrts at defiance ; and he was obliged to 
 retire to Pamiers, when the army of the crusade began to dis- 
 perse, as usual, at the commencement of winter. Their sep- 
 aration, however, was not so complete now as on most other 
 occasions, and a good many operations were undertaken in the 
 decline of the year. The territories of the Count of Commin- 
 gea were ravaged ; and the towns of Muret, St. Gaudens, and 
 
THE ALBIGEN8ES. 211 
 
 several smaller places fell into the hands of the crusaders. On 
 the other hand, however, the Count of Toulouse himself took 
 the tow^n of Pujol by assault, and put the whole garrison to 
 the sword without mercy. Skirmishes innumerable took 
 place in the open country, and the eldest son of the Count of 
 Foix, as active and as valiant as his father, harassed the en- 
 emy incessantly. 
 
 Nevertheless, the crusade, though driven back from time to 
 time, like the waves of the rising sea, still made progress 
 against the territories of Foix, Comminges, and Toulouse ; 
 and, as a last resource, Raymond determined to apply to the 
 King of Aragon for military aid in his distressing situation. 
 
 It was probably about the same time, and in order to 
 strengthen the application of their count, that the magistrates 
 of Toulouse wrote the well-known letter, which I have quoted 
 more than once, to the same prince. 
 
 Peter, king of Aragon, was one of the most distinguished 
 warriors of his age, bold, courageous, and enterprising, fond 
 of all military sports, and no mean poet in his native language. 
 His renown in arms had been principally gained against the 
 Saracens of Spain, whom he had defeated with a terrible 
 slaughter, only a short time before the application of his re- 
 lation, the Count of Toulouse. The voice of the Church of 
 Rome had been raised loudly in his praise for his signal deeds 
 in defense of the Church. The trophies of his victory were 
 hung up in the Cathedral of St. Peter. He was called the 
 Illustrious and the most Christian ; but all the honey was 
 turned to gall the moment he espoused the cause of Raymond 
 of Toulouse. From thenceforth he is stigmatized as perverse, 
 obstinate, even heretic. Peter of Aragon, however, was not 
 to be frightened by hard names, nor deterred by ecclesiastical 
 censures; and during the winter of 1213, he crossed the 
 mountains and presented himself in Toulouse, both to take 
 counsel with his brother-in-law and to endeavor to obtain for 
 him, from the Church of Rome, the justice so often denied 
 him, and the restitution of the territories of which he had 
 been stripped. After conferring with Raymond and the 
 Counts of Foix and Comminges, he proceeded to a spot half 
 way between Toulouse and Lavaur, where he was met by 
 Simon de Montfort and the legate. The conference which 
 ensued was without any great result, the Archbishop of Nar- 
 bonne demanding that the King of Aragon should send in a 
 specification of that which he desired in writing, and a truce 
 of eight days was granted to draw up the proposal of the king. 
 
212 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 A few days after, a letter from the King of Aragon was 
 presented to the council, far more moderate and even humble 
 than might have been expected from his power, his high re- 
 nown, and his close connection with the person for whom he 
 pleaded. In the name of Raymond of Toulouse, of the Count 
 of Comminges, the Count of Foix, and Gaston of Beam, he 
 offered to make full satisfaction to the Church of Rome for 
 any excesses committed or damage done by themselves or their 
 adherents ; and he demanded that their territories should, 
 upon this condition, be restored to them. In tlie case of the 
 Count of Toulouse, he offered an alternative, namely, that 
 if the Church thought fit to refuse the restoration of that 
 prince's territories to himself, that tljey should immediately 
 put his son in possession thereof under careful guardianship, 
 while the count in person should not only make the promised 
 compensation for all evil done, but should lead a body of troops 
 either against the Saracens of Spain, or to aid in the recovery 
 of the Holy Land ; and he hinted, in exceedingly gentle but 
 firm terms, that if these conditions were refused, he should 
 be obliged to aid his relations, his vassals, and alUes. 
 
 The council, resolved to strip the Count of Toulouse and 
 his friends of all their possessions, refused the demands of the 
 King of Aragon, imputing as a crime to the Count of Tou- 
 louse and his adherents the defense of their own territories. 
 The king then demanded a suspension of arms till the day of 
 Pentecost following ; but this application was also rejected ; 
 and Peter of Aragon then publicly announced to the legates 
 that he took the oppressed princes under his protection, ap- 
 pealing at the same time from the decision of the Council of 
 Lavaur to the pope in person. 
 
 The Archbishop of Narbonne answered in a letter full of 
 hypocritical insolence ; but the King of Aragon had, in tho 
 mean time, sent off messengers to Rome, and had obtained 
 from the pope himself an order for the legates to restore the 
 territories of the Counts of Comminges and Foix, and of Gas- 
 ton of Beam, to cease proceeding against the Count of Tou- 
 louse, and to stop the preaching of tiie crusade. 
 
 Very little attention, however, waa paid to these demands. 
 The crusade was preached as befoie. The territories were 
 not restored ; and the war was earned on upon the pretense 
 that the pope had been deceived, wnile letters were sent to 
 his holiness to dissuade hirn irom the more moderate measures 
 he was inclined to pursue. 
 
 The King of Aragon then formally defied De Montfort, 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 213 
 
 and prepared to give armed assistance to the Count of Tou- 
 louse ; but the preaching of the crusade was now more suc- 
 cessful than ever. Honors, dignities, lands, and lordships had 
 fallen to the lot of those who had carried on the butchery in 
 Languedoc with the greatest zeal ; and an immense number, 
 actuated by the mixed motives of ambition and fanaticism, 
 took the cross in all parts of France. The principal of these 
 was Prince Louis, the son of Philip Augustus ; and, although 
 the ambitious schemes of his father still detained him in the 
 North, his example was highly useful to the designs of the 
 legates. 
 
 Thus, during the spring of 1213, an immense force of cru- 
 saders poured into Languedoc, while, on the other hand, the 
 King of Aragon, having left a small body of knights to sup- 
 port the Count of Toulouse, gathered together an army in his 
 own territory, and repassed the mountains in the commence- 
 ment of September. 
 
 The town and castle of Muret, on the higher Garonne, 
 about three leagues above Toulouse, had been captured by the 
 crusaders some time before. The fortress had been greatly 
 strengthened, and was strongly garrisoned ; and the troops 
 which it contained made daily excursions almost to the gates 
 of Toulouse. Before this city, the united armies of Langue- 
 doc and Aragon sat down on the 11th of September, 1213 ; 
 and, in a furious assault, which took place shortly after, the 
 town was taken, and the garrison driven into the citadel. 
 The citadel itself, it would appear, might also have been 
 taken ; but the King of Aragon, hearing that De Montfort 
 • was hastening to its assistance, had recourse to a stratagem 
 which proved ruinous to himself Knowing that his own 
 forces were greatly superior in number, he resolved to allow 
 De Montfort to enter the place unopposed, hoping to capture 
 him and his whole company within the walls of Muret. He, 
 therefore, commanded his troops to withdraw from the town, 
 and to leave the passage of the bridge undisputed. Shortly 
 after, a considerable force of crusaders appeared on the oppo- 
 site bank of the Garonne, and, probably to their own surprise, 
 were allowed to cross the river and enter Muret. Early in 
 the morning, after they had arrived within the walls, which 
 had been terribly shattered by the siege, a general assault 
 took place ; but the troops of De Montfort having only come 
 from a place called Hauterive, at the distance of two leagues 
 from Muret, were not nearly so much fatigued as the King 
 of Aragon and his allies imagined. The walls were defended 
 
214 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 with valor and skill ; and, after a furious combat of several 
 hours, the Aragonese forces returned to their tents, threw off 
 their armor, and sought refreshment and repose. 
 
 The moment was too favorable to be neglected by De Mont- 
 fort, although the crusaders must by this time have been 
 weary with their march and the defense of the place. Com- 
 manding all the foot soldiers to remain in the town, he mar- 
 shaled his cavalry in three bodies, and suddenly issued forth to 
 attack the camp of the King of Aragon, which lay at a very 
 short distance from the walls. He found almost every one 
 unarmed and unprepared for defense, and breaking into the 
 camp at three several points, the crusaders carried death and 
 confusion wherever they came. At the first cries of " Mont- 
 fort I Montfort I" the king, with the three counts, seized their 
 arms and rushed to the various points where the fray was go- 
 ing on, in the hope of beating back the enemy. All, however, 
 was confusion, terror, and disarray in the camp. No one at- 
 tended to the calls of their leaders. No one obeyed the orders 
 they received. Multitudes were flying on every side. The 
 Bword of the crusaders raged in the rear. The panic was 
 general throughout the camp ; and so mad and blind was the 
 impression of terror, that an immense number plunged into 
 the Garonne and were drowned. The King of Aragon him- 
 self, disdaining to fly, fell early in the day, shouting his bat- 
 tle-cry to the last ; and the handful of gallant men, who aided 
 their lord in his attempts to raUy the host, died around him. 
 The rumor of the king's death, and the scene of unutterable 
 confusion which appeared on every side, showed the three 
 counts that there was no chance of recovering the day ; and, 
 after having fought gallantly for some time, they turned their 
 horses and escaped to Toulouse.* 
 
 ^ This account of the battle of JVL^-et is principally taken from the 
 statements of the anonymous histonJttfof the wars, with a few facts 
 added from Peter of Vaulx Cerna^, and from the letter of the prelates 
 who were present in the crusading array. The anonymous histoiian 
 difl'urs much from Vaulx Cernay. The latter, in order to add to the 
 glory of his hero, takes no notice of the surprise of the camp, but rep- 
 resents the whole Aragonese and Toulousian army as drawn up in bat- 
 tle array to oppose the small force of De Montfort ; but the facts which 
 he suffers to appear, and those apparent in the letter of the prelates, dis- 
 play the causes uf tlio Aragonese defeat, and show tlie truth of tiie 
 anonymous writer's statements and the inaccuracy of Vaulx Cernay. 
 The prelates state that the King of Aragon sat down under the walls of 
 Muret three days after the nativity of the Virgin Mary, that is to say, 
 on the 11th of September. Intelligence was immediately sent to Do 
 Montl'ort, who reached Saverdun on the 11th, where he remained the 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 215 
 
 In the mcau time, the foot soldiers of De Montfort had 
 issued forth from the walls of Muret, and employed themselves 
 diligently in putting to death the wounded, and stripping thoi 
 dead and dying, so that the leader of the crusade, who did not 
 venture to pursue the enemy far, found the body of the King 
 of Aragon naked on the ground when he returned. Nothing 
 remained but to slaughter a multitude of Toulousians who re- 
 mained in the tents, and this was done without much diffi- 
 culty or resistance. Twenty thousand men are said to have 
 fallen on the part of the Albigenses ; only one knight and a 
 few common soldiers on the part of the crusaders. The rela- 
 tive forces of the two armies are represented as eight hundred 
 cavalry and a small body of foot under the command of De 
 Mpntibrt, and a hundred thousand men imder the King of 
 Aragon and the three counts. 
 
 It is probable that the disparity is greatly exaggerated ; but, 
 nevertheless, the battle of Muret was a glorious victory for 
 De Montfort, and a most disastrous defeat for the Count of 
 Toulouse and his allies. 
 
 uight. Some negotiations ensued between the Kin^ of Aragon and the 
 legate, who sought to drive him from before the walls of Muret by the 
 thunders of the Church. These proving ineffectual, De Montfort 
 marched on, Vaulx Ceniay admits, unopposed to Muret. He takes little 
 notice, however, of the subsequent assault upon the town by the allied 
 troops, but next represents De Montfort issuing forth pompously against 
 the whole host of the enemy drawn out in battle array. He, neverthe- 
 less, shows that an immense number of Toulousians remained in the 
 camp, even after their companions had been defeated and the crusaders 
 had passed forward in pursuit. He adds, indeed, that they were pre- 
 pared for battle ; but he admits that the Bishop of Toulouse, even, was 
 struck with compassion at their miserable situation, and sent a monk to 
 them to offer them life, if they would be converted and submit. This 
 ofler would hardly have been addressed to '' an infinite number" armed 
 and prepared for battle. The same story is told by the prelates in their 
 letter, from which it is probable that Vaulx Cernay copied his whole 
 account; and it appears clearly that, attacked in their tents, a very 
 large portion of the allied army did not even know of the defeat and 
 slaughter of their companions till just before De Montfort and his vic- 
 torious troops were returning to put them also to the sword. 
 
 
21« DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 Consternation and doubt spread through the whole coun- 
 try after the battle of Muret, and many of the garrisons in 
 fortresses belonging to the Count of Toulouse abandoned their 
 charge and fled to the capital. The count himself, and his 
 friends of Foix and Comminges, seem to have been completely 
 overwhelmed with the disaster which had befallen them, and 
 to anticipate nothing less than the loss of all their territories. 
 The events which followed, however, are exceedingly dark and 
 obscure, and the most contradictory statements are found in 
 the authors best acquainted with the facts. Even among per- 
 sons strongly attached to the Roman Catholic Church, party 
 spirit ran so high, that no perversion of facts was deemed un- 
 justifiable to blacken the character of an enemy or justify the 
 conduct of a friend. Our surest guide, perhaps, is the anony- 
 mous historian, already so often mentioned ; but his dates are, 
 unfortunately, so confused that we can not follow him as to the 
 order of events, although he is by far the most impartial of the 
 Roman Catholic historians. 
 
 From all accounts, it would appear that De Montfort did 
 not improve the great advantage he had gained as much as 
 might have been expected. Negotiations were commenced for 
 the surrender of Toulouse itself, in which a considerable time 
 was spent without producing any result, the legates making 
 excessive demands, and the magistrates of Toulouse amusing 
 them with offers which, probably, they had no expectation 
 should be accepted. 
 
 In the mean time, De Montfort made some efforts on the 
 side of the county of Foix, with no great result ; and he was 
 soon called into the Narbonnois, by strong signs of disaffection 
 which appeared among the people of that country. It is very 
 clear that, at this period, ambition had completely taken pos- 
 session of that great but cruel man, and that it was now his 
 design to conquer, by the arms of the crusaders, the whole ter- 
 ritory lying at the foot of the Pyrenees from sea to sea, to ob- 
 tain the investiture thereof from the pope, and to hold it to 
 himself and his heirs, probably, as a vassal of the King of 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 217 
 
 France. Many difficulties, indeed, lay in his way, of which 
 the most important were, the hatred of the people of the coun- 
 tr}% excited to the highest pitch of indignation by the barbar- 
 ous acts he had committed ; the jealousy of the King of 
 France, who was little inclined to render any of his vassals so 
 powerful as De Montfort would have become could he have 
 carried his schemes into effect; and the hesitation of the pope, 
 who, besieged by the representations of both parties in Langue- 
 doc, knew not which to believe, alternately looking upon De 
 Montfort as a cruel persecutor of innocent men, and, as a sol- 
 dier of the Church, laboring for the suppression of heresy. 
 
 To conciUate the King of France, De Montfort immediate- 
 ly sent messengers to the son of that monarch, who, as I have 
 said, had previously taken the cross against the Albigenses, 
 beseeching him to join him with all speed, and to take pos- 
 session of Toulouse. His agents at the court of Rome ap- 
 plied themselves with the utmost diligence to calumniate the 
 Counts of Toulouse, Foix, and Comminges ; and, in the mean 
 time, he exerted himself with indefatigable activity to subdue 
 all opposition from the mouths of the Rhone to the Atlantic. 
 
 In noiie of his efforts, however, was he very successful. 
 Philip Augustus evidently looked upon him with great suspi- 
 cion ; and the pope, in order to ascertain the truth of the va- 
 rious statements made to him, commissioned Peter of Bene- 
 ventum, one of the cardinals, to examine into the state of Lan- 
 guedoc on the spot, with power to receive all excommunicated 
 persons back into the bosom of the Church. In Provence 
 and the Narbonnois, De Montfort made very little progress ; 
 Narbonne shut its gates against him ; Montpellier followed 
 its example ; and no further success attended his arms till 
 after the beginning of the year 1214. Not only had the 
 greater part of the crusaders who had joined him left his anny 
 before the beginning of October, but events were taking place 
 ill France and elsewhere which threatened, for a time, to 
 put a stop altogether to the influx of pilgrim marauders into 
 Languedoc. 
 
 The miserable condition of the Christians of the Holy Land, 
 and the daily progress of the infidel, could no longer pass un- 
 noticed by the head of the Roman Catholic Church. It was 
 felt to be, in some degree, a scandal that the arms of Euro- 
 pean knights, nobles, and princes should be employed against 
 men, all of whom called themselves Christians, and many of" 
 whom were sincere Roman Catholics, plundering, destroying, 
 and slaughtering wherever they came, while the Christian 
 
 K 
 
218 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 population of Syria, daily mown down by the sword of the 
 Saracen, was crying to Europe for help. Bishops, monks, and 
 preachers were directed to employ all their eflbrts to rouse the 
 people of France and Germany to a new expedition to the 
 Holy Land ; and the attention of all men was for a time 
 turned from Languedoc to the shores of Palestine. 
 
 Late in 1213, or early in 1214, the Cardinal of Beneven- 
 tum commenced his work in the Narbonnois, by investigating 
 all the charges against the Counts of Toulouse, Foix, and 
 Comminges. It would seem he, in the first place, conferred 
 secretly with De Montfort, and received a strong impression 
 from the representations of that nobleman. Nevertheless, the 
 three counts did not fail to plead their own cj^lise with him 
 at Narbonne, and so far successfully that he granted them 
 absolution, and received them again into the bosom of the 
 Church, though not without exacting a written promise of 
 entire submission to its decrees.* 
 
 This event took place in April ; but, nevertheless, the war 
 did not cease ; and Robert de Cour9on, the cardinal legate in 
 France, having been persuaded to abandon the preaching of 
 the crusade for the recovery of the sepulcher, the stream of 
 military pilgrimage began once more to flow into Languedoc. 
 Robert himself joined the crusaders, and led a large body of 
 troops into the diocese of Rhodez. 
 
 Nevertheless, success was not altogether on the side of Pe 
 Montfort. Universally hated throughout the land, no sooner 
 were the troops of the crusade withdrawn, than the people of 
 the country rose against them, expelled the garrisons they had 
 left in the cities, and put many of them to death. Moissac 
 revolted, and called in the forces of the Count of Toulouse. 
 A great number of other places followed this example, and it 
 required vast efforts on the part of De Montfort to recover 
 them. The same bloody scenes were re-enacted during this 
 year which had previously disgraced the crusade. Maurillac, 
 Mont-pezat, Marmande, Casseneuil, Dome, Castelnau, and 
 Bainac were taken ; and, wherever resistance was offered, the 
 prisoners were put to the sword or burned in the presence of 
 the legates. Seven of the teachers of the Vaudois, found in 
 Maurillac, were burned by the crusaders ''with great joy,'* 
 
 • Tctcr of VauU Cernay, with his usual ba«o insincerity, ouly men- 
 tions the reconciliations of the Counts of Foix and Commiuges, taking 
 no notice whatever of the absolution of the Count of Toulouse, though 
 he must have known Uio fact perfectly well. The counfs written act 
 of sabmiMbu to the Rooaish Cfbarcb is still extant. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 219 
 
 by the express orders of the Cardinal Robert de Cour9on, glo- 
 rying in their faith, and refusing to make any submission to 
 the Romish Church. Many other places fell before the arms 
 of the crusaders, and the power of De Montfort was com- 
 pletely re-established, when an event occurred which stirred 
 up in the host of the crusade many of those evil" passions which 
 had more than once before broken out, and nearly frustrated 
 the designs of the leaders. 
 
 In the beginning of 1215, Philip Augustus judged it expe- 
 dient to send his son, Prince Louis, into Languedoc, probably 
 with a view of giving a check to the ambitious designs of De 
 Montfort, rather than to aid in oppressing the people of the 
 land. He took care, also, that his son should be accompanied 
 by a force so imposing as to enable him to dictate to all the 
 contending parties in the south of France ; and it is evident, 
 that not only De Montfort, but the Cardinal of Beneventum, 
 the Archbishop of Narbonne, formerly Abbot of Citeaux, and 
 many other prelates and barons, regarded the approach of 
 Prince Louis with jealousy and dread. Peter of Vaulx Cer- 
 nay allows us to see the workings of all the evil passions 
 which at this time animated the leaders of the crusade. De 
 Montfort and his partisans hated Peter of Beneventum for 
 giving absolution to those whom the writer calls '* enemies of 
 Christianity and the count." Peter of Beneventum feared 
 the approach of Louis, lest, coming as son of the King of 
 France, he should snatch from the Church the towns and ter- 
 ritories which had been yielded to it by the Counts of Tou- 
 louse, Foix, and Comminges. The Archbishop of Narbonne 
 had enraged De Montfort, and also Peter of Beneventum, by 
 usurping the lordship of the city of Narbonne and the duchy 
 of the Narbonnois ; and he also regarded the coming of Louis 
 with fear, lest a stronger hand should strip him of that which 
 he had unjustly obtained. All parties, also, regarded Philip 
 Augustus with anger and suspicion, because he had given no 
 aid to the crusaders, and had looked with displeasure on the 
 slaughter and persecution of his subjects. 
 
 In fact, the wild beasts now began to quarrel for the car- 
 
 Their apprehensions, however, were needless. Louis was 
 a very meek and humble servant of the Church. He arrived 
 at Lyons on Easter day, and then marched down the Rhone, 
 with slow and solemn progress, meeting and reassuring the 
 different leaders of the crusade. Passing by Vienne and Va- 
 lence, the French prince reached the town of St. Giles, where 
 
220 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 he was met by nuncios of the pope bearing letters, by which 
 the holy father, without arrogating to himself the power of 
 disposing absolutely of the territories conquered by the cru- 
 saders or yielded to his legates, conferred the guardianship of 
 the whole upon De Montfort. To this arrangement Louis 
 made no opposition, but, acting entirely under the instigations 
 of the Cardinal of Beneventum, announced that he should 
 command the walls of Narbonne and Toulouse to be thrown 
 down. He positively ordered the crusaders, however, to re- 
 frain from all acts of violence toward the inhabitants of those 
 cities, and left the destruction of the fortifications to the citi- 
 zens themselves. He then marched on to Toulouse, remain- 
 ed for a short time in the place, and, having seen the whole 
 countr}' quietly submit to De Montfort, returned to Paris with- 
 out having had to unsheath his sword. 
 
 While these transactions were taking place in France, In- 
 nocent had summoned a general council to meet at Rome in 
 the month of November ; but before I proceed to notice the 
 deliberations of that assembly, I must mention-one of the most 
 tragic events of the whole war, which occurred in the course 
 of the preceding year. 
 
 The conduct of Baldwin, the brother of the Count of Tou- 
 louse, has been already noticed. We have become acquainted 
 with his posthumous and apparently somewhat doubtful birth, 
 his betrayal of Raymond's confidence, and his treasonable al- 
 liance with the inveterate enemies of his feudal lord. Since he 
 abandoned the party of the count, he had shown himself one 
 of the most active and malignant of his persecutors ; and, by 
 every law, his life was forfeit to his brother. A multitude of 
 noblemen, who had quitted the party of De Montfort, had 
 been put to death without mercy as soon as taken by him ; 
 and no difference existed between their case and that of Bald- 
 win, except inasmuch as Raymond was his brother as well 
 as his prince ; and doubtless he showed the desperate valor 
 which he so frequently displayed after his treason, from a con- 
 viction that no mercy would be shown him should he be caj)- 
 tured. 
 
 It would appear that he had acquired several strong places, 
 besides Bruniquel, out of his brother's confiscated property ; 
 and there is every reason to beUeve that Raymond avoided, 
 as far as possible, making war upon his treacherous brother. 
 Among the castles which Baldwin possessed was one in the 
 diocese of Cahors, named Olme, in which he held a garrison, 
 devoted, as he imagined, to his interests. Examples of trea- 
 
THEALBIGENSE8. ftftl 
 
 son, however, are subject to be imitated by the servants of a 
 traitor ; and one night, while Baldwin was reposing quietly 
 at Olme, the knights, who were in the castle, called in the 
 garrison of Mont Leonard, a neighboring town belonging to 
 the Count of Toulouse, and gave up their commander to the 
 Toulousian soldiers. Several persons were killed in the cas- 
 tle during the affray ; but Baldwin was found asleep, and 
 dragged away captive to Mont Auban. He was there kept 
 till the Count of Toulouse arrived, together with the Count 
 of Foix, the latter nobleman's son, and an Aragonese knight, 
 named Bernard of Porlello. Raymond, it would appear, was 
 inclined to spare his brother, notwithstanding all his crimes ; 
 but the others unanimously demanded his death, probably in 
 retaliation for the execution of a number of their own friends, 
 under similar circumstances, by De Montfort. Raymond at 
 length consented ; and the unhappy man, the brother of a 
 great prince, and cousin of the King of France, was hanged 
 upon a tree outside the gates of Mont Auban, like a common 
 felon.* 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 In the month of November, 1115, was held a great coun- 
 cil of the Lateran, at which, we are assured, more than twelve 
 hundred bishops and abbots were present, besides other per- 
 sons. At this assembly appeared the Counts of Foix, Com- 
 minges, and Toulouse on the one part, and Guy, the brother 
 of Simon de Montibrt, on the other. The state of Languedoc, 
 and the heresy of the Albigenses, formed the principal topic 
 of discussion ; and the council was very much divided as to 
 the course which ought to be pursued. We have a minute 
 and apparently accurate report of the arguments used on both 
 sides ; and a brief summary of these will show the views and 
 feelings, or rather the pretexts and assertions of both parties. 
 
 * Puy Laurens, who gives a short account of this event, does not 
 blame the Count of Toulouse so much for putting his brother to death 
 as for the ignominy of the punishment which he inflicted. Peter of 
 Vaulx Ceraay, of course, embellishes the narrative with many details 
 of his own invention. ,^. 
 
222 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 The Count of Toulouse and his allies laid a formal com- 
 plaint before the pope and his council against Simon de Mont- 
 fort and the legates. They charged the crusaders with hav- 
 ing wronged them in all ways, and with pursuing the war, 
 pillaging their country, killing their people, and seizing upon 
 their territories, notwithstanding their reconciliation with the 
 Church, their obedience to her commands, and the express or- 
 ders of the pope himself They represented, as well they 
 might, that the conduct of their enemies was that of devils 
 rather than men, and that the Church could not countenance 
 or tolerate it without scandal and disgrace. Several cardi- 
 nals, bishops, and abbots supported strongly, either from their 
 own personal knowledge or from information they had re- 
 ceived, the statement of the three counts ; and the pope is 
 represented as having expressed much indignation at the con- 
 duct of De Montfort and the legates. 
 
 The Bishop of Toulouse, however, rose in defense of De 
 Montfort, and bitterly attacked the Count of Foix. He de- 
 clared that his territories were swarming with heretics, who 
 had taken and burned the Castle of Monsegur, with all its in- 
 habitants ; that the sister of the count had put her husband 
 to death, to favor the cause of the Albigenses, and had great- 
 ly encouraged their heresy in her town of Pamiers. He ac- 
 cused the Count of Foix and the Count of Toulouse of hav- 
 ing slaughtered the crusaders who went to succour De Mont- 
 fort and the legate at tha siege of Lavaur, and of having slain 
 six thousand of them at Montjoyre. 
 
 The Count of Foix boldly and justly replied, that he had 
 nothing on earth to do with the Castle of Monsegur, or with 
 its destruction. He showed that the town had never been in 
 his possession, being the property of his sister ; and he con- 
 tended that he ought not to be blamed for her faults. 
 
 The Bishop of Toulouse had thought fit to call the crusad- 
 ers, killed at Montjoyre and elsewhere, the people and serv- 
 ants of the pope ; and to this part of the accusation Foix 
 boldly replied, 
 
 "As to what the bishop says, that I and my lord, the 
 Count Raymond, have slaughtered and killed your people and 
 servants, it is not true that we have slain any of the servants 
 of the Holy Church, nor have committed any outrage ujwu 
 them ; for those who were killed at Montjoyre were no serv- 
 ants of the Church, but a mob of ribalds and thieves, who 
 pillaged and robbed the poor people, which will be found the 
 truth. Thus, in that which the Bishop of Toulouse tells you, 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 223 
 
 he greatly deceives and cheats you ; for, under the shadow of 
 good faith and friendship, he does nothing but betray by feign- 
 ed and cunning words. His acts and deeds are rather the acts 
 of the devil than any thing else, as you will find to be true ; 
 for, by his instigation and malice, he caused the town of Tou- 
 louse to be pillaged and depopulated ; and he put to a cruel 
 death more than ten thousand persons ; for he and the Count 
 de Montfort are, in these things, one." 
 
 After the Count of Foix had thus replied to the Bishop of 
 Toulouse, several other lords of Languedoc made formal com- 
 plaint against that prelate and the Count de Montfort, laying 
 to their charge the death of the Viscount de Beziers, and all 
 the ills which- had befallen the country, and showing clearly 
 that the ravages of the crusaders and the massacre of the 
 people of Languedoc had been committed without discrimina- 
 tion, or any sense of equity and justice ; the good and the bad 
 being equally put to the sword, and the true children of the 
 Church confounded with those who had been condemned as 
 heretics. 
 
 Innocent, we are assured, was much moved by the repre- 
 sentations made to him ; but the first open proceedings of the 
 council were succeeded by all the underhanded practices and 
 dirty intrigues which have so frequently disgraced the court 
 of Rome. The party of De Montfort used every private 
 means to induce the sovereign pontiff to declare the three 
 counts finally deprived of their territories ; and, finding him 
 firm in refusing, the Bishop of Toulouse and a number of other 
 French prelates proceeded to the most daring and refractory 
 menaces, declaring that, whatever might be the decision of 
 the council, they would still aid their champion to retain pos- 
 session of the lands he had acquired. 
 
 On the other hand, the Archbishop of Narbonne now show- 
 ed himself openly hostile to De Montfort, with whom he had 
 so long marched to battle ; and he publicly declared that the 
 Bishop of Toulouse himself was the author of all the evil that 
 had been done, for he had always given to himself and the 
 other legates the most damnable advice. He justified the 
 coaduct of Raymond of Toulouse and the others in resisting 
 De Montfort with arms, and pointed out the constant submis- 
 sion of the three counts to the will of the pope, whenever it 
 was distinctly expressed, as* a proof of their innocence. He 
 was strongly supported by several other prelates, one of whom, 
 addressing the Bishop of Toulouse in person, accused him of 
 bringing disgrace upon the Church, of deceiving the pope, and 
 
2:24 DARK SCEiNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 of lighting a fire in the Toulousain "v^hich could never be ex- 
 tinguished. 
 
 Theodise, however, a man much trusted by Innocent, took 
 the opposite side, aiid the pope and the council remained ap- 
 parently undecided. They left the lands of Toulouse and 
 Narbonne, indeed, in the hands of De Montfort ; but the pope 
 invested the son of Raymond of Toulouse, who had accompa- 
 nied his father to Rome, with the whole county of the Ve- 
 naisin, and the lands and territories formerly held by Ray- 
 mond in Provence. We are assured that the pontiff added a 
 hint, of no shght significance, that if the young man could re- 
 conquer all his father's territories the holy see would be well 
 satisfied.* 
 
 Here might terminate the history of the crusade against the 
 Albigenses ; for the war now deviated into a mere ambitious 
 struggle, on the part of De Montfort and his supporters, to 
 wrest from the son of the Count of Toulouse the territories 
 which the pope had left him, and to retain possession of that 
 vast tract of country which Simon had so unjustly acquired, 
 and in which he was universally abhorred. It may be as 
 well, however, to trace the career of the principal personages 
 to its conclusion. 
 
 De Montfort, a.8 soon as he heard the decision of the coun- 
 cil of the Latran, hastened to the court of France to seek as- 
 sistance, and probably to do homage to Philip Augustus for 
 the territories he had acquired. Whether he was permitted 
 to perform this act may be doubted. Some authors assert 
 positively that such was the case ; but others, most favorable 
 to his cause, who were present in Paris at the time of his ar- 
 rival, and who watched eagerly all the passing events, make 
 no mention of the fact. It is certain that he received no di- 
 rect assigtance from the king, and that he returned to Lan- 
 
 * Peter of Vanlx Cemay conceals all the principal facts regarding tbo 
 council of the Latran, passing lightly over all the angry discussions 
 which took place, and merely saying, " It is true there were some peo- 
 ple there, and, what is more, some among the prelates, who opposed 
 themselves to the interests of the faith, and labored for the restoration 
 of the said counts." He also asserts, iu order to excuse the after-con- 
 duct of Do Montfort, that the county of the Vcnaisin and other territo- 
 ries in Provence were only granted to the son of Raymond of Toulouse 
 under the guardiimsliin of Do Montfort himself, and were not to be de- 
 livered up to him till he had proved the sincerity of his faith and obe- 
 dience to the Church. It is clear, however, that the citizens of Avignon 
 and other plncee opened their gates to the young count at the express 
 commands of the pcjpe. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. «25 
 
 guedoc accompanied only by a small body of knights and vol- 
 unteers. 
 
 During the absence of De Montfort, the Count of Toulouse 
 and his son arrived at Marseilles from Rome, and were re- 
 ceived with joy by the people of that city. Avignon sent im- 
 mediately to offer the keys of the town to the young lord, and 
 the county of Venaisin welcomed him gladly, the towns open- 
 ing their gates, and the nobles flocking to do homage. An 
 immense number of barons, each accompanied by a mihtary 
 retinue, followed the young prince to Avignon, where he re- 
 joined his father, who had preceded him ; and the force col- 
 lected excited in all breasts the hope of being able to expel De 
 Montfort from Languedoc. Beaucaire and Tarascon remain- 
 ed to be acquired ; but the latter place promptly sent to offer 
 not only submission, but armed assistance ; and the citizens 
 of Beaucaire besought Raymond the younger to hasten to 
 take possession of the town and reduce the citadel, in which 
 De Montfort had placed a garrison. 
 
 Ever since the fatal battle of Muret, bands of Aragonese 
 troops, eager to avenge the death of their king and wipe out 
 the disgrace of their arms, had, from time to time, crossed the 
 mountains, and ravaged the territories held by De Montfort. 
 It was now determined in the council at Avignon that the 
 Count of Toulouse himself should proceed to Spain to give 
 consistence and direction to the efforts of the Al'agonese, and 
 to raise an army for the recovery of the county of Toulouse ; 
 while his son, with the advice and assistance of the lords of 
 Provence and other friends, should march to Beaucaire, and 
 endeavor to reduce the citadel.* This plan was acted upon ; 
 and while the old count hastened into Aragon, his son march- 
 ed out of Avignon, at the head of a gallant army, taking his 
 way toward Beaucaire. The inhabitants of that city met 
 him, in procession, at some distance, bearing the keys of the 
 town ; and he was hardly within the w^ils when a flotilla 
 from Tarascon arrived, bringing a large ^-enforcement to his 
 array. De Montfort's garrison in the ' ladel, though the re- 
 ception of the young comit took them ' , surprise, prepared for 
 determined resistance, and even issuod forth to attack the 
 Provenceaux in the streets, but were soon driven back into the 
 fortress with considerable loss. 
 
 * Some say that the application of the citizens of Beaucaire was not 
 made till after the departure of Raymond the elder. Others say that 
 the count himself was present when his son entered that city ; but both 
 these statements seem to be erroneous. 
 
 K2 
 
22fl DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 The citadel of Beaucaire was at that time so strongly for- 
 tified that it seemed little probable the place could be reduced 
 by any other means than famine. A strict blockade was 
 therefore established, and barricades erected on ©very approach 
 to the castle, so as to prevent the escape of the garrison and 
 the introduction of provisions. Measures were also taken to 
 deprive the troops within of water, and militar}'^ engines were 
 prepared for battering the walls. The whole country round 
 was zealous and eager in the cause of the young count ; pro- 
 visions arrived abundantly in the town, and his army was 
 swelled by daily re-enforcements. 
 
 In the mean time, intelligence of the attack upon the Cas- 
 tle of Beaucaire had reached Guy, the brother, and Almeric, 
 the son of the Count de Montfort ; and collecting what troops 
 they could assemble in haste, they marched to raise the siege. 
 Passing through an adverse country, where every impediment 
 was thrown in their way, they at length reached the neigh- 
 borhood of the city, and at the Castle of Bellegarde, in its 
 immediate vicinity, were unexpectedly joined by De Montfort 
 himself, with the troops he had raised in the north of France. 
 This addition to the forces of Guy and Almeric raised the 
 numbers of the army sufficiently to justify an attack upon the 
 besiegers. On the tbllowing morning an attempt was, accord- 
 ingly, made to penetrate into Beaucaire ; but it was vigorous- 
 ly repelled by the young count and his companions, and the 
 siege continued without interruption. 
 
 The garrison con.«isted of chosen men, and the defense was 
 vigorous and resolute. At the same time, De Montfort loudly 
 expressed his determination never to depart from beneath the 
 walls of Beaucaire till he had delivered the gallant knights 
 who were in the citadel. Accordingly, pitching his tents upon 
 the bank of the Rhone, he threw up barricades around his 
 camp, so that the besiegers were in turn besieged. The en- 
 gines of the young count plied the citadel night and day ; 
 those of De Montfort battered the walls of the town ; every 
 resource of the art of war, as known at that time, was em- 
 ployed ; mine and counter mine were run under the walls ; 
 and we find that pots filled with combustible or explosive 
 powder — though of what composition we know not — were 
 cast upon the engines of the enemy to destroy them. Every 
 day skirmishes and single combats took place beneath the 
 walls ; and more than once De Montfort was met in the open 
 field by the young count and a part of his army, while the 
 rest remained to carry on the siege of the castle. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 227 
 
 It is not denied by Peter of Vaulx Cernay that the country 
 for many miles around was inimical to De Montfort ; that all 
 supplies of provisions were denied him, except by the towns 
 of St. Giles and Nismes, and it became necessary that what- 
 ever was obtained should be escorted by large detachments, 
 to prevent its being seized by the country people, so great was 
 the hatred which his actions had excited. The same author 
 suffers it to appear that even the knights and soldiers of De 
 Montfort's camp showed themselves inactive and weary of the 
 war ; and, from other accounts, we find that, on more than 
 one occasion, some of the bold men among his owa followers 
 reproached him with his injustice and ambition, and told him 
 that he might grow gray under the walls of Beaucaire, before 
 God would deliver it into his hands. 
 
 During these events Raymond the elder made a rapid 
 course through Catalonia and Aragon, and rumors reached 
 De Montfort that he had passed the mountains, and was apT- 
 proaching the town of Toulouse, the inhabitants of which 
 were eager to throw off the yoke which had been imposed 
 upon them, and return to the rule of their natural lord. Not 
 even the fear of losing-^that city, however, could induce Do 
 Montfort to abandon his operations against the town of Beau- 
 caire ; and Raymond the younger persisted with equal determ- 
 ination in pressing the siege of the citadel. Provisions now 
 began to run short in the castle, and even the courage of the 
 stout soldiers within its walls to fail. The spirit of the gar- 
 rison was still further depressed when they beheld a large re- 
 enforcement pour into the town to the aid of the young count, 
 headed by Raymond of Mont Auban and five other distin- 
 guished knights ; while a flotilla mounted the Rhone, bringing 
 another considerable body of assailants, and supplies of various 
 kinds, from the flat country below. To show their distressed 
 condition to their lord, they hoisted a black flag on the high- 
 est tower of the citadel ; and De Montfort renewed his attack 
 upon the walls of Beaucaire with increased fury, but no greater 
 success than before. The besiegers of the citadel found means 
 to frustrate all his efforts, and even to cast inflammable ma- 
 terials of some kind both into his camp and the citadel, the 
 highest part of which was set on fire. 
 
 At length, as a last resource, it was determined by De 
 Montfort to employ a stratagem, and to place a hunded cho- 
 sen men in concealment, as near as possible to the gates of the 
 castle and the town, during the night. It was further ar- 
 ranged that the main army should attack the walls of the 
 
228 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 town at the break of day, but, seeming to be struck with 
 panic, should affect to fly, thus drawing the forces of the young 
 count forth from the walls. The men in ambuscade were to 
 watch their opportunity and fall upon the rear of the enemy. 
 
 This plan was put in execution ; but it proved perfectly un- 
 successful. The leaders of the young count's army were upon 
 their guard ; and his forces were sufficiently numerous at once 
 to carry on the siege and to defend the town of Beaucaire. 
 
 The soldiers in ambuscade were slain to a man, as soon as 
 they issued from their place of concealment. The assault was 
 repelled ;*and, even in the simulated flight, De Montfort lost 
 a great number of his best soldiers. 
 
 A piece of advice was now given to liim by his brother 
 Guy, worthy of the cause in which he had engaged. He 
 counseled his brother to enter into negotiations with the young 
 ^ount, and to promise that, if he would suffer the garrison of 
 the castle to come forth, he, De Montfort, would withdraw 
 his troops and leave him in peaceful possession of Provence, 
 Tarascon, Avignon, and Beaucaire, but with the full determ- 
 ination, all the time, of returning as soon as he had gathered 
 a larger army together, overrunning the whole country, and 
 hanging those who had called the young count into Beaucaire. 
 
 De Montfort rejected this advice, swearing he would never 
 leave Beaucaire till it had surrendered to him ; but, even while 
 he was holding council in his camp, one of the garrison of the 
 citadel contrived to escape and reach his army. When brought 
 into the presence of De Montfort, he informed him that the 
 troops of the castle could hold out no longer. For three days 
 they had suffered all the horrors of famine, having eaten all 
 their horses some time before. All his council now pressed 
 him to enter into negotiations with the young count ; and let- 
 ters were immediately written, offering to withdraw the troops 
 flftid leave Raymond the younger in possession of all the places 
 he had obtained, if he would suffer the garrison of the citadel 
 to march out with its baggage. The reply he received was 
 that, upon the conditions contained in his letter, and upon his 
 decamping from before Beaucaire, the garrison would be al- 
 lowed to march out, disarmed, and without baggage. But 
 Raymond refused to sufler them to depart till De Montfort 
 and his army were actually gone. 
 
 The moment this iutelhgence was received, Simon struck 
 hid tents and took his departure for Toulouse, making a signal 
 to those in the castle, to show that peace was concluded, and 
 leaving his brother and six of his companions to receive the 
 
 1 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 229 
 
 garrison and provide for their wants. The young count ful- 
 filled his part of the contract to the letter ; and De Montfort 
 marched on to Montguiscard, where he remained for several 
 days, td suffer his troops to repose. He then recommenced 
 his advance upon Toulouse in battle array, as if about to at- 
 tack an enemy's city. 
 
 The inhabitants, alarmed at this aspect, sent out a number 
 of the most considerable men among them, to inquire how they 
 had offended, and to make their peace. An immense number 
 of others followed, at the persuasion of the bishop ; but the 
 deputation received a stern and bitter answer from De Mont- 
 fort, who caused them to be seized and bound, as well as all 
 the citizens whom he met with on the road. In the mean 
 time, his soldiers poured into the place, and committed every 
 sort of excess, pillaging the houses and violating the women. 
 But the inhabitants, seeing how they had been deceived by 
 the bishop, and how they were treated by De Montfort, rose 
 in arms, formed barricades, got possession of the towers which 
 had not been demoUshed, and, attacking the troops with the 
 fury of despair, drove them back with great slaughter into the 
 citadel, to which De Montforf had carried all the prisoners 
 he had made. 
 
 More than once, during the day, De Montfort and his sol- 
 diers sallied forth, attacked the citizens in the streets, set fir© 
 to the town in various places, and committed the most un- 
 heard-of cruelties upon the inhabitants ; but, after a day of 
 terrible confusion, bloodshed, and destruction, the town re- 
 mained in the hands of the people ; and De Montfort was 
 once more compelled to have recourse to the cunning of the 
 bishop, to rescue him from a situation which had become per- 
 ilous in the extreme. That prelate engaged the Abbot of St. 
 Sernin to interpose between the inhabitants and the count. 
 It was proposed then to the magistrates and citizens of Tou- 
 louse, to enter into a convention with the Count de Montfort, 
 by which the past should be all buried in oblivion, and peace 
 established in the town. The arms of the people, and the 
 towers which remained of the fortifications, De Montfort de- 
 manded should be given up to him, in order to guard against 
 any future revolt. He agreed, however, on this condition, to 
 grant a general amnesty to all the inhabitants, to give pass- 
 ports to all who, doubting his word, might wish to quit the 
 city, and to set all the prisoners free whom he kept in the 
 Castle of Narbonnois. On the other hand, he threatened, if 
 the citizens did not agree to this proposal, to put all those 
 
MO DARK SCENES. OF HISTORY. 
 
 prisoners immediately to death. Among them were the most 
 distinguished persons of the city ; their friends and relations 
 were numerous and influential ; and there was no reason to 
 believe that any feeling of mercy or justice would induce the 
 tyrant to spare them for one moment. 
 
 The citizens were persuaded to consent ; De Montfort and 
 his knights met them at the town hall ; the convention was 
 confirmed in the most solemn manner ; the arms and towers 
 were given up ; and only one man was found wise enough to 
 demand a safe-conduct on the instant, and to quit the city 
 without delay. 
 
 " Then came the greatest treason that was ever seen I" ex- 
 claims the historian. No sooner had De Montfort obtained 
 complete possession of the town than he seized all the magis- 
 trates and principal citizens, sent them off in separate parties 
 to distant prisons, whence they never issued forth alive, and 
 leveled the walls of the city with the ground. He exacted, 
 also, an enormous ransom from the citizens, and remained 
 with his men-at-arms in the place till it was paid.* He then 
 set off for the town of Lourdes, in the Pyrenees, to consum- 
 mate another act of iniquity, which had been long in prepara- 
 tion, by marrying his second son to the young heiress of Bi- 
 gorre, who had been torn from her lawful husband, in order to 
 bring her large possessions into the family of De Montfort. 
 
 This done, De Montfort turned his arms, first, against the 
 Count of Foix, notwithstanding his absolution and the resti- 
 tution of his estates by the pope, took one of his castles and 
 ravaged his territory ; and then, marching on into Provence, 
 attempted to recover from Raymond the younger the towns 
 which had submitted to that prince during the preceding year. 
 But little success attended his efforts : a few insignificant 
 castles only fell into his hands, and he was soon recalled into 
 the Toulousain by events which overthrew the whole fabric 
 of his greatness. 
 
 The Count of Toulouse had not been idle while these move- 
 ments were taking place. He had not been prepared, it is 
 true, to defend his people from the oppression of De Montfort, 
 on the return of that personage from Beaucaire ; but, during 
 the winter of 121G-17, he gathered together a considerable 
 force of Aragonese and Catalonians, and, accompanied by one 
 of the counts of the Spanish marches, passed the mountains in 
 the month of August, and approached the town of Toulouse. 
 There can be little doubt that, during the whole of the spring 
 * Thirty thousand marks of silver. 
 
THE ALBIGENSES, 231 
 
 of that year, communications had taken place between him- 
 self, the citizens of Toulouse, the Counts of Foix and Com- 
 minges, and a number of other nobles of the country, who 
 clearly saw that De Montfbrt would leave them no peace till 
 he had made himself master of all their possessions. Every 
 thing was prepared for Raymond's reception, and he proceed- 
 ed at once to one of the castles of the Count of Comminges, 
 where he held a council with that prince and with depu- 
 ties from the town of Toulouse. It was then determined, 
 upon the representations of the latter, that Raymond should 
 hurry on with all speed to his capital and throw himself into 
 the place, although the citadel, called the Castle of Narbonnois, 
 was strongly garrisoned ; for De Montfort and a great num- 
 ber of that nobleman's men-at-arms were scattered throughout 
 the town. 
 
 The forces of the two counts proceeded in separate parties 
 on their way ; and, while Comminges cleared the country of 
 some of De Montfort' s troops, Raymond advanced with the 
 utmost rapidity, in order to take the enemy by surprise, swam 
 the Garonne with his followers, and entered Toulouse amid 
 the acclamations of the people. 
 
 The joy of the warm-hearted and vehement Toulousains 
 went beyond all bounds at the sight of their prince. They 
 cast themselves before his horse ; they embraced his knees ; 
 they kissed his feet and the hem of his garment ; and then, 
 almost unarmed themselves, having nothing but a few par- 
 tisans and lances, with sticks, stones, and any thing they 
 could turn into a weapon, they attacked the followers of De 
 Montfort, killed a great many, and drove the rest into the 
 citadel. 
 
 The first care of Raymond was to provide some defense for 
 the town, the walls and towers of which had been entirely 
 thrown down. The erection of bulwarks and palisades was 
 instantly commenced, and a deep ditch was made round the 
 city ; but, in the mean time, messengers from the Castle of 
 Narbonnois had carried information of the count's return and 
 the revolt of Toulouse, both to the Count de Montfort and 
 Guy his brother, who had remained in the Toulousain to keep 
 it in subjection during Simon's absence. Both hurried toward 
 the scene of action ; but the latter arrived first, accompanied 
 by a considerable force, and instantly attempted to storm the 
 town from the side of the Plain of Montolieu. 
 
 The citizens of Toulouse, however, supported by the cavalry 
 of their own count and theXJount of Comminges, issued forth 
 
23-2 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 from their ruined walls, and drove the enemy back with con- 
 siderable loss. 
 
 A new attack was directed the same evening against the 
 Gate of St. James ; but it proved even less successful than the 
 former, and Guy de Montfort dispatched fresh messengers to 
 his brother to press his immediate advance. Nor did Ray- 
 mond fail to call all his friends about him. Couriers were sent 
 out in every direction, announcing his return ; and there was 
 arming in haste throughout the whole of Gascony, Foix, and 
 Bigorre. The great nobility of the country rose almost to a 
 man in the cause of their friend and ally ; and although Guy 
 de Montfort still lay within sight of Toulouse, troop after troop 
 of auxiharies made its way into the city, and each was re- 
 ceived with acclamations which reached and terrified the gar- 
 rison of the citadel. 
 
 Intelligence of Raymond's return canie to De Montfort 
 while besieging the Castle of Crest, on the banks of the Rhone. 
 Dissembling the unfavorable news he had received, he in- 
 stantly put in motion his whole forces, which had been swelled 
 by a large body of crusaders under the command of Bertrand, 
 cardinal of St. John and St. Paul. He did not arrive before 
 Toulouse, however, till after the defenses of the city had been 
 repaired as far as possible ; but his army, joined with that of 
 his brother Guy, was sufficient for the siege of the town, and 
 a series of operations followed which wearied and exhausted 
 his troops without producing any successful result. 
 
 Continual attacks upon the town, and combats in the open 
 country, occupied the following nine months. The Count of 
 Foix joined his friends in Toulouse in the course of the au- 
 tumn, and the defense of the place was resolute, active, and 
 untiring. The whole country showed their enmity toward De 
 Montfort, by cutting off his supphes as far as possible. His 
 soldiers became wearied with incessant fatigue ; his brother 
 Guy was severely wounded by the quarrel of a crossbow ; and 
 still no advantage was gained. In one sally, headed by the 
 Count of Foix, the troops of De Montfort were totally defeat- 
 ed. No quarter was given, and a terrible carnage took place. 
 De Montfort himself fled with the rest toward Muret, but was 
 pressed so hardly by the enemy that he was obliged to plunge 
 into the Garonne, armed as he was, and nearly perished in the 
 water. His horse was drowned, but he himself was saved by 
 his companions; and, after rallying his troops and receiving 
 some re-enforcemente, he renc^d the siege with more fury 
 than ever. In the mean time the people of Toulouse, who 
 
THE ALBIGENSES. 233 
 
 had been stripped of all their weapons, were busily engaged in 
 manufacturing arms, and in constructing military engines of 
 great power and size. As soon as all was prepared, some were 
 directed against the Castle of Narbonnois, and some against the 
 camp of the besiegers. Immense blocks of stone, arrows, and 
 quarrels were cast by these great machines. The fortifica- 
 tions of the citadel were nearly destroyed : it became neces- 
 sary, therefore, for De Montfort to employ against the inhab- 
 itants of the town the same means which they had used against 
 him. He also constructed several great engines, and among 
 the rest one called a cat, for the purpose of destroying the pal- 
 isades and opening an entrance into the town. The defenders 
 of the place, on the other hand, determined to destroy this ma- 
 chine ; and the troops being drawn up in the ditch, were about 
 to issue forth under cover of a shower of stones and arrows 
 from their catapults and mangonels, when De Montfort hur- 
 ried forward with some of his most determined followers to de- 
 fend his artillery. While standing at the foot of the engine, 
 as some assert, or in one of the upper stages, as others declare, 
 De Montfort was struck on the head by a large mass of stone 
 from one of the mangonels, and received several arrows as he 
 fell. He had only time to make the sign of the cross ere his 
 fierce, ambitious spirit departed, and with it the life of the 
 cruel crusade against the Albigenses. A desultory warfare 
 continued for some time afterward. People were burned and 
 slaughtered in Languedoc at the kind instigation of the monks 
 of St. Dominic ; and for many years the total disruption of all 
 ties, the confusion, the anarchy, and the misery, which this 
 horrible crusade had brought upon one of the most beautiful 
 countries in the world, continued in full force. The Count of 
 Toulouse, however, continued to make progress in recovering 
 possession of his territories, till a fit of apoplexy terminated the 
 troublous course of his existence, in the month of August, 1222, 
 three weeks after the death of his friend the Count of Foix, 
 and four years after the fall of his great and mahgnant enemy. 
 Only three years more passed before the Count of Comminges, 
 and Arnold, abbot of Citeaux, now archbishop of Narbonne, 
 left the busy scene where they had taken so prominent a part ; 
 but one of the last who closed his eyes upon all the evils he 
 had caused was the infamous and detestable Fulk, bishop of 
 Toulouse, who expired in 1231. If any additional stain were 
 necessary to complete the blackness of this bad man's charac- 
 ter, it is cast upon it by one who justified his crimes and 
 lauded his cunning, but who shows that he could jest amid 
 
234 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the wretchedness that he had created, upon the people who 
 had been committed to his care, and whom he betrayed, per- 
 secuted, and destroyed. 
 
 In all the histories of these times the Vaudois and the Al- 
 bigenses are confounded, and it is clear that in both Langue- 
 doc and Provence existed a number of different sects, united 
 by their general reprobation of the superstitious crimes and 
 heresies of the Church of Rome, but differing from each other 
 in their discipline and perhaps in their dogmas. Some of 
 these sects are loudly accused of Manicheism, and perhaps a 
 few of the would-be philosophers of that age and those dis- 
 tricts were infected with the heresy. They must, however, 
 have been very few indeed ; for, in all the conferences and dis- 
 putes between the emissaries of the pope and the pastors of 
 the Albigenses, reported by the persons most favorable to the 
 Church of Rome, and most inimical to its opponents, we find 
 no doctrine broached by the latter to which a sincere Pfot- 
 estant might not conscientiously subscribe. Perhaps, indeed, 
 the charge was altogether one of those frauds of which we 
 find so many in the history of these events, and intended 
 merely to justify the awful cruelties perpetrated by the cru- 
 saders — cruelties unparalleled by any which disgrace the his- 
 tory of the world, with the exception of those exercised above 
 four centuries afterward in Piedmont against a branch of the 
 same people who here suffered persecution, and which called 
 forth the beautiful sonnet of Milton, on the massacre of Pied- 
 mont in 1655 : 
 
 Avenge, O Lord, thy slanghter'd saints, whose bones 
 
 Lie scatter'd on the Alpine Mountains cold ; 
 
 Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, 
 When all our fathers worship'd stocks and stones. 
 Forget not : in thy book record their groans 
 
 Who were thy sheep, and, in their ancient fold, 
 
 Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that roll'd 
 Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 
 
 The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
 To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow 
 
 O'er all the Italian fielas, where still doth sway 
 The triple tyrant; that from these may grow 
 
 A hundred-fuld, who, having learn'a thy way, 
 Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 235 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 
 
 VENICE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the early part of the seventeenth century, somewhere 
 about the year 1611, a gallant ship might be seen sailing 
 along the coast oi" Italy, somewhat to the northwest of Genoa. 
 She was a bark of no great size, it is true, but rigged and 
 armed in a manner not usually seen in those waters. Her 
 masts raked in an extraordinary degree, and on one deck she 
 carried twenty-four large guns. She was evidently a ship of 
 war, and sailed under the flag of France ; but the appearance 
 of the vessel altogether was totally different from any that had 
 been ever known to come out of a French dock-yard ; and 
 there was something about her which caused certain Genoese 
 merchantmen to watch her with a wary eye, and make all 
 sail for the nearest port. 
 
 Nevertheless, under a bright and beautiful sky, and favor- 
 ed by a steady, quiet breeze, which lightly ruffled the waters, 
 the fair ship sailed on her course without seeming to notice 
 the apprehension created by her passage. On her deck stood 
 a tall, powerful, graceful man, in the early prime of life. He 
 might be thirty years of age, or perhaps a little more ; and 
 his countenance, almost as brown as that of an Arab, and 
 bearing two deep scars upon it, showed that those thirty or 
 two-and-thirty years had been spent in laborious exercises, 
 and probably in strife. His dress was rich, nay, even splendid ; 
 but it was of a character rarely seen to the westward of the 
 Adriatic, and certainly did not accord at all with the French 
 flag under which he sailed. Yet he was evidently the com- 
 mander of the ship ; and as she sailed along the coast, some- 
 times gliding very near the headlands, sometimes keeping fur- 
 ther out to sea, the seamen obeyed his lightest word with 
 alacrity, as if long accustomed to submit to his orders, and 
 to rely upon his judgment. With a look of calm satisfac- 
 
236 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 tion, mingled, perhaps, with a slight shade of melancholy, 
 he kept his eye fixed upon the coast, till at length a young 
 and beautiful lady came up from below and joined him as 
 he paced the deck. Her dress was of much the same char- 
 acter as his, and any one who had traveled in the Levant 
 would have instantly recognized it as the costume of some 
 part of Greece ; but he certainly was not a Greek, for his 
 features and complexion spoke plainly a more northern race. 
 With her it might be doubtful ; for, though exceeding 
 ly beautiful, the pale olive tint of her skin, the large, dark, 
 lustrous eyes, and the arched and finely-penciled eyebrows, 
 seemed to bear evidence of Oriental birth. They spoke to- 
 gether long and tenderly in a strange tongue ; and, albeit the 
 expression of his countenance in general was stern and eager, 
 almost to fierceness, toward her every thing that was harsh 
 seemed subdued. At length the little port of Monaco came 
 in sight. Thither the vessel directed its course. One of the 
 seamen came up to the commander and spoke a few words 
 to him in French. He replied in the same tongue, " Oh, 
 yes ! Plenty of water for her draught. We have been in 
 shallower harbors than that." 
 
 The lady went below again. The commander steered with 
 hi* own hands, and the vessel was soon in the harbor of 
 Monaco. The officers of the port came on board, and seem- 
 ed surprised at much that they saw ; but the papers were all 
 in due order, and every formality was complied with. In the 
 evening of the same day, the commander and the lady land- 
 ed with several women whom she brought with her ; and 
 during his absence, for he went on himself to Turin, a very 
 valuable cargo was taken on shore. 
 
 At Turin, the commander of the vessel had an immediate 
 audience granted him by the Duke of Savoy, who received 
 him with great favor and distinction, ordered whatever doc- 
 uments he required to be prepared with the utmost dispatch, 
 and then sufiered him to return to Monaco. 
 
 In the mean time, a rumor spread through the little port 
 that the commander of the vessel was the famous Jacques 
 Pierre, whose extraordinary enterprises against the Turks had 
 dignified, in the eyes of all zealous Catholics, even the crimi- 
 nal occupation of piracy. A thousand tales were told of his 
 deeds in the Levant ; how sometimes with a single vessel, x)c- 
 casionally aided by other piratical leaders, he had carried terror 
 and confusion into the cities of the infidel, had scattered and 
 burned the Mohammedan ships, and almost annihilated the 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 837 
 
 trade of Turkey. Marvels even were reported of hinr ; and, 
 of course, a romantic imagination embellished and exaggerated 
 the truth. He had appeared, men said, when nobody believed 
 him to be within many hundred miles ; he had obtained ad- 
 mission into ports and fortified places, no one knew how ; ho 
 had suddenly started up with a mere handful of armed follow- 
 ers, in the midst of a well-guarded town, had vanquished all 
 before him, swept the place of its treasures, and destroyed its 
 buildings with fire. 
 
 Some of these tales were true, some of them false ; but cer- 
 tain it is, that this was the famous Jacques Pierre, one of the 
 most renowned pirates of the day, whose actions, full of chiv- 
 alrous daring, and marked by a certain portion of generosity 
 and courtesy, were looked upon with a favorable eye by Chris- 
 tian princes, whose dominions he aided to defend. These ac- 
 tions acquired for him glory and renown instead of punishment 
 and death. 
 
 Now what was it brought him home, returning toward his 
 own fair land of France, after spending six or seven years in 
 a way of fife which seemed to render the assumption of any 
 calmer and less perilous course utterly impossible? Never- 
 theless, his vessel and its cargo were sold. His companions, 
 receiving a share of all, which satisfied even their cupidity, 
 parted from their leader with tears and protestations of attach- 
 ment, pursued their way to deeds and fate unknown. 
 
 Jacques Pierre himself, with his lovely wife, her attendants, 
 and one or two who attached themselves more particularly to 
 his fortunes, retired to the town of Nice, purchased a beauti- 
 ful property on the slope of the hills, and, with ample means 
 and a heart apparently at ease, commenced a hfe of tranquil 
 enjoyment. True, the nobility of the land showed no fond- 
 ness for his society ; but Jacques Pierre sought them not, and 
 seemed to look upon them wdth some degree of scorn. True, 
 the citizens regarded him with doubt and fear, and never 
 could forget that he had been the great pirate. The richest 
 merchant of Nice gave him the wall, and the Httle children 
 looked up and held their breath as he passed. But their servile 
 apprehensions seemed to amuse and to please Jacques Pierre. 
 Little did he mingle with this class of society either, though, 
 perhaps, to the lower order of citizens, his demeanor was less 
 lofty and stern than toward the higher classes. All his hap- 
 piness seemed to lie in his own home ; and there, in a kind of 
 luxurious but not unrefined indolence, he passed hour after hour, 
 and day after day, with her he loved for his sole companion. 
 
238 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 During the summer and the autumn, he would He by her 
 side, under the shadow of a tree, or of the clustering vines 
 upon the hill, and look over the wide blue sea, and talk of 
 other lands and other hours in a dreamy sort of poetry. Some- 
 times his conversation was of sweet scenes, and beautiful places 
 along the fair shores or the bright island of the JEgean Sea. 
 Sometimes, however, the adventurous spirit of other days 
 would seem to revive, and he would speak of the battle, and 
 the roaring cannon, and the flashing steel, the flying enemy, 
 the captured ship, the burning town. Then would she sigh 
 to think that the fiercer part of his nature was still unsubdued. 
 He remained tranquil, however, for nearly two years ; and 
 she learned to think, or rather to hope, that the thirst for act- 
 ive enterprise was altogether dying away. 
 
 They were seated together opce more in their garden on 
 the hill, enjoying the sweet air of the evening, and the peace- 
 ful aspect of the whole scene. The roads, from the villages 
 round about down to the town, were clearly traced out, as if 
 on a map before their eyes, and were dotted here and there 
 with peasantry returning from Nice to their homes. There 
 was one group, however, upon which the eyes of Jacques 
 Pierre fixed more particularly, consisting of two horsemen, 
 and a man on foot who walked by the side of the horse on 
 the right hand, and spoke from time to time to the rider. 
 The road they were upon led directly from Nice to the coun- 
 tr}'-house of the corsair ; and when they arrived before the 
 gates, they stopped at the door. One of the servants of the 
 house was soon after seen guiding a distinguished-looking 
 stranger through the gardens to the spot where his master 
 and mistress were ; and, rising to meet his visitor, Jacques 
 Pierre received a letter from his hands, which, when he read 
 it, seemed to agitate him a good deal. He conversed calmly, 
 however, with the stranger in the French tongue ; and the 
 name of the Duke of Ossuna was often mentioned. 
 
 When the visitor was gone, after a very brief stay, Jacques 
 Pierre seated himself by his wife again ; and then ho told her 
 that the letter which he had received was an invitation from 
 the Duke of Ossuna, viceroy of Sicily, to come to his court 
 and take a high command in his armies against the Turks. 
 The renown he, Jacques Pierre, had acquired while waging 
 war against the infidel on his own Jiand, had reached thts 
 ears of the viceroy ; and, resolved to carry on with activity 
 the hostihties already commenced against the Turks, Ossuna 
 Bought for the counsel and assistance of men who, like Jacques 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 289 
 
 Pierre, had already distinguished themselves against the ene- 
 mies of Christianity. 
 
 The lady heard his words with fear and pain ; for, though 
 he told her he would deUberate upon the invitation, she knew 
 him well, and could read upon his countenance the secret 
 emotions of his heart, with which he himself was not alto- 
 gether acquainted. He told her he would deliberate ; but 
 she saw with grief that, without knowing it, he had already 
 decided. 
 
 In less than a fortnight from that time Jacques Pierre and 
 his wife were on their way to Messina. He could not resist 
 the temptation to begin again, under brighter auspices and 
 a more honorable name, the exciting and adventurous career 
 to which his youth had been devoted. Visions of glory and 
 renown, and wealth and dignity, floated before his eyes. He 
 had been accustomed to command, and he knew not what it 
 is to serve. His wife became reconciled to the loss of the 
 calm tranquillity upon which she had fixed her hopes by the 
 prospect of her husband's elevation and success ; and the 
 honor and distinction with which they were treated at Na- 
 ples silenced her regrets, if they were not altogether to be 
 crushed. Looked down upon by the high nobles, regarded by 
 the lower orders with a degree of awe approaching to fear, 
 Jacques Pierre had lived at Nice in a state of complete isola- 
 tion from those around him. But now the Viceroy of Naples 
 applauded and sought him. The court was open to him ; 
 high command was assigned him ; and, if we may believe the 
 account of some historians, the great Duke of Ossuna treated 
 him as a brother. Surely this was enough to reconcile a lov- 
 ing and attached wife to the loss of a portion of her domestic 
 peace. 
 
 Galleys were equipped, armed, and placed under the com- 
 mand of the corsair ; and beneath the flag of Spain he sailed 
 away to the scenes of his first achievements. The gay Si- 
 cilians watched his departure, and then soon forgot him, 
 though great activity was displayed in their ports in the 
 preparation of a more important armament against the Turks. 
 Ere that armament was ready, however, indeed before three 
 weeks were fully over, the galleys of Jacques Pierre once more 
 appeared oft' the port, followed by a number of other vessels, 
 each bearing the Turkish flag reversed below the flag of Spain. 
 Loud acclamations greeted the gallant sailor as he landed ; 
 and the Duke of Ossuna embraced him before the whole 
 court, pronouncing his success an omen of greater triumphs 
 
240 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 to come. A few weeks more passed, and the fleet was fully 
 equipped and put to sea. An important command was assign- 
 ed to the corsair ; and day by day as the armament sailed on, 
 it was remarked that the viceroy himself held long consulta- 
 tions with Jacques Pierre, to which none but a few officers 
 of the highest rank were admitted. At length the Turkish 
 fleet was discovered ofl' the beautiful Island of Chios. Im- 
 mediate dispositions were made for battle, and a desperate 
 engagement followed. Every movement of the Sicilian fleet, 
 however, was successful. Many of the Turkish galleys were 
 taken. More were burned ; and the scattered remnant of 
 the fleet found safety in flight to various ports of Asia Minor. 
 Many a man in the viceroy's armament attributed the tri- 
 umph of that day to the councils of the French corsair, and 
 to his activity in the battle. Ossuna publicly thanked him 
 for both ; and fresh honors and favors awaited him on his re- 
 turn to Sicily, consoling his wife for his danger and his ab- 
 sence. But the smiles of a court are very fickle ; and so it 
 would seem Jacques Pierre had still to find. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 
 
 A YEAR or two passed, and the situation of all parties was 
 changed. The Duke of Ossuna was now viceroy of Naples 
 as well as Sicily. The war was no longer with the Turks. 
 The German and the Spanish branches of the house of Aus- 
 tria were at variance with the Venetians and the Duke of Sa- 
 voy ; but negotiations for peace were going on, much against 
 the will of three remarkable servants of the Spanish crown, 
 Pedro of Toledo, governor of the Milanese ; Pedro de Giron, 
 duke of Ossuna, viceroy of Naples ; and Alphonso de la Cueva, 
 marquis of Bedomar, the Spanish embassador at the court of 
 Venice ; for, although war actually existed between the re- 
 public and the crown of Spain, yet it had never been formal- 
 ly declared ; and the Spanish embassador had not been with- 
 drawn from the city of the Adriatic. A treaty of peace was 
 on the point of being signed ; but it was well understood that 
 the officers of the crown of Spain in Italy would very unwill- 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 241 
 
 ingly, if at all, abandon hostilities against Venice, and that 
 Spain herself, perhaps, might connive at the prolongation of 
 a war by which her subjects had been enriched and her am- 
 bitious views in Italy promoted.* 
 
 Still Jacques Pierre had been the friend and confidant of 
 the Duke of Ossuna, often actively serving the viceroy, al- 
 ways admitted to counsel and advise him. Wealth and hon- 
 ors had fallen thick upon him. His house was like that of a 
 prince, and his companions were the nobles of the land. 
 
 Suddenly a change came over the scene. Jacques Pierre 
 returned from the palace of the viceroy with an anxious and 
 discontented countenance. He became irritable, impatient, 
 gloomy. The news spread through the court that he had 
 bitterly offended the ruler of the land, that he was out of fa- 
 vor, that he was a disgraced man. Courtiei's began to look 
 cold upon him ; and his wife did not venture to ask what it 
 was that oppressed him. For soqie days his house was as 
 solitary and quiet as it had been at Nice ; but it was not as 
 calm and happy. At length, one evening when the lady was 
 about to retire for the night, her husband kissed her tenderly, 
 
 * The period to which the Duke of Ossuna i)rotmcted the hostilities 
 against Venice, even after the signature of the treaty of Madrid, is of 
 gi-eat consequence to the elucidation of the conspiracy of Cueva, or Be- 
 domar, as it has been termed. The Count Daru founds all his reason- 
 ing against St. Real upon the supposition that the Duke of Ossuna had, 
 even at the time when the supposed plot was laid, conceived the de- 
 sign of separating Naples and Sicily from Spain, and erecting them into 
 a kingdom for himself. He shows that Ossuua, in pursuit of this ob- 
 ject, must have looked for help to the Venetians, and that there is 
 reason to suppose he did actually negotiate vyith them ; but he takes 
 care to give us no dates in regard to that negotiation; and it is perfect- 
 ly clear that, if any such friendly negotiation did take place at all, which 
 may be doubtful, it was posterior to June, 1618 ; for, during the whole 
 of the autumn of 16ir, and the spring of 1618, Ossuna was actually en- 
 gaged in hostilities with the Venetians, capturing their ships and inter- 
 rupting their commerce, in spite of admonitions, well understood to be 
 insincore, from his own court. The determination atti-ibuted to him, 
 of separating Naples from Spain and usui-ping the crown, may have 
 been suggested to him by the feeble conduct of his own court in these 
 very transactions ; but there is proof positive that, all through the early 
 part of 1618, he committed various acts of hostilities against the Vene- 
 tians, and neglected altogether to restore the prizes which he had tak- 
 en at the end of the preceding year ; so that, on the one hand, it h im- 
 possible to believe he was asking assistance from that state in a medi- 
 tated revolt against his sovereign, and, on the other, perfeptly natural 
 to suppose, when his enterprising character is taken into consideration, 
 that he meditated the acquisition of Venice and its de;»endent territo- 
 ries, without much consideration of the justice or injustice of the act, 
 or of the formal engagements of his own court. 
 
 Ji 
 
242 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 and held her for some moments to his heart. About half an 
 hour after she heard the sound of horses' feet in the court-yard. 
 She heard the gates thrown open, and some persons ride out ; 
 hut Jacques Pierre she did not see again. The next morn- 
 ing a party of the viceroy's guard surrounded her dweUing, 
 and searched it diligently. Every room was examined. The 
 gardens themselves did not pass unnoticed ; and she was strict- 
 ly interrogated as to what had become of her husband. 
 
 She could only answer that she knew not ; and she was 
 then placed in a carriage and conveyed to the Castel Nuovo. 
 There she was kept a prisoner, treated, it is true, with honor 
 and distinction, but guarded carefully, and suffered to hold 
 communication with none. 
 
 In the mean time, Jacques Pierre, with a servant and a 
 friend, rode on rapidly toward Rome, passed the frontiers of 
 Naples, reached the eternal city, and, having remained there 
 two or three days holding private communications with sev- 
 eral persons of distinction, set out again for the Court of Sa- 
 voy. At that court he was received with great honor by the 
 duke, and, furnished by him with letters to the Senate of Ven- 
 ice, commending highly to their notice his courage, activity, 
 and military skill, he crossed the country, and reached the 
 shores of the Adriatic in the month of August, 1617. 
 
 What did Jacques Pierre seek at Venice ? This is one of 
 those mysterious secrets which probably will never be devel- 
 oped. Certain it is that he presented himself to the officers 
 of the repubhc, and that, although there were many difficul- 
 ties in the way of a foreigner seeking employment in the Ve- 
 netian marine, whatever might be his merits and whatever 
 his renown, Jacques Pierre obtained a command in the fleet, 
 some say of one vessel, some say of two, and some of twelve. 
 An ancient rule of the republic, it wouU seem, by which 
 none but a noble Venetian was permitted to command one of 
 its ships of war, was violated in favor of Jacques Fiorre, and 
 perhaps had been so hkewise in other instances. Notwith- 
 standing this appointment, Jacques Pierre remained at Ven- 
 ice, and frequently, it would appear, visited the Spanish em- 
 bassador, De la Cueva, in secret, and held long conferences 
 with him. He visited, also, but more openly, the French 
 embassador, Monsieur Bruslart de L6on. Many of his coun- 
 trymen wc-e at Venice at that time, and some Neapolitans 
 and Roman.', with whom he was acquainted. Among the 
 rest were two, one apparently a Neapolitan, named the Cap- 
 tain Alexander Spinoea, the other a Frenchman, named Ke> 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 243 
 
 nault d'Arnaud. The first, it would appear, was an agent 
 of the Duke of Ossuna, who had been iii Venice for some 
 time, a cunning, but vain man, whose objects in Venice are 
 not easily ascertained. The second was a refugee from 
 France, whom the French embassador and his brother char- 
 acterize as a debauched, drunken gambler, a swindler, a rogue, 
 "whose rogueries were known to all the world." Neverthe- 
 less, this notorious person was apparently a favored visitor at 
 the house of the embassador, and was often invited to dine at 
 his table. With this man Jacques Pierre entered into some 
 degree of intimacy, engaging him apparently as a scribe, aftd 
 intending to employ him as a courier. 
 
 During several succeeding months a number of Frenchmen 
 and Savoyards took service with the Venetian government, 
 and no disposition was shown to decrease their armaments. 
 The town was full of foreigners, and Jacques Pierre seemed 
 high in the favor of the Senate. He was consulted upon the 
 changes proposed in their military marine, and furnished them, 
 at their request, with a complete scheme for its better organ- 
 ization.* All passed smoothly and quietly for many months ; 
 and early in May, 1618, Jacques Pierre set out for the coast 
 of Dalmatia with the Venetian fleet, while Renault prepared 
 to depart for France, bearing dispatches from the celebrated 
 corsair to the Duke of Nevers. 
 
 The nature of these dispatches it may be as well to explain. 
 The Duke of Nevers had some chimerical pretensions to the 
 crown of the Eastern empire ; and he had often devised wild 
 schemes for rousing the Greek population against the Turks, 
 and making himself master of, at least, a part of the land, 
 which at one time had been under the domination of his re- 
 mote ancestors. For many years he had maintained a corre- 
 spondence in the Morea, and, by his indiscreet conversation, 
 had caused the death of several distinguished persons who 
 had favored his views in Greece. Even to a very late period 
 of his life he never laid aside his designs, and eagerly sought 
 information from any one who could give him intelligence of 
 the state of the Morea, and co-operation from all who could 
 
 * Monsieur Daru would have us believe that Jacques Pierre occu- 
 pied a very inferior station in the Venetian marine, at the pitiful pay 
 of forty crowns a month. The very letters, however, of Monsieur Brus- 
 lart, which he cites, show how high this officer was in the esteem of 
 the Senate ; and. they prove that Jacques Pierre could have no need to 
 accept insignificant pay from the Venetian republic, as he had the means 
 of furnishing Renault with two hundred crowns, to carry a dispatch for 
 hin^ into France. 
 
244 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 assist in his project. Communications had already taken 
 place between himself and Jacques Pierre ; and the dispatch 
 now sent by the hands of Renault contained a detailed plan 
 for an invasion of the Turkish empire combined with an m- 
 surrection of the people of Greece. 
 
 The state of Venice at the period which I mention, name- 
 ly, the beginning of May, 1618, though not altogether one of 
 profound peace, was, nevertheless, prosperous and happy. The 
 death of the doge, Donate, in the early part of the year, after 
 a reign of about one month, called Antonio Priuli to the ducal 
 chair. But the newly-elected doge was at this time in Istria ; 
 and, while he hastened to receive the honor conferred upon him, 
 Venice was ruled by the vice-doge, the Senate, and the Coun- 
 cil of Ten. Peace had been concluded between the Arch- 
 duke Ferdinand and the republic of Venice, and between the 
 Duke of Savoy and the Spanish government ; but war still 
 subsisted in reality ; the stipulations of the treaties were not 
 executed ; the fleets of the Duke of Ossuna, viceroy of Naples, 
 infested the Adriatic, took the Venetian ships, and interrupt- 
 ed the commerce of the repubUc ; and Don Pedro of Toledo, 
 though indulging in no active enterprises against Savoy or 
 Venice, still neglected the orders of his court to restore the 
 town of Vercelli, or to abandon his hostile attitude toward the 
 Venetians. The utmost possible enmity was displayed by the 
 Duke of Ossuna toward the repubhc ; and the armaments 
 which he prepared at Naples, comprising many vessels of small 
 draughts of water, fitted to navigate the Lagunes, gave much 
 apprehension to the Senate. It was generally reported too, 
 and was undoubtedly the fact, that he had caused maps of 
 Venice and its canals, and complete charts of the shallow seas 
 aroimd, to be made by his agents in the north, and transmitted 
 to Naples. 
 
 Bedoraar, the Spanish embassador, was at this period in 
 Venice. The French embassador was absent on a pilgrimage 
 to Loretto, while his brother supplied his place. The former 
 returned with the new doge, Priuli, who entered Venice, it 
 would appear, on the 4th of June ; but, in the mean time, one 
 of the most terrible tragedies had taken place to be found in 
 the annals of history. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 245 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 
 
 All was quiet in Venice. The nobles and the Senate 
 were occupied in preparations for the reception of their new 
 duke. The people, with whom he was an especial favorite, 
 rejoiced over his election ; and all looked forward to the festivi- 
 ties which would follow his arrival, with the satisfaction of a 
 light-hearted and revel-loving people. But, on the night of 
 the fourteenth of May, a dull rumor ran among the populace, 
 that a terrible conspiracy had been discovered for the destruc- 
 tion of the republic and the burning of the town. A great 
 number of persons were said to have been apprehended ; and 
 every one sought information, but no one could obtain it. The 
 Senate seemed ignorant of the transaction ; the Council of 
 Ten were mute ; but still numerous arrests took place. The 
 lodgings of all strangers in the town were visited ; the inns 
 and places of public entertainment were searched ; and it was 
 soon ascertained that the public prisons were crowded by more 
 than three hundred new tenants. The Inquisitors and the 
 Council of Ten were busy from morning till night ; and the 
 effects of their activity were soon seen. Several dead bodies 
 were found hung upon gibbets in the place of St. Mark, and 
 the waters of the canals bore up a number of corpses. 
 
 Still the Council of Ten maintained the most profound si- 
 lence ; but rumor gave out the details of the event as follows, 
 before the twenty-second of the month. The famous Jacques 
 Pierre, it was said, together with an engineer officer of the 
 name of Langlade, who had accompanied him from Naples, 
 a French officer of the name of Tournon, two brothers of the 
 name of Desbouleaux, and Renault d'Arnaud, had conspired 
 together to introduce a number of foreign soldiers into the 
 town, for the purpose of seizing upon it on the day of Ascen- 
 sion. According to this rumor, their plan was to seize upon 
 the place of St. Mark, the arsenal, the arms collected in the 
 halls of the Council of Ten, and the treasury, to take posses- 
 sion of all the principal avenues, to set fire to a part of the 
 town, and, having obtained possession of the armed galley 
 which lay opposite the palace, to use the artillery which it 
 
246 DARK SCENES OF HISTOHY. 
 
 contained for the purpose of fortifying themselves in the prin- 
 cipal positions they had taken. They were there to main- 
 tain themselves as best they could till the arrival of the fleet 
 of the Duke of Ossuna, which was already in the Adriatic, 
 only waiting for intelligence to advance. Another fleet, it 
 was said, had been prepared at Trieste and Fiume, for the 
 purpose of capturing Marano. This tale was generally credit- 
 ed among the Venetian people ; and it was reported that eight 
 hundred strangers had fled from Venice, immediately after 
 the first arrests had been made.* 
 
 A Ithough among the bodies of the dead which were found 
 there were several Venetians, yet the greater part were rec- 
 ognized as Frenchmen. Nevertheless, every rumor pointed 
 to the Spanish government as the authors of the conspiracy ; 
 and the populace in fury menaced the house of De la Cueva, 
 and insulted the Frenchmen who ventured into the streets. 
 
 Nor were the sanguinary executions confined to Venice. 
 Many of the strong places of the republic witnessed the same 
 sanguinary deeds. The engineer Langlade was ill at Zara, 
 and attended by a servant and a page. Suddenly the house 
 was invested by a company of arquebusiers. Langlade was 
 dragged from his bed, the servant and the page were seized, 
 and all three shot down, as soon as they were brought out, 
 without examination, trial, or confession. 
 
 But what became of Jacques Pierre ? He had sailed away 
 from Venice with the fleet, honored, and apparently content- 
 ed with the distinction he received from the republic. His 
 only cause of anxiety or regret seems to have been the deten- 
 tion of his fair wife in Naples ; but we find that he consoled 
 himself, i'rom day to day, with the hope of her liberation, 
 though we know not that he had any good foundation for 
 such an expectation. The fleet was lying off the coast of 
 Dalmatia, watching, it would appear, for the ships of the 
 Duke of Ossuna, when a quick saihng galliot arrived from 
 Venice, and an officer went on board the admiral's ship. 
 Shortly after a signal was made for Jacques Pierre to come 
 on board, which he immediately obeyed, accompanied by one 
 servant and the rowers of his barge. There is reason to be- 
 lieve that a council was then held, and that the opinion of 
 the famous corsair was asked ujwn several points. As soon 
 as he returned to the deck, however, rude hands were laid 
 upon him ; and the fatal preparations that ho saw gave the 
 
 • Such ii the report made to his povernnient by the brother of the 
 FrsQch •mbaaMdor, then mipplying his plnre, on the 22d of May, 1618. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 247 
 
 first intimation that his death was determined. He wished 
 to speak ; but they would not hear him. He asked a con- 
 fessor ; but they would not grant him one. The fatal cord 
 was twined round his neck, and after a brief struggle the 
 body was put into a sack and cast into the sea.* 
 
 It has never been known how many persons were secretly 
 executed ; but the general belief is, that more than three 
 hundred perished either by the cord or by the water. f 
 
 As the accusations of the Spanish government became 
 more generally spread among the people, the popular rage 
 was excited to the highest point. The house of the embassa- 
 dor was thi'eatened with pillage, and his person was certainly 
 in danger.' 
 
 De la Cueva presented himself before the vice-doge and 
 College, to demand protection ; and if the formal account of 
 his audience, rendered by the doge to the resident of the re- 
 public in Milan, can be trusted, he somewhat forgot his dig- 
 nity and pride in. the fear which possessed him. Although 
 neither the Senate, nor the College, nor the Council of Ten, 
 had brought any charge against him, nor, indeed, had com- 
 municated to any one, up to that time, the particulars of the 
 conspiracy, he defended himself almost as if he were upon his 
 trial, declaring that he had refused even to listen to several 
 foreigners, who had wished to speak with him on matters of 
 importance ; but he acknowledged a fact of much significance, 
 namely, that rumors had reached him, from time to time, that 
 the strangers with which the town was filled were accustom- 
 ed to talk rashly among themselves in public places, saying 
 that they could do such and such things if they liked. He 
 protested, however, that he had never listened to these men 
 himself 
 
 The vice-doge and his council heard him in cold silence, 
 gave him no explanation whatever, neither accused nor ex- 
 culpated him, and merely replied that the council would con- 
 sider his application, and send him an answer. He then ve- 
 hemently renewed his demand for protection against the peo- 
 
 * I have chosen what seems to me the most probable account of the 
 death of this celebrated and unfortunate man. Some say that he was 
 placed in the sack still living; but in the letters, of the French chan- 
 cery it is stated that he was first strangled. 
 
 t Forty-five persons were drowned at the lime of the execution of 
 Jacques Pierre, and two hundred and sixty were executed on land, ac- 
 cording to a cotemporary manuscript account of the proceedings, of 
 which two copies exist, one in Paris, the other at Venice. The author 
 is unknown. 
 
248 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 pie, and quitted the hall. On the 27th of May he wrote to 
 the Senate, and demanded another audience. The vice-doge 
 received him as before ; and he once more broke out into ve- 
 hement protestations of his innocence, admitting that those 
 -who had been executed weie culpable, especially one who had 
 been put to death the day before, but whom he does not name. 
 He reiterated, also, his apphcation for protection, and retired, 
 after receiving a very brief answer, merely assuring him that 
 means had been taken to secure the peace of the town. He 
 remained rather more than a fortnight in Venice after this au- 
 dience, and then, pretending that he had received an invita- 
 tion to Milan, quitted the capital of the repubhc never to re- 
 turn. We do not find that he took any formal leave of the 
 doge or the Senate, but, nevertheless, the resident at Milan 
 was directed not only to watch his conduct, but to pay him a 
 visit of ceremony, showing the great reluctance which the 
 government of Venice had to charge him publicly with a di- 
 rect share in the conspiracy. The resident, however, as well 
 as the embassador from Venice at the court of Spain, had 
 distinct intimation that he had fomented that conspiracy ; but 
 the latter, though furnished with all the particulars, and or- 
 dered to demand the recall of Bedomar in a personal audience 
 of the King of Spain, was directed " to keep to general terms, 
 limiting himself to stating that motives of great gravity had 
 determined the council to adopt the measures which it had 
 taken." This letter to the Venetian embassador in Spain is 
 dated the 2d of July, 1618 ; and this is the first occasion on 
 which we find the Senate distinctly charging De la Cueva 
 with taking part in a plot against the town ; but the charge 
 thus made fully justifies the application of the name which 
 has been usually given to these transactions, namely, The con- 
 spiracy of Bedomar. 
 
 In this sad transaction, as I have stated, more than three 
 hundred persons lost their lives. A great number were tor- 
 tured in the most frightful manner, and still more were either 
 strangled in their dungeons or secretly drowned. For some 
 time after the discovery executions continued ; but the deep 
 mystery with which the Council of Ten enveloped all their 
 proceedings, and concealed the evidence upon which they act- 
 ed, caused doubts to arise in the minds of many persons as to 
 the existence of a conspiracy at all. A controversy afterward 
 arose as to the cause of these sanguinary executions ; and peo- 
 ple, as is common in controversies, forgot the guidance of com- 
 luou 8CILBC, boniewhat deviated from plain and slraightforwaixl 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 249 
 
 truth, and corrupted or misinterpreted evidence, in order to 
 support the view which each had taken. I shall now exam- 
 ine into the simple facts which are known, and briefly discuss 
 the systems which have been raised upon them, without any 
 hope of being able satisfactorily to explain all the dark points 
 in one of the most obscure transactions on record, but perfect- 
 ly certain of being able to show that the last hypothesis which 
 has been put forward (that of the Count Daru) has not the 
 slightest foundation in fact. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 
 
 There are many transactions in the history of states or of 
 individuals in regard to which motives of pohcy or of shame 
 require all evidence to be suppressed, as far as possible. Such 
 was the case in regard to the execution of an immense num- 
 ber of people at Venice in 1618. It must be remarked, how- 
 ever, that secrecy was an immemorial part of the police sys- 
 tem at Venice, and that, in most instances, the denunciation, 
 the trial, and the execution took place in secret. Especial 
 care, however, seems to have been employed on the present 
 occasion to prevent any of the particulars transpiring for some 
 months, and especial motives may be easily discovered for 
 .such conduct. Peace had just been concluded with the house 
 of Austria ; the resources of the republic had been greatly di- 
 minished by the necessity of paying large subsidies to the 
 Duke of Savoy during the war ; the Dutch troops in the serv- 
 ice of Venice were in a very mutinous state ; France and 
 Spain were on more friendly terms than had existed between 
 them for many years ; and boldly to accuse the Spanish em- 
 bassador of so horrible a crime as conspiring against the peace 
 and safety of a friendly city, and engaging a band of despera- 
 does to fire and plunder it, must inevitably have brought on 
 a war with one and probably with both branches of the house 
 of Austria. Venice would have seen herself, under such cir- 
 cumstances, without any efficient allies, and her utter ruin 
 must have been the consequence. It is easy to understand, 
 therefore, that, however culpable the Spanish embassador 
 
 L2 
 
250 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 might be, it was necessary to act with the greatest possible 
 discretion in demanding his recall, and to suppress every thing 
 which might appear like a scandalous charge against the 
 crown of Spain. 
 
 The public documents which remain regarding this trans- 
 action are exceedingly few, and their inlbrination scanty. 
 They divide themselves into two classes : those of which the 
 authenticity is undoubted, and those which are not proved to 
 be authentic. The first class comprises a number of letters 
 of the Senate and the doge to the V^enetian resident at Milan, 
 and the reports of the Council of Ten, which were forwarded 
 to him for his private information, together with the corre- 
 spondence of Bruslart, the French embassador, with his court. 
 That these documents were written by the parties to whom 
 they are attributed, there is, I believe, no doubt ; but that 
 the writers were always sincere in the views expressed, or ac- 
 curate in regard to the facts stated, is another question, find 
 may be doubtful. 
 
 The documents, respecting the authenticity of which we 
 have no very distinct proof, but which yet are worthy of much 
 attention, are three in number. The first is called a summary 
 of the conspiracy,* and contains a long account of the denun- 
 ciation of the plot, the examinations of the conspirators, the 
 tortures to which they were subjected, their execution, and 
 the precautions taken by the republic. The author is un- 
 known, and the account differs materially from that given 
 by the Council of Ten, on the 16th of September and the 
 17th of October, and transmitted to the resident at Milan 
 soon after. The compilation, therefore, can not be looked 
 upon as an authorized report ; but, nevertheless, it contains 
 many statements confirmed by other evidence. The next is 
 a letter from Jacques Pierre to the Duke of Ossuna, dated the 
 7th of April, 1618. A copy exists at Paris, and another is to 
 be found in the library of the Camaldolites of St. Michael, 
 near Venice. The authenticity of this paper has not been 
 proved, but the style is perfectly similar to that of other let- 
 ters of Jacques Pierre which are known to be genuine ; the 
 details are in complete accordance with many known facts, 
 and are so minute and particular that the slightest error would 
 be discoverable, and betray the fabrication ; and the authen- 
 ticity is, moreover, confirmed by several facts which appear 
 accidentally in the reports of the Council of Ten. The letter 
 * Sommario della congiura fatta contro la gareniMima republica di 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 851 
 
 18 long and comprehensive. It refers to several transactions 
 between the writer and the Duke of Ossuna, and to the in- 
 trigues then going on in Venice ; and it contains a complete 
 and well-organized plan for surprising that city, and giving it 
 up to the troops of the viceroy; Though the authenticity is 
 not proved upon irrefragable evidence, and although the de- 
 signs implied seem inconsistent with known facts, yet I can 
 not doubt that the epistle was written by Jacques Pierre, and 
 am inchned to believe that Monsieur Daru only doubted the 
 genuineness because the letter was totally opposed to the 
 hypothesis he had formed. 
 
 The third class of doubtful documents consists of the min- 
 utes of the information given by Jacques Pierre, at various 
 times, to the Venetian government, regarding the designs of 
 the Duke of Ossuna and the Marquis of Bedomar against the 
 town. These minutes were inclosed by the French embassa- 
 dor to his government, after the discovery of the conspiracy, 
 with a view of proving that no conspiracy existed. He states, 
 at the same time, that the information was given by Jacques 
 Pierre about ten months before, and that he. Monsieur Brus- 
 lart, was cognizant of the fact. It is to be remarked, how- 
 ever, that these papers are not in the handwriting of Jacques 
 Pierre, but in that of Renault d' Arnaud, qualified as a drunk- 
 ard, a gambler, and a swindler ; and that they are only au- 
 thenticated by the testimony of the French embassador, who 
 does not say how they came into his possession. It can not 
 escape attention either, as a most extraordinary and unac- 
 countable fact, that Monsieur Bruslart should have known for 
 ten long months the design of the Duke of Ossuna upon Ven- 
 ice, and yet should never have communicated such important 
 intelligence to his own government till after the discovery in 
 May, 1618. That these last documents were originally really 
 written by Jacques Pierre, I very much doubt. 
 
 Such, then, are the historical sources from which, we have 
 to form our opinion of the various accounts which have been 
 given of this obscure and terrible transaction. I will now 
 proceed to examine the views put forth by various parties re- 
 garding the conspiracy, passing over very lightly the most 
 famous account of the conspiracy which has appeared, name- 
 ly, that of St. Real, inasmuch as it is evidently founded upon 
 the Italian summary of the conspiracy which I have men- 
 tioned, with various alterations and embellishments, wherein 
 ornament has been considered more than truth. 
 
 The first account of the conspiracy 'wrhich I shall consider 
 
252 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 is that given by the Venetian government itself ; and, as more 
 and more information was communicated to its diplomatic 
 agents at various times, it will be necessary to mark the period 
 at which each communication took place. 
 
 Within a verj^ short time after the first arrests were made 
 and the executions commenced, it has been seen that rumors 
 spread among the people regarding the object of the detected 
 conspiracy, and the parties imphcated. These rumors were 
 transmitted to the French government by Monsieur Broussin 
 on the 22d of May, 1618. Nevertheless, the Council of Ten 
 maintained the most profound silence, and proceeded with the 
 work of butchery in darkness and in secret. There is not the 
 slightest trace of their liaving communicated the particulars 
 of the conspiracy, or the evidence upon which they acted, to 
 the Senate, to the vice-doge, or to any of the diplomatic agents. 
 The first hint of the complicity of Bedomar in the transactions 
 which had given occasion for such frightful executions is con- 
 tained in a letter from the three inquisitors of state to the 
 Venetian resident at Milan, on the 6th of June, 1618. On 
 the 11th of the same month, a letter from the doge to the 
 same personage (Vincenti) makes the charge distinctly. Pri- 
 uli says, " It appears clearly from these proceedings that the 
 embassador of the Catholic king resident with us had a great 
 part in this scheme, and he can not himself deny it." 
 
 An account is then given of the interviews I have men- 
 tioned between Bedomar and the Senate. Although the let- 
 ter of the Senate, dated the 2d of July, to the Venetian em- 
 bassador in Spain, directing him to demand the recall of Bedo- 
 mar, undoubtedly contained the Venetian version of the whole 
 transaction, a copy of the statement then sent has not come 
 down to us. Wc only know that the Senate ordered the em- 
 bassador to communicate with the king in person, to use the 
 utmost discretion, and to avoid most scrupulously making any 
 charge against the Spanish people or crown which could give 
 even a pretext for offense, but at the same time firmly, though 
 respectfully, to demand the recall of De la Cueva. A letter 
 from the doge, on the 20th of July, announces that Bedomar 
 had been iJcBlled.* On the 31st of July and the 16th of 
 
 * Monsieur Daru concludes, from the date of this letter, that the re- 
 call of Bedomar could not have been occasioned by the applicafion of 
 the Senate. This does not appear to me to be jwrfecUy clear. Twen- 
 tv-six days had elapsed since the applicatioi) had been made ; and it 
 (foes not appear impossible that oven an ordinary courier should per- 
 form the journey to Madrid and back in the given time. The matter, 
 however, is not of very frreat imj^ortanco. ' 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 253 
 
 September we have two reports made by the Council of Ten. 
 The first of these only touches generally on the designs against 
 the town of Venice, but enters particularly into the details of 
 a plot for the surprise of the town of Crema, which was to 
 have been executed at the same time with the attempt upon 
 Venice. It accuses Don Pedro, of Toledo, in concert with the 
 Marquis of Bedomar, of having seduced the foreign soldiery 
 in the pay of Venice,* and states that the plot at Crema had 
 been discovered by one of the soldiqjs of the garrison, who, 
 struck with terror on hearing of the executions in Venice, con- 
 fessed the whole. The report of the Council of Ten, on the 
 16th of September, is a further exposition of the Venetian 
 view of the case. It states that a Frenchman, who had not 
 taken part in the plot, but who had heard the designs of the 
 conspirators, had revealed them to the Venetian government, 
 without any promise of reward or even any security for his 
 own life ; and it declares that his information had been con- 
 firmed by the confession of the culprits under the torture, and 
 by a letter from one of the conspirators to the Duke of Ossuna, 
 found in the valise of a person condemned, together with a 
 letter of recommendation to the viceroy, written by the Span- 
 ish embassador. " The writer complains," says the report, 
 speaking of the former letter, " that a favorable occasion has 
 been lost," which is exactly similar to a passage in the letter 
 of Jacques Pierre, before mentioned. The report then goes 
 on to state that this was not the only proof of the conspiracy 
 which had been obtained. A person o4' quality and judgment 
 in the service of the republic, and who perfectly understood 
 the French language, had been concealed in a place where 
 the conspirators met, and heard the whole of their conversa- 
 tion. The same person had moreover seen, the report states, 
 in the house of the embassador, a number of letters from the 
 Duke of Ossuna, some addressed to De la Cueva himself, some 
 to one of his intimates charged with the direction of the plot. 
 It was this latter personage, the council asserts, who wrote the 
 intercepted letter above mentioned. The report then proceeds 
 to state that the discoveries made at Crema had thrown great 
 light upon the proceedings of the conspirators at Venice, and 
 
 * The words are " in the course of the last months." The report is 
 dated on the Slst of July, and Monsieur Daru very unfairly asks how' 
 the embassador could seduce the soldiers in the month of June, when 
 the conspiracy was discovered, at the latest, on the 14lh of May ? He 
 does not remark that the word months is in the plural, and is a com- 
 pletely vague expression, which might apply to any two or three 
 pionths before. 
 
254 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 that orders had been sent to th« captain general to put to 
 death Jacques Pierre and Langlade with as little publicity 
 as possible, ample proofs of their crimes having been obtained 
 after their departure for the fleet. 
 
 The most lull and important of all these docimients, how- 
 ever, is a letter of the doge to the resident at Milan, dated 
 the 19th of October, 1618, and containing a report made by 
 the Council of Ten on the 17th of the same month. The 
 letter states that some^oreign courts had been led to believe 
 that the accounts of the conspiracy which had been discov- 
 ered at Venice were without foundation ; and it directs the 
 resident to refute these insinuations, and to sustain the fact 
 and the necessity of the measures taken by his government. 
 He is enjoined, however, on no occasion to begin the subject, 
 always to lay the blame upon ministers, and never to mix the 
 names of princes with the question. The new report of the 
 Council of Ten is inclosed, probably for his own information. 
 That most important document makes the following state- 
 ments : 
 
 •' In the month of March last, a Frenchman from the prov- 
 ince of Languedoc, named Montcassin, of the age of about 
 thirty years, of respectable birth, a man of courage, enterprise, 
 and of a shrewd mind, came to Venice. 
 
 " He obtained from the council a military employment, and 
 ofTered to raise a company of three hundred French musket- 
 eers. A few days after, the Captain Jacques Pierre, one of 
 the chiefs of the conspiracy, having arrived, imagined that 
 this Montcassin, who passed for a clever man, might be use- 
 ful in the execution of the evil designs which he, Jacques 
 Pierre, meditated." 
 
 The report then goes on to state that Jacques Pierre en- 
 tered into conversation with Montcassin in the Church of St. 
 Mark, caressed him greatly, asked him to dinner, made him 
 sleep at his house, and ultimately revealed his project to him, 
 after having sworn him to secrecy. He used many argu- 
 ments to induce him to quit the service of the republic, showed 
 how slow it was in promoting officers, how little satisfaction 
 it had given to foreigners in its service, and added, that it was 
 a miracle that the town had escaped being taken by surprise 
 long before. He ridiculed the Venetians exceedingly on ac- 
 count of their want of mihtary qualities, and declared that, in 
 Turkey, he had once executed a similar enterprise without the 
 loss of a single man. He, with some of his companions, sub- 
 •oquently led Montcassin to the top of the Tower of St. Mark, 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 255 
 
 showed him the two channels which communicated with the 
 deep sea, and declared that he could bring a vessel up to the 
 very Square of St. Mark. He, moreover, remarked, that in 
 Venice more honors were given to a lackey than to a soldier, 
 and told his companion, that although the Venetians had now 
 some troops in the forts, where formerly there were none, they 
 were the merest scum. He declared that he had demanded 
 money of the Spanish embassador for the purpose of introduc- 
 ing foreign soldiers into the forts, besides the thirty or forty 
 who were there already, and that the embassador had prom- 
 ised him more than he had asked. Jacques Pierre also insti- 
 gated Montcassin to write to Naples that they should render 
 the imprisonment of his wife more strict, and make much noise 
 about this severity, in order to better conceal the projects 
 agreed upon. The corsair then developed his W'hole plan for 
 the surprise of the toAvn. The Duke of Ossuna was to send 
 him two or three galleons, with five hundred picked men. As 
 soon as they were within sixty miles of Venice, a felucca would 
 be dispatched to give him notice of their approach. The first 
 favorable night would be chosen for the ships to get in shore 
 as far as possible ; the conspirators would then take arms and 
 set fire to the town in various places, in order to distract the 
 people, while Langlade burst open the gates of the arsenal 
 with a petard. The mint was also to be seized ; and the con- 
 spirators, divided into three battalions, were to cover the dis- 
 embarkation of the troops, and maintain their ground in the 
 town in expectation of news from the garrison of a place, the 
 name of which is omitted.* 
 
 Various other conversations between Jacques Pierre, Lang- 
 lade, and Montcassin are recapitulated in the report, from 
 which it appeared that the intention of the conspirators M^as 
 to seize the Palace of the Council of Ten, to massacre all the 
 members, to attack the armory, to set fire to the arsenal, to 
 take possession of the Place of St. Mark and the Rialto, and 
 
 * The plan laid out in the letter attributed to Jacques Pierre is a much 
 more formidable affair than this wild and hopeless scheme developed 
 by Montcassin, who, it would appear, was only partially informed. His 
 means were to have been five thousand men, whom he had either se- 
 duced among the Dutch troops, or gathered together from different 
 parts in Venice and its neighborhood, together with the whole mass of 
 prisoners in the city, who were to be liberated and armed ; the cannon 
 from the arsenal and the armed galleys were to be put in requisition, 
 and banicades erected at every defensible point. With these, he 
 thought, he should be able to hold the town tillthe arrival of the troops 
 of the viceroy from Naples. 
 
 ^' 
 
256 DARK SCENKS OF HISTORY. 
 
 to point all the cannon which could be obtained upon the 
 town. The pillage of the place was to be given up to the con- 
 spirators, and the town itself to the Duke of Ossuna, who, as 
 soon as he heard that the attempt was successful, was to send 
 forward twenty-five or thirty galleys filled with armed men, f 
 which were to follow the galleons at a considerable distance, ^ 
 waiting for the signal. 
 
 Shortly after these conversations, Montcassin ieft Venice for 
 a time ; and during his absence the existence of a plot, with 
 some of the particulars, was comimunicated to Nicholas Donate 
 by a letter written in Italian, spelled in the French manner. 
 In the middle of the month of April Montcassin returned, and 
 took up his abode at an inn called the Trumpet, where an- 
 other officer lodged, named Balthazar Juven. Montcassin im- 
 mediately determined to gain his brother officer to the con- 
 spiracy ; and, after some hesitation and various precautions to 
 insure his secrecy, he took him to the house of Jacques Pierre, 
 where they found assembled Langlade, Renault, two brothers 
 (Charles and John Boleo, otherwise Desbouleaux), a soldier 
 named Colombe, and John Berard, of the garrison of Crema. 
 Here Jacques Pierre, Montcassin, and Juven, going apart from 
 the others, conversed over the plot, in which Juven refused to 
 take part, unless they communicated the whole to him, and 
 gave him a copy of their plan of action. This being accord- 
 ingly done, Juven determined to reveal the whole, and applied 
 to a nobleman, named Bollani, to obtain an audience of the 
 Senate. Pretending to have some business to transact with 
 that body in regard to his company, he persuaded Montcassin 
 to accompany him to the palace. As they entered the grand 
 hall, Montcassin, apparently alarmed, asked his companion 
 where they were going. 
 
 " I am going," replied Juven, " to ask permission of the 
 doge to set fire to the arsenal and the mint, and to give up 
 Crema to the Spaniards." 
 
 He, however, comforted his pale and trembling companion, 
 by telling him he would inform the doge that he, Montcassin, 
 came also to reveal what he knew ; and ho then left him in' 
 the outer hall, watched by Mark Bollani and several other per- 
 sons. Juven then went before the doge* and made his depo- 
 sition in form, after which he went back to Crema. Mont- 
 cassin eagerly applied to make his deposition also before the 
 inquisitors of state, which was permitted ; and now an ira- 
 
 * It wonld appear that this was in the time of the short reign of a 
 month of Nicolas Donata 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 25." 
 
 mense mass of infonnation was obtained, especially regardinj* 
 the participation of the Spanish embassador in the plot, and 
 of the proceedings of one of liis friends and confidants, named 
 Robert Buccilardo, of Bergamo, in whose hands were all the 
 threads of the conspiracy, and who conducted the correspond- 
 ence with the Duke of Ossuna. It appeared that this Buc- 
 cilardo and Jacques Pierre had been very active together in 
 stirring up a mutiny among the Dutch troops ; and Montcas- 
 sin ofiered to put Buccilardo and all his papers into the hands 
 of the government, by bringing him to a house where the con- 
 spirators met ; but Buccilardo was upon his guard, and made 
 his escape. Montcassin, however, succeeded in concealing an 
 agent of the government in a place where he could hear and 
 see the whole proceedings of the conspirators at one of their 
 meetings. The report then gives a summary of what had 
 been discovered from the various declarations, in the following 
 words : 
 
 "A project, which was believed to be of easy execution, was 
 concerted at Naples, between the Duke of Ossuna and others, 
 for the purpose of surprising this capital, with two thousand 
 picked men, brought hither in four galleons. These galleons 
 were to be apparently charged with bulky merchandise, and 
 to have letters for various merchants. Under the coverings 
 placed to keep the merchandise from the air, the soldiers wero 
 to keep themselves concealed during the day. At night they 
 were to issue Torth, under the port of Malamocco, take pos- 
 session of some boats, and land, a part in the Square of St. 
 Mark, part at the arsenal, five hundred on the canal of Mu- 
 rano, part upon the bridges, part before the houses on the 
 grand canal ; five hundred were to be posted on the bridge 
 of the Rialto, and barricade themselves there, taking posses- 
 sion of the neighboring houses. Of the five hundred remain- 
 ing, three hundred were to continue drawn up in the square, 
 and two hundred to render themselves masters of the palace 
 and the public offices. They said they had two or three hund- 
 red determmed men, whose business it was to seize upon the 
 principal personages of the town. In the mean time the 
 twenty galleys of the Duke of Ossuna were to be held near 
 enough to give aid. 
 
 "The enterprise was to have been attempted in the month 
 of March, or in October or November. The duke had prom- 
 ised liberty and a pecuniary reward to the galley slaves if they 
 brought the ships hither ; and, as they had expressed some 
 doubts as to there being depth enough of water, it was arranged 
 
258 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 that each galley should be accompanied by four barges and 
 four arrnfed boats, which could place themselves on the canals 
 in such a manner that one part of the town could not send 
 aid to the other. They were to seize upon all the barges and 
 gondolas, break down the bridges, and forbid the inhabitants 
 to appear out of their houses, assuring them that there was 
 no design against either their persons or their property, and 
 that the King of Spain took them under his protection, would 
 maintain their ancient liberty, and deliver them from oppres- 
 sion. The same promises were to be made to the nobility, 
 assuring them that the king would only confer offices of state 
 upon the patricians, and that those offices would be rendered 
 more lucrative. This being done, the conspirators proposed to 
 ring the bell which convokes the great council and the Senate, 
 in order that all the members of those assemblies should come 
 and swear fidelity to the king. The poor nobles were to be 
 gained by fine words, and by holding out to them hopes of 
 aggrandizement. As to the principal patricians, such as the 
 doge, the procurators, the counselors, and the senators, it was 
 intended to anrest them. Barges had been prepared at Na- 
 ples with which they could pass through all the waters of 
 Venice, according to the advice of that Dominic, who, they 
 say, was formerly in prison at Barletta, a man of determina- 
 tion, at present pilot to one of the principal ships of the Duke 
 of Ossuna. The fleet and the duke himself in person were to 
 seize upon the different forts." 
 
 The report goes on to say, that all these projects were de- 
 vised at Naples in the month of January last. The words 
 which follow are of great importance to a right understanding 
 of the case. " This is proved," says the report, " by the letters 
 of a Burgundian, named Laurent Pola, one of the emissaries 
 sent for this purpose, who, on the 5th and 10th of January, 
 wrote letters addressed to a Monsieur Given,* and found upon 
 a certain Charles de Boleo (Desbouleaux). He uses fictitious 
 names and forms agreed upon ; but before his death (this 
 must iiiean tlie death of Desbouleaux), he confessed that by 
 the name of Peter he understood the Duke of Ossuna to be 
 meant, and that Captain Briardo and Jacques Pierre, having 
 revealed this impious plot at the moment it was about to break 
 out — Robert, in his letter to the Duke of Ossuna, of the 13th 
 of March, deplored the loss of an opportunity .t (This letter, 
 
 * I*robably J oven. 
 
 t There seems to be a coDBiderablo part of this sentence, or more than 
 one sentence omitted. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF OUEVA. 959 
 
 with another from the embassador, has been found in a box 
 of the brothers Boleo (Desbouleaux), as we have already said 
 in another report.) He expresses his regret that they had 
 not profited by the time during which Laurent was dispatch- 
 ed to Naples." 
 
 The report then goes on to mention sotne other transactions, 
 by which the wild designs of the Duke of Ossuna against va- 
 rious parts of the Venetian territories had been discovered 
 some time before, and which show that, notwithstanding the 
 existence of peace between Spain and Venice, the Viceroy of 
 Naples and the Venetian government were still carrying on 
 active warfare against each other, he capturing their ships 
 and carrying them to Naples, and they treating his officers as 
 pirates, and putting them to death when taken, inasmuch as 
 his conduct was disavowed by his government. An account 
 is then added of the conspiracy of Crema, much in the same 
 terms as those employed before, only that the names of John 
 Fournier and John Berard are given as those of the principal 
 conspirators. The report adds, that all the guilty parties, 
 with a few exceptions, had been put to death, that Montcas- 
 sin had been sent to Candia with a pension from the govern- 
 ment, and that Balthazar Juven, with his wife and four 
 Frenchmen, had been set at liberty. 
 
 Such is the account of this conspiracy, as given by the Ve- 
 netian government to one of its diplomatic agents, about five 
 months after the event to which it refers. There does not 
 seem to me to be any thing the least improbable in the state- 
 ment, unless it be that the Duke of Ossuna should entertain 
 BO rash a project, and trust its execution to the hands of such 
 persons. But it must be remarked, that the Viceroy of Na- 
 ples by some means established lor himself such a character 
 lor daring and ill-digested designs, that even rasher and more 
 extensive projects have been very generally attributed to him, 
 to be carried out by means still less sufficient for the end. 
 Again, it is to be remarked, that if the Venetian statement 
 is true, De la Cueva, who was on the spot, was in a position 
 to direct and govern the inferior persons employed, and, there- 
 fore, the scheme was not so rash, or so unlikely to be success- 
 ful, as it at first appears. 
 
 Had the plain statement of the Venetian government been 
 generally published at the time, or before St. Real had em- 
 bellished the conspiracy with a number of false facts, and 
 given it an air of romance, I do not beheve any doubts would 
 now exist as to the reahty of the plot, although some circum- 
 
280 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 stances have been since discovered which we can not easily 
 account for, and upon which the Count Daru has raised a 
 hypothesis perfectly imsustainable. 
 
 Before examining that hypothesis, how^ever, I will endeavor 
 to show in what points the statement of the Venetian govern- 
 ment is supported by those cotemporaries who labored the 
 most diligently to prove there was no conspiracy at all. 
 
 The first who expresses a doubt of the existence of a con- 
 spiracy is Monsieur Broussin, who acted as charge d'affaires 
 during the French embassador's absence. He says, " Many 
 people believe that there is no truth in this affair, and look 
 upon the execution of the alleged enterprise as impossible." 
 But what does he report to his government, not as a state- 
 ment made to him by the Venetian officers, but upon his own 
 authority ? " This conspiracy has got such hold of their 
 brains, that, from that day, the Council of Ten (who take 
 cognizance of the most important affairs of the republic) and 
 the three inquisitors of state have worked at it continually, 
 and, having sent for the register of the names of strangers 
 lodging in this town, have verified the flight of more than 
 eight hundred since the day when these miserable men were 
 taken, which serves as a great proof of some design against 
 this town. Lately, also, Maradan, general of the Austrians, 
 has come down upon the frontier of the states of these lords, 
 with more than three thousand men, at a time when, on ac- 
 count of the expectation of the conclusion of the dissensions 
 regarding the Uscoques, he ought rather to have marched 
 away."* 
 
 The next person who throws doubt upon the story of the 
 conspiracy is Monsieur Bruslart, the French embassador him- 
 self, who, from the moment of his return, about three weeks 
 after the first executions, labors hard to prove that there was 
 no conspiracy at all. Apparently not knowing the contents 
 of his brother's dispatches during his absence, he boldly denies 
 that a single man had fled from Venice ; but, with regard to 
 his reasons for doubting the existence of a conspiracy, and es- 
 pecially for believing the innocence of Jacques Pierre, I shall 
 have to make some observations hereafter, and will confine 
 myself here to what he says confirmatory of the views taken 
 by the Venetians. In a letter of the 3d of July, 1618, he 
 states that the brothers Desbouleaux had been seized, with 
 
 • I have given a bold and almost literal translation of these passages, 
 lert I ■houldbe accused of corrupting the text, as othem have not scru- 
 pled to dn. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF OUEVA. 261 
 
 a letter of recommendation from the Spanish embassador to 
 the Duke of Ossuna. He also states, in the same letter, that 
 two Frenchmen, Monteassin and La Combe (probably La Co- 
 lombo), whom he calls vagabonds, had accused the brothers 
 Desbouleaux, and caused them to be seized, with the letter 
 of the Spanish embassador upon them. Then follows a very 
 obscure passage, in which it is difficult to understand of whom 
 he is speaking. I understand him, however, to mean the 
 brothers Desbouleaux, when he says, " I am of opinion that, 
 upon the retreat of these two, who were going back to Naples, 
 the Venetians entertained a suspicion that all the others of 
 their cabal would do the same : joined to that, that sometimes 
 among themselves they discoursed inconsiderately upon this 
 enterprise, trusting that they had the liberty of speaking upon 
 it, on account of having discovered it." 
 
 In the same and several other letters, he speaks more than 
 once of Montcassin's revelations to the Venetian government, 
 and of his intention of coming to see him, the French embas- 
 sador. He promises to draw as much information from him 
 as he can, and to reproach him bitterly for his conduct ; but 
 Monteassin, it appears, did not think fit to come, and was 
 sent to Candia, which Monsieur Broussin looks upon as a 
 proof that the Venetians knew he could not sustain his charges. 
 On the other hand, the Council of Ten declare that they sent 
 him to Candia to be out of the way of dangers which menaced 
 him ; and, indeed, the threats of Monsieur Broussin toward 
 Monteassin show that this apprehension was not altogether 
 groundless. From these letters, however, it appears that the 
 account of the Venetian government is confirmed even by the 
 French in two points, the revelations of Monteassin, and the 
 flight of a great number of strangers from Venice. If the 
 letter attributed to Jacques Pierre, and addressed to the Duke 
 of Ossuna, is authentic, no doubt can exist of the conspiracy ; 
 and it is to be remarked, that great coincidence may be found 
 between several parts of that letter and the report of the 
 Council of Ten in regard to the dispatch of Laurent Nola to 
 the Duke of Ossuna. Monsieur Bruslart, indeed, never men- 
 tions that letter, nor touches upon the Burgundian, Laurent 
 Nola, at all ; but he warmly defends the character of Jacques 
 Pierre, and insinuates, more than once, that he was put to 
 death in order to give satisfaction to the Sublime Porte, 
 against which power all the early efforts of his arms had been 
 directed, and against which he was preparing new expedi- 
 tions in concert with the Duke of Nevers. It may be that 
 
2«« DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 these schemes of the corsair were chimerical ; it may be that 
 France and Savoy only gave them a temporary and unsub- 
 stantial encouragement for purposes of their own ; but cer- 
 tain it is that Jacques Pierre and the Duke of Nevers both 
 entertained them, and that the written plans which he sent 
 to the duke fell into the hands of the Venetian government, 
 when the papers of Renault d'Arnaud were seized and exam- 
 ined. Monsieur Bruslart was not alone in his opinion that 
 Jacques Pierre was sacrificed to the vengeance of the Porte, 
 for there are many letters and papers extant in which the 
 same idea is hazarded. But let us examine, first, what are 
 the reasons the French embassador publicly gave lor doubt- 
 ing the existence of a conspiracy at all, and next, upon what 
 evidence he exculpated Jacques Pierre from all share in it, if 
 it did exist. 
 
 In a public audience of the doge which took place shortly 
 before the 19th of July, 1618, Monsieur Bruslart received a 
 notification from the Venetian prince that the French govern- 
 ment had made use of language, in regard to the conspiracy, 
 little in accordance with the friendly relations between the 
 two countries, evidently imputing to him unfavorable reports 
 to the ministry of the French monarch. 
 
 To this reproach. Monsieur Bruslart assures his government, 
 he replied in a long, elaborate, and very artful speech, placing 
 the doubts of the conspiracy, which he himself entertained, in 
 the mouth of other French gentlemen, who had been in Ven- 
 ice at the time, which he himself had not been. He pointed 
 out, among other things, that these French gentlemen had 
 spread abroad, that the Duke of Ossuna had no other forces 
 in the Venetian Gulf than fifteen galleons in a very bad state 
 at Brindisi,* while the Venetian armament kept the seas ; 
 that the two Desbouleaux, when they were taken, were re- 
 tiring to Naples, discontented with Jacques Pierre and Re- 
 nault, and having a letter of recommendation from the Span- 
 ish embassador ; that they were accused by a person named 
 Montcassin, who went with the younger of the two to the 
 said embassador's to receive that letter ; and that it was not 
 at all likely that, when they were on such bad terms with 
 each other, they should unite to execute so damnable a con- 
 spiracy ; that Renault was going to France with a French 
 passport, and actually on the point of setting out with letters 
 and memoirs written to the Duke of Nevers by Jacques 
 
 • Let it be remembered that Brindisi is not in th© Venetian Gulf at 
 all, althotigh the French emba<«ador places it there. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUE VA. 268 
 
 Pierre, who had paid him two hundred ducats for his journey, 
 Jacques Pierre beinjr at the same time alone, with none but 
 his domestic servants, in the galley of the admiral, and Lan- 
 glade at Zara, with one soldier, and a young boy who served 
 him ; and that there was no probability of their being able, 
 while thus separated, to execute in ibur days so important and 
 difficult an enterprise. He moreover stated, that these (ficti- 
 tious) French gentlemen had remarked that it was a marvel- 
 ous tiling the conduct and execution of a design formed by so 
 powerful a hand as was said should be intrusted to such fee- 
 ble instruments and so small a number of men ; and that it 
 was very strange, as the conspiracy originated entirely with 
 Spaniards, who had so many partisans in Italy, no one should 
 have taken any part therein but these five miserable French- 
 men and two or three of their servants ; that no forces which 
 could create alarm had appeared either within or without the 
 town, and that no arms, offensive or defensive, had been 
 found ; that the manner in which Jacques Pierre and Lan- 
 glade had been put to death, without giving them time to 
 speak, caused doubts, as it was natural to suppose that' the 
 Venetian government would have sought to draw i'rom them 
 every sort of information ;* that it was worthy of admiration, 
 above all things, that in so great and detestable a conspiracy, 
 in which many persons must have participated, not one wit- 
 ness had been found, not one letter which could convict the 
 culprits, and that there was no proof but the alleged confes- 
 sions, of which there could have been none in the case of 
 Jacques Pierre and Langlade, who had died without speaking, 
 while the others having been strangled in prison, every one 
 was at liberty to doubt their confession. 
 
 Monsieur Bruslart adds, that to these observations the doge 
 made no reply, except that the Venetian government, being 
 moderate in its judgments, would not have performed so ex- 
 emplary an act of justice without good cause. 
 
 It is very probable that the doge was himself ignorant of 
 the particulars of the conspiracy ; for this audience took place 
 before the 19th of July, and the first detailed account of the 
 conspiracy, given to the government itself by the Council of 
 Ten, who managed the whole proceedings in secret, is dated 
 the 17th of October. Even had the doge been aware of the 
 facts, it is not likely that he would have entered into a per- 
 sonal discussion of them with the French embassador. But 
 
 * I suppress a disquisition, which he says be inflicted upon the dog^e, 
 ia regard to the nature of justice. 
 
964 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 every one who will take the pains to compare the objections 
 of Monsieur de Bruslart with the report of the Council of 
 Ten will find that the greater part of the former lose all 
 their force by the explanations in the latter, and that many 
 of his assertions are directly contradicted either by that docu- 
 ment or by his Own brother's letter. It appears by the report 
 of the council, that the execution of the enterprise was to be 
 put off till September or October, and therefore the separation 
 ^f the conspirators, for the time, proved nothing. It is shown, 
 also, that the number of persons engaged was very great, and 
 it is asserted that they were directed by De la Cueva. More 
 than three hundred were put to death, nearly eight hundred 
 fled, according to M. Broussin ; and of the Dutch troops, 
 nearly three thousand in number were engaged. Therefore, 
 Monsieur Bruslart's objection, founded on the smallness of the 
 number, falls to the ground. All the leaders but Renault 
 were officers of some rank in the Venetian service, and they 
 were, according to the report, headed by Bedomar, so that 
 they did not deserve to be called " feeble instruments," If 
 an 3\.ustrian army of three thousand men advanced to the 
 frontier, as M. Broussin declares, surely his brother had no 
 right to say that no forces had appeared to cause alarm ; and 
 in regard to the objection that no Spaniards had taken part 
 in the conspiracy, it was very unlikely that they should be 
 suffered to do so, as the appearance of many of that nation in 
 Venice must necessarily have excited suspicion in the Vene- 
 tian government. 
 
 As to the other points, the Council of Ten declare that 
 they had both witnesses and documents to prove the facts, be- 
 sides the confessions, and, as to the secrecy of the proceedings, 
 they only followed a course which was usual in Venice. 
 
 It seems to me, therefore, that Monsiewr Bruslart did not 
 at all shake the credibility of the statement of the Council of 
 Ten as to the existence of a conspiracy. With regard to the 
 guilt of Jacques Pierre, the case is very different, and prcBcnts 
 some points which seem incapable of explanation upon any 
 evidence that is before us. Monsieur Bruslart's testimony is 
 as follows : " The first act of Jacques Pierre, when he devoted 
 himself to the service of this republic, was to discover to it a 
 project formed by the Duke of Ossuna to surprise this town 
 with armed barges, taking possession of the places most easy 
 to retain, and to second and support this effort by his army, 
 which he designed to render powerful and bring into these 
 quarters TTpon this he (Jacques Pierre) was heard for three 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 265 
 
 or four hours, and gave his advice to these lords as to the 
 remedies which they might employ against such an attempt. 
 He told it to myself and many other persons, and mentioned 
 it to any one who would listen ; so that there is very little 
 likehhood that he sought to attempt an enterprise which he 
 had been the first to disclose." (Letter, 6th of June, 1618.) 
 
 This statement is certainly powerful evidence in favor of 
 Jacques Pierre ; but it is also, though Monsieur Bruslart does 
 not appear to have seen it, irrefragable evidence that the 
 Venetians had reason to think the Duke of Ossuna had laid 
 the very plot of which they accused him, without any reason 
 to believe that he had abandoned it. Moreover, the minutes 
 of the revelations given by Jacques Pierre to the Venetian 
 government, and sent by Monsieur Bruslart himself to France 
 (if they are genuine, of which I entertain some doubts), show 
 that the Council of Ten had distinct information that thp 
 Spanish embassador took ^n active part in the plot for the 
 capture or destruction of their city. Monsieur Bruslart, there- 
 fore, with those papers actually under his eyes, and with no 
 assignable reason for supposing that the plans of the conspira- 
 tors were changed, had no right to deny the existence of a 
 conspiracy, although he had every right to protest against the 
 execution of Jacques Pierre. 
 
 Further on, in the same letter, he says, " I will say more. 
 So far was Jacques Pierre from entertaining such a thought, 
 that he dreamed of nothing but serving the king and M. dc 
 Nevers in their designs upon the Levant, and had charged 
 this Renault with very ample memoirs upon the subject, and 
 with letters which he wrote to his majesty and to my said 
 Lord of Nevers, which he came to my house to read to me, 
 and sent the said Renault express to carry them to France, 
 and had paid him two hundred ducats for his journey. I 
 had also given him a passport. So that some people suppose 
 that the said memoirs, having been found in the hands of the 
 said Renault, may have forwarded the death of the said 
 Jacques Pierre rather than any conspiracy." 
 
 In several other letters. Monsieur Bruslart continues to as- 
 sert the innocence of Jacques Pierre, and mentions repeated- 
 ly that the corsair had warned the Venetian government fully 
 of the designs of the Duke of Ossuna ; and in his letter of the 
 19th of July, 1618, he declares that Jacques Pierre, only two 
 days .before his departure with the fleet, had given in a new 
 memoir for the security of the town, and had drawn up, at 
 the desire of the Senate, a plan of the order of battle which 
 
 M 
 
266 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the Venetian fleet should adopt. In the same letter, the em- 
 bassador inclosed the rough copies of two formal informations, 
 laid by Jacques Pierre before the inquisitors, which were 
 found, he says, in a coffer belonging to Jacques Pierre. They 
 are in the handwriting of old Renault ; but this Monsieur 
 Broussin explains by saying (in a letter of the 3d of July) 
 that, as Jacques Pierre was not able to write in Italian, they 
 had been taken down by Renault. The documents to which 
 he refers are curious, but are too long for insertion here. They 
 show, however (if they are genuine), that the Duke of Ossuna 
 had a secret agent at Venice, called Captain Alexander (sup- 
 ix)sed to be Alexander Spinosa, who was put to death by the 
 Venetians shortly after the receipt of Jacques Pierre's informa- 
 tion) ; that this Alexander was in communication with the 
 Spanish embassador ; that he entered into conversation with 
 Jacques Pierre, upon the designs of the Duke of Ossuna, took 
 him to the house of the Spanish embassador, and was present 
 with him during a conference conducted with the greatest se- 
 crecy and care, in the course of which the embassador urged 
 the corsair very strongly to go back to Naples, in order to ar- 
 range the plans against Venice more completely and fully 
 with the viceroy. These papers are not signed by Jacques 
 Pierre ; no part of them is in his handwriting ; but it is at- 
 tested on the back by the hand of the French embassador, 
 that they are copies of the information given by Jacques 
 Pierre to the Venetian government ; and the dates show that 
 this was immediately after his arrival in Venice. 
 
 It results from the consideration of these papers, that Jacques 
 Pierre really quitted the service of the Duke of Ossuna on 
 some disgust, after having been informed of his designs against 
 the Venetians ; that he then entered into the service of the 
 republic, and revealed to his new masters the schemes devised 
 against them ; that he nevertheless kept up communications 
 with the Spanish embassador, and with the agents of the Duke 
 of Ossuna ; and that, from time to time, he revealed at least a 
 part of what he knew or heard, to the Venetian government. 
 
 These papers may have been forged by Renault ; but it is 
 clear, that the French emba.ssador bcheved them to contain 
 the substance of what Jacques Pierre had revealed ; and the 
 report of the Council of Ten itself, dated 17th October, 1616, 
 admitg, in unqualified terms, that Jacques Pierre had reveal- 
 ed '* the impious plot at the moment it was about to break 
 forth."* 
 
 * Monsieur Oaru makes a very uunecessary comment upon this port 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUBVA. 267 
 
 This leaves no doubt whatever that he did communicate 
 to the power he served the plots which were entertained 
 against it. The letters of the French embassador, the min- 
 utes of the information given by Jacques Pierre, and the re- 
 port of the Council of Ten, taken together, prove that there 
 was a conspiracy against the state of Venice, projected by the 
 Duke of Ossuna, and probably communicated to De la Cueva, 
 marquis of Bedomar ; and from the statement of the French 
 embassador, in his letter of the 19th of July, 1618, that 
 Jacques Pierre had given fresh information to the govern- 
 ment two days before he sailed with the fleet, there is reason 
 to suppose that the conspiracy, far from being abandoned, was 
 in full activity till a very short time previous to the execu- 
 tions. 
 
 The strange and apparently inexplicable facts are these ; 
 that, notwithstanding the full revelation made by him, Jacques 
 Pierre was enveloped with the other conspirators in the pun- 
 ishment of the very crime that he denounced ; that the man- 
 ner of his death was contrary to every form of justice ; that 
 he was neither examined, informed of the crime with which 
 he was charged, nor suffered to make any defense ; and that 
 the Venetian government, even after having put him to death 
 for taking part in the conspiracy, acknowledged that he had 
 revealed it. Nor is it less inexplicable that the French em- 
 bassador himself should be aware of the existence gf such a 
 conspiracy in August, 1617, know all the details of it from 
 Jacques Pierre, be informed that he had denounced it to the 
 Venetian government, and yet never communicate the im- 
 portant fact to the French ministry till the following year, 
 and then should couple that very communication, accompanied 
 by documentary evidence of the conspiracy, with a denial that 
 any conspiracy existed. 
 
 This part of the case is altogether exceedingly mysterious ; 
 and various explanations have been boldly put forth, or covert- 
 ly insinuated. Monsieur Bruslart implies, in his letters to the 
 French govermnent, that the real cause of the execution of 
 Jacques Pierre was a desire, on the part of the republic, to 
 oblige the court of Constantinople, by the destruction of a man 
 who had performed signal exploits against the Turks, and 
 
 of the report, apparently to insinuate a want of good faith in the state- 
 ments of the Council of Ten. He points out that Jacques Piene's rev- 
 elations were made from the moment he arrived in Venice ; but Mon- 
 sieur Bruslart shows that he gave fresh information just before he sail- 
 ed with the fleet. It is to this, probably, the Council of Ton allude. 
 
268 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 who was actually laying plans with powerful personages for 
 much greater enterprises in the Levant. 
 
 Had he not coupled this explanation with the denial of a 
 conspiracy, which is as clearly proved as any other fact in his- 
 tory ; had he said that the Venetian government took advant- 
 age of the discovery of the conspiracy, to satisfy the sultan 
 by the sacrifice of Jacques Pierre, I might have been inclmed 
 to beheve that this was a probable solution of the mystery. 
 Opposed to this view, however, is the letter of Jacques Pierre 
 to the Duke of Ossuna, which I have mentioned more than 
 once, and which has so many internal marks of authenticity, 
 that I can not reject it altogether from consideration. If this 
 letter was really written by Jacques Pierre, it shows that he 
 was playing a double game with the Duke of Ossuna and the 
 Venetian government, and undertaking to carry into execu- 
 tion a scheme for the surprise of Venice, at the very time 
 when he was revealing the whole of that scheme to the Vene- 
 tian authorities. In this case, he might either be endeavor- 
 ing to lull the Venetians into false confidence, with the inten- 
 tion of carrying out the designs of the duke, or he might be 
 laying a trap for the duke himself, in order to deliver his ships 
 into the hands of the Venetians. Another explanation may be 
 suggested, though I do so without confidence in its accuracy, 
 and it is at best but an hypothesis. It is this. We have seen 
 that, according to all accounts, the Duke of Ossuna threw the 
 wife of Jacques Pierre into prison on his departure, and kept 
 her as a sort of hostage. Jacques Pierre, in the minutes of his 
 revelations to the council, shows liis extreme anxiety to bring 
 his wife to Venice. May we not suppose that he kept up the 
 appearance of acting for the Duke of Ossuna, for the purpose 
 of inducing him to set his wife at liberty, and that, in so doing, 
 he wrote letters, which, falling into the hands of the Vene- 
 tian government, excited the strongest suspicions in a jealous, 
 vindictive, and merciless body. I put this forth merely as an 
 inquiry, for the reader to take it at no more than it is worth. 
 
 The explanation of Count Daru I shall now proceed to 
 consider apart, as his high character and general accuracy 
 command respect, although his views are untenable, and many 
 of his statements inaccurate, on a subject where he has sacri- 
 ficed every thing to the maintenance of a favorite hypothesis. 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 269 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY OP CUEVA. 
 
 I NOW turn to the hypothesis of the Count Daru, raised for 
 the purpose of explaining all the obscure points in the Vene- 
 tian conspiracy of 1618. It is constructed with care, and 
 with great skill, supported by long and intricate reasoning, 
 and by many documents and authorities ; but I must premise 
 that a forced sense is often put upon the words quoted ; that 
 the authorities, which are rejected when they make against 
 the hypothesis of Monsieur Daru, are received, even without 
 corroboration, when they favor his views ; and that he not 
 unfrequently reasons in a circle, and, by slight alterations of 
 dates, misplaces cause and effect. 
 
 The hypothesis of the Count Daru is, that the Duke of Os- 
 Buna, having determined to usurp the crown of Naples, some 
 time before the month of August, 1617, had entered into ne- 
 gotiations with the Venetian government, as well as with 
 France and Savoy, for the purpose of insuring support against 
 the power of Spain ; and that there was a tacit understand- 
 ing between him and the Senate of Venice, that he was to be 
 allowed to engage the Dutch troops, which they had taken 
 into their service during the war, but which they no longer 
 wanted. This was, however, to be done covertly, the Duke 
 of Ossuna appearing to seduce the Dutch soldiers from the 
 service of the republic by the means of secret agents. Mon- 
 sieur Daru imagines that one of these agents was Jacques 
 Pierre ; that the secret agent was deceived by his principal ; 
 and that Pierre was sent to Venice with the notion that he 
 was to organize a conspiracy against the republic, and draw 
 out a plan for surprising the city. In order to cheat him into 
 the belief that this was the real object, he was directed to 
 cheat the world, by affecting to escape from Naples by night ; 
 and his wife was imprisoned, to give an air of reality to the 
 transaction. Jacques Pierre, however, on his arrival at 
 Venice, either more honest or more rascally, as the case may 
 be, than his master supposed, revealed the plot against the 
 city to the Venetian government, in August, 1617. The 
 Venetians, however, forewarned, according to Monsieur Daru, 
 
270 DARK SC'ETJES OF HISTORY. 
 
 of the duke's real designs, took no notice of Jacques Pierre's 
 information, except by apprehending and putting to death 
 Alexander Spinosa, another secret agent of the Duke of Os- 
 suna, whom Monsieur Daru supposes to have been destroyed 
 by the Venetian government " to augment the confidence of 
 Jacques Pierre, and prove to him that they did not neglect 
 his inforination II" 
 
 The part which Bedomar took in the affair is explained 
 by Monsieur Daru, by the supposition that Ossuna, wishing 
 to deceive him as to his intentions upon the crown of Naples, 
 directed Jacques Pierre to confer with him in regard to the 
 pretended plot against Venice, which the known "indiscretions 
 of the Duke of Ossuna, and the hatred he affected to manifest 
 against the Venetians," rendered credible. The embassador, 
 without any real share in the conspiracy, rather favored it 
 than otherwise, when communicated to him by Jacques Pierre, 
 and left all the rest to the Duke of Ossuna. 
 
 In the succeeding ten months very little was done in Ven- 
 ice, acc43rding to Monsieur Daru, except in carrying on the 
 arrangements for the transfer of the Dutch troops. The Vene- 
 tians took no further notice of the informations of Jacques 
 Pierre ; the Spanish embassador left things as they were ; and 
 Jacques Pierre received no communications from the Duke of 
 Ossuna, or, at least, no satisfactory answer to the letters which 
 he sent to the duke, pressing him to carry out the designs ar- 
 ranged, although they had been already revealed to the Vene- 
 tian government. In the mean time, however, Monsieur Daru 
 thinks that the duke carried on a sham war with the Vene- 
 tians, to conceal their good undergtanding, and eagerly press- 
 ed forward negotiations with France, which power remained 
 irresolute, and with the Prince of Orange, who actually did 
 Bend to him, Monsieur Daru says, twelve ships, which the 
 Spanish fleet attempted, unsuccessfully, to prevent from pass- 
 ing the Straits of Gibraltar. At length, however, in the early 
 part of 1618, all the hopes and expectations of the Duke of 
 Ossuna came to an end. His designs of revolt and usurpation 
 were revealed to the Spanish government; France would give 
 no aid ; Savoy was supposed to be treacherous ; and the Vene- 
 tians, seeing that the conspiracy of the duke against his oAyn 
 government was both discovered and impracticable, resolved 
 " to efface all traces of their connivance," in order not to give 
 oflense to the Spanish crown. For this purpose, Monsieur 
 Daru would have it, they determined upon the terrible act 
 they committed. " They could not tell precisely," says Mon- 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 271 
 
 sieur Daru, " up to what point each of the agents was ini- 
 tiated into the secret. The surest way was to cause them 
 all to disappear at once, immediately, and without exception, 
 and that before the court of Spain had displayed any resent- 
 ment against the Duke of Ossuna." For this sole reason 
 more than three hundred persons were put to death, accord- 
 ing to Monsieur Daru. 
 
 Can any thing be more wild, improbable, and absurd than 
 this whole story ? Yet such is the hypothesis of the Count 
 Daru, stripped of the embroidery with which he decorates it. 
 Nevertheless, however wild arid improbable a tale may be, 
 we may yet be compelled to believe it, if supported by suffi- 
 cient historical evidence. But such is not the case with this 
 statement. So far from it, indeed, that Monsieur Daru is 
 obliged to displace or to strain every ascertained fact of histo- 
 ry, in order to give even a semblance of probability to his ac- 
 count. 
 
 In order to show this fact, I will examine the authorities 
 on which he relies, and the facts on which his whole state- 
 ments are based. 
 
 His principal authorities (besides the correspondence and 
 the diplomatic pieces of which I have spoken, and which he 
 does not seem to me always to interpret fairly) are, first, Gre- 
 gorio Leti, a native of Milan, a very confused and inaccurate 
 writer ; secondly, Baptista Nani, a Venetian of high rank and 
 authority ; thirdly, the well-known Giannoni ; fourthly, the 
 too well-known Vittorio Siri ; and, fifthly, Louis Videl, one 
 of the secretaries of the famous constable De Lesdiguiercs. 
 The other authorities, which hp cites occasionally, are of little 
 importance to the general question. He himself shows that 
 Sandi copied St. Real ; and it is apparent that the Genoese, 
 Peter Capriata, was ignorant of the public documents already 
 mentioned. 
 
 In regard to these authorities, Monsieur Daru himself points 
 out, in a number of different places, where the accounts of 
 Leti do not suit his purposes, the very great inaccuracy of 
 that author. The same may be said of Siri, whose state-' 
 ments can never be relied upon except when corroborated by 
 other less suspicious evidence. 
 
 Nani is more worthy of credit. He had every opportunity 
 of ascertaining the facts ; he had filled various important diplo- 
 matic offices, and might have all the existing documents un- 
 der his eyes. Giannoni, a writer long posterior, contributes 
 nothing but the weight of his name ; but Louis Videl had the 
 
272 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 means of knowing personaUy all the negotiations between the 
 Duke of Ossuna and the court of France, which took place 
 principally through the mediation of Lesdiguieres. Of the 
 authorities, therefore, on which Monsieur Daru rehes, none 
 are of any weight except Nani and Louis Videl ; but, on ex- 
 amining the statements of all the historians whom he cites, it 
 will be found that every one of thera, with more or less dis- 
 tinctness and detail, attribute to the Duke of Ossuna a design 
 of usurping the crown of Naples and Sicily, and imply that 
 he negotiated with France and Savoy. Some of them add 
 Venice and Holland to the number of those he sought for al- 
 lies ; and Monsieur Dam's argument is, that the Duke of 
 Ossuna could not carry on a plot against Venice and at the 
 same time negotiate with her for assistance. 
 
 Admitting the intended usurpation of the duke, merely for 
 the sake of argument, it is clear that the value of Monsieur 
 Daru's hypothesis will entirely depend upon the dates. Now 
 every one of his authorities, without exception, places the dis- 
 covery of the conspiracy against Venice in May, 1618, and his 
 first designs of usurpation in 1 6 1 9 . Even Louis Videl himself, 
 who saw and knew the whole course of the negotiations be- 
 tween Ossuna and Lesdiguieres, places them distinctly in 
 1619. If, then, these writers are accurate — if Ossuna did 
 not negotiate for assistance in rebellion before 1619, a whole 
 year after the frightful executions in Venice, those executions 
 could not have been perpetrated in order to blot out all trace 
 of those negotiations, and the whole hjrpothesis of Monsieur 
 Daru falls to the ground. 
 
 To get over the difficulty, Monsieur Daru supposes that 
 the greater number of the historians he cites mistakenly place 
 the commencement of Ossuna's negotiations, and his first de- 
 sign of usurpation, at the time when they became pubUcly 
 talked of; and as to Louis Videl, who knew the whole busi- 
 ness from the beginning, he argues in a very curious manner. 
 He says that Videl, in placing the enterprise of the Duke of 
 Ossuna under the year 1619, did not really intend to give 
 that as the precise date. Monsieur Daru calls Videl's ac- 
 count of the transactions between the duke and Lesdiguieres 
 " a digression upon the Duke of Ossuna." It is no such 
 thing ; but just as much a part of Lesdiguiere's history as 
 any other part of the work. Monsieur Daru then says, that, 
 even if Videl intended to give 1619 as the real date, he must 
 be in error, and that his own statements show it ; but he can 
 only establish that fact by misinterpreting all the other state- 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 273 
 
 merits. There is only one, however, which it may be neces- 
 sary here to notice, as it is the only one which has any pre- 
 cise bearing on the question. I will give Monsieur Daru's 
 own words. " He (Videl) says that the Prince of Piedmont, 
 charged to protect the interests of the viceroy with the minis- 
 ters, was then in Paris for his marriage ; and this marriage 
 was negotiated in 1618, since it was accomplished on the 10th 
 of February, 1619." These are Monsieur Daru's own words ; 
 and those very words are sufficient to destroy his whole hy- 
 pothesis, even if his interpretation of Videl' s words could stand 
 for a moment. He says that the Prince of Piedmont was in 
 Paris for his marriage, not for the negotiations which preceded 
 his marriage ; but, at all events, the death of more than three 
 hundred persons in May, 1618, could not have for its object 
 the concealment of transactions which took place in Decem- 
 ber, 1618, or January, 1619. 
 
 Let us turn, however, from mere statements to ascertained 
 facts, always bearing in mind that Jacques Pierre arrived in 
 Venice early in August, 1617 ; and that, according to Mon- 
 sieur -Daru's hypothesis, the understanding between the Vene- 
 tians and the Duke of Ossuna was at that time complete. 
 Now, at this time, the war between Venice and the archduke 
 was still going on, and the Duke of Ossuna was one of the 
 most active parties against the Venetians. Peace was not 
 concluded till the 6th of September, 1617, nearly two months 
 after Jacques Pierre quitted Naples. But not only did the 
 Duke of Ossuna carry on the war most vehemently, while 
 .Venice and the archduke were engaged in hostilities, but, 
 even after the signature of the treaty of peace, he continued 
 that war on his own account, till long after the discovery of 
 the conspiracy and the death of Jacques Pierre. On the 16th 
 of March, 1618, the Doge Giovanni Bembo writes to one of 
 the diplomatic agents of the republic, that there can be no 
 hope of peace as long as the Duke of Ossuna is Viceroy of Na- 
 ples. The Doge Priuli, on the 28th of July, 1618, makes 
 the same complaint, and shows that the duke was continuing 
 the war. Another letter from the same to the resident at 
 Milan, dated the 1st of September, 1618, shows that these 
 hostilities had not ceased, but were as furious as ever. The 
 report of the Council of Ten, on the 17 th of October in the 
 same year, shows to what a pitch of animosity the Venetians 
 and the duke had arrived. He takes their vessels ; they take 
 his ; and, as his acts were not avowed by his government after 
 the peace, the Venetians treated some of the commanders of 
 
 M 2 
 
274 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 his ships as pirates, put them to the torture, to extract inform- 
 ation from them, and in the end condemned them to death. 
 Even on the 13th of November, 161^, six months after the 
 conspiracy, open war was going on between the duke and the 
 Venetians, and an engagement had taken place between their 
 fleets in the Adriatic, in which the Neapohtans had been de- 
 feated, as appears by a letter of the doge of that date. Mon- 
 sieur Dam might, perhaps, say that these accounts were not 
 real, and were merely spread abroad by the doge and the 
 Council to cover their understanding with the duke. Unfor- 
 tunately for his hypothesis, however, we have other author- 
 ities for the facts. De la Cueva himself, after he had retired 
 from Venice, mentions distinctly the engagement between the 
 two fleets in November, 1618 ; and although he tries to make 
 it appear that the result was favorable to Ossuna, he shows 
 that several galleys had been taken on the one part or the 
 other. Were his testimony not sufficient, we have that of 
 the French embassador, who, on the 6th of June, 1618, shows 
 that the Venetians had attacked the Neapolitan fleet at Brin- 
 disi, and taken some ships, and that the sqUadron of the Duke 
 of Ossuna had been forced to quit the Adriatic. 
 
 These facts are perfectly incompatible wdth the supposition 
 that, from the middle of the year 1617, the Duke of Ossuna 
 had a perfect understanding with the Venetian government, 
 and sent Jacques Pierre, with their consent, to gain the Dutch 
 troops to his service ; for not for one single moment, from that 
 period till toward the end of the year 1618, was there a ces- 
 sation of active hostilities between the duke and the Venetians. 
 
 Every part of Monsieur Daru's hypothesis breaks down un- 
 der the touch of examination. In speaking of the Dutch 
 troops, he more than once says that the Venetians had no 
 longer any need of the services of foreign troops, as the war 
 was at an end. The war was not at an end when Jacques 
 Pierre set out from Naples, nor when he arrived in Venice ; 
 but, even if the treaty had been signed with the archduke, it 
 is clearly shown that, either on accomit of the hostilities with 
 the Duke of Ossuna, or from a doubt of the good faith of 
 Spain, the Venetians continued to augment their forces during 
 the whole of the years 1617 and 1618, and, so far from wish- 
 ing to get rid of the strangers they had hired, they eagerly 
 Bought new recruits. On the 6th of June, 1618, Monsieur 
 Bruslart speaks of *' their great armament," of " the increase 
 of their forces ;" and again, on the 24th of August, he shows 
 that they ofiered greater advantages than ever to French offi- 
 cers in their service, in order to induce them to remain, not- 
 
THE CONSPIRACY OF CUEVA. 275 
 
 withstanding the efforts of Monsieur Bruslart to persuade 
 them to quit the armies of the republic. 
 
 Again, in regard to a fleet of twelve vessels, sent into the 
 Mediterranean by the Prince of Orange, Monsieur Daru, with- 
 out the slightest authority to justify such a supposition, states 
 that these vessels were hired by the Duke of Ossuna, the Ve- 
 netians lending their name. Now what is the real history 
 of this transaction ? Nani tells us that Christopher Suriano, 
 the Venetian resident in Holland, engaged twelve vessels for 
 the service of the republic, and that these vessels passed the 
 Straits of Gibraltar on the 24th of June, notwithstanding the 
 opposition of a Spanish fleet. The French embassador, in his 
 correspondence, shows that, at this very time, the Venetians 
 were greatly increasing their naval forces in the Adriatic ; 
 and the Doge Priuli, in writing to the resident at Milan, 
 states distinctly that this fleet was coming into the service of 
 the republic ; that the Spanish fleet attempted to prevent it 
 from passing the Straits of Gibraltar ; but that, after a battle 
 of six hours, the Dutch fleet was victorious, and forced tlie pas- 
 sage. The only foundation whatever for Monsieur Daru's 
 supposition that this fleet was destined for the use of the Duke 
 of Ossuna is found in a few words of Louis Videl, who states 
 that the Prince of Orange had promised to send a Dutch 
 squadron to the assistance of the Duke of Ossuna ; but then 
 he places the fact even of the promise in 1619, and not 1618. 
 He also distinctly places it long after the discovery of the con- 
 spiracy of May, 1618, of which Videl gives a short but dis- 
 tinct account, attributing the whole design of that conspiracy 
 to the Duke of Ossuna, and implying directly that the attempt 
 upon Venice was to be made with the consent and assistance 
 of the Spanish government. His testimony is infinitely valu- 
 able on this point, as, from the confidential situation he held 
 about the person of Lesdiguieres, he had every opportunity of 
 obtaining correct information ; and he states positively that 
 the stipulated restoration of Vercelli was delayed by the Span- 
 iards till they saw the result of the enterprise against Venice. 
 One of the principal reasons which determined them to re- 
 store Vercelli, he says, '* was the bad success of a design which 
 the Duke of Ossuna, viceroy of Naples, had for some time had 
 against Venice, by means of a certain Jacques Pierre, and 
 which the Spaniards thought infallible." 
 
 This is the most direct cotemporary testimony which we 
 have, by a person not interested, but who had the very best- 
 means of obtaining information ; for it must be remembered 
 that Lesdiguieres took an active part in the affairs of the 
 
276 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Duke of Savoy, to whom Vercelli was to be restored, and that 
 Videl, his secretary, possessed his full confidence. 
 
 As a specimen of how lightly Monsieur Daru leaps over all 
 obstacles in the way of his hj^othesis, I will translate his com- 
 ment upon this passage of Videl. He says, " One is, doubt- 
 less, surprised to read this passage in the same historian, who, 
 some pages after, reports the conspiracy of the Duke of Os- 
 suna against Naples. It is impossible that the same man 
 should have conducted these two conspiracies at the same time, 
 one in favor of his government, to procure for it the acquisition 
 *of a state ; the other against the same government, in order to 
 snatch from it a kingdom. The writer has not taken any 
 trouble to reconcile these two facts." 
 
 Certainly not, because such are not the facts which Videl 
 states at all. The facts, as stated by Videl, do not require to 
 be reconciled, for they are not opposed to each other. He does 
 not state, as Monsieur Daru says, that the Duke of Ossuna 
 conducted these two conspiracies at the same time, but quite 
 the contrary. He states, that in 1617 and 1618 Ossuna pro- 
 jected a conspiracy against Venice, and that in 1619 he con- 
 spired against Spain. 
 
 From all these documents and authorities, it would seem to 
 me perfectly clear that the Duke of Ossuna, whether he after- 
 ward conspired against his own country or not, did, in the 
 course of 1617 and 1618, form a design for surprising Venice 
 by the means of a great number of adventurous soldiers, whom 
 he contrived to introduce into the service of the republic. 
 
 The only points which appear obscure are the career and 
 fate of Jacques Pierre. We know not whether his flight from 
 Naples was simulated ; and we know not why he was put to 
 death, after having revealed the project of the duke. We 
 know not whether, from the first, he was an agent of Ossuna, 
 and betrayed him ; or whether, having really quitted him in 
 disgust and revealed his projects, he was induced by other per- 
 sons engaged in the conspiracy, or by the desire of obtaining 
 the liberation of his wife, to renew his communications with 
 the viceroy. All we know is, that, after having fully revealed 
 the machinations against Venice, he was put to death by the 
 Venetian authorities. Th« only ray of light that we obtain, 
 as to the motives of his execution or murder, is aflbrded by a 
 report of the Council of Ten (16th of September,*1618), and it 
 is very faint. " Moreover," says the report, " the designs of 
 the Duke of Ossuna against our fleet were upon the point of 
 being executed. It is quite j)ossible that those wicked men 
 might have caused considerable damage to our fleet." 
 
WALLENSTBIN. 277 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There is an old castle on a hill, and a village at the foot 
 of the rise, with a church starting up in the highest part of 
 the hamlet, till the top of the tower reaches almost to the 
 base of the castle. It does not seem a thriving place ; there 
 is no look of prosperity about it ; the houses, with two or three 
 exceptions, are small and mean ; there are no gardens, orch- 
 ards, or vineyards : it is a poor place. Nor is the castle much 
 superior to the village. Of no great extent, not in very good 
 repair, without much strength against an enemy, without 
 much comfort for an inhabitant, it seems but the fortified 
 house of some poor noble of the second class. Yet it was 
 very lately the dwelling of John Waldstein of Hermanic, the 
 son of illustrious ancestors, and the father of one destined to 
 be more illustrious still. 
 
 In the court of the castle several boys are playing ; the 
 three sons of the late lord of the castle, two boys from the best 
 houses in the village, two others from that building pitched 
 upon the craggy point some three miles off. The eldest seems 
 about seventeen, the youngest eleven. 
 
 On a bench before the old stone porch of the hall, and look- 
 ing upon the sports of the children, is an elderly man, of mild 
 and dignified .appearance, and a lady, seemingly in decHning 
 health. There are marks of mourning about her dress, and 
 she calls her companion "brother." 
 
 The boys are playing merrily enough, though somewhat 
 rudely, dividing themselves into little bands, and each acting 
 the soldier, attacking and defending fortresses raised of loose 
 stones, and giving each other, from time to time, hard blows, 
 at which the mother only smiles. There is one youth among 
 them, however, the youngest of the party, but very nearly as 
 tall as any of the rest, handsome and well formed, but with 
 a somewhat wild and flashing eye, and a broad and haughty 
 brow. He is the leader of one of the little bands ; and hark, 
 how imperiously he speaks to his young followers. 
 
278 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 " Albrecht," exclaimed his uncle, as he heard him insisting 
 upon his commands being obeyed, " be more moderate in your 
 language, sir. You speak as if you were a prince, and not a 
 poor gentleman's son." 
 
 The boy turned his haughty head for an instant, and an- 
 swered, " If I am not a prince now, I may be one some day ;" 
 and he went on with his game. 
 
 Some years passed, and the young Albrecht Waldstein, 
 now an orphan, and the youngest of three brothers, is being 
 educated by his uncle Slavata, of Chulm ; but he stays not 
 there very long. He is perverse, obstinate, disobedient. They 
 can do nothing with him ; and he is transferred to the care 
 of another uncle, who has embraced the Roman Catholic re- 
 ligion, and who sends the stubborn boy to the great instructors 
 of youth in that day, the Jesuits. At their college at Olmutz, 
 a great change comes over the young Waldstein. He becomes 
 docile, obedient, aflectionate. His especial tutor, Father Pach- 
 ta, obtains his love by indulgence and kindness, presses him 
 little to severer studies, humors the peculiarities of his char- 
 acter, and leads him, rather than drives hira on, upon the 
 road to science. At the same time, however, he instills into 
 his mind the doctrines of the Romish Church ; and Albrecht 
 of Waldstein renounces the religion of his fathers. 
 
 There are three young men, set off from Olmutz to travel 
 together ; and there could not be three more diiferent in char- 
 acter, pursuits, or position. The first in rank and wealth is 
 the young Lord Liek of Riesenstein, lord of the Giant's 
 Stone, one of whom history has left little but a name. The 
 other is Albrecht of Waldstein, whose life is an epic. The 
 third was Peter Verdungo, the friend and companion of Kep- 
 lar, famous for his scientific pursuits, and for mingling science 
 with the wildest dreams of astrology : we know not if he went 
 as tutor of the other two ; but so it has been supposed. And 
 now they hasten forward, with all the eagerness of youth, to 
 see, to learn, to enjoy that world which foiTns the bright, de- 
 ceitful dream of boyhood ; that world so gay and glittering at 
 a distance, so hard, so cold, so dull when we are near. On- 
 ward they go, through Gennany, France, Holland, England, 
 Spain, Italy ; each acting according to his character at the 
 time, and forming his character for the future. With ex- 
 penses almost beyond his limited means, young Waldstein con- 
 forms to all the customs of each country through which he 
 travels ; but he studies, too, and studies hard — men, manners, 
 tongues, arts, commerce, cities ; nothing passes before him un- 
 
WALLEN8TEIN. 279 
 
 noticed ; and from every thing something is acquired. But 
 there are two strains of thought on which his mind rests more 
 willingly than on others — the visionary doctrines of judicial 
 astrology ; that madness of man's inherent thirst for a knowl- 
 edge of futurity — and the science of war. The latter formed 
 the real occupation of his intellect, the former the pursuit of 
 his imagination. 
 
 In Italy, and especially at Padua, then one of the most fa- 
 mous universities in Europe, Waldstein stayed long ; and now 
 we find the three companions separated. Each betook him- 
 self his separate way in life ; and Waldstein, with small 
 means, hut a powerful mind and much knowledge, entered on 
 the career which he had chosen for himself, and joined the 
 imperial army, then warring against the Turks, it would ap- 
 pear, as a volunteer. 
 
 Then, as now, genius without wealth was a sealed fountain. 
 No one discovered the waters ; and for years Waldstein re- 
 mained without promotion or command. At length a com- 
 pany of infantry was granted him ; and here he might have 
 dragged out his life in obscurity, but that a handsome person 
 opened to him a brighter career. The first step in it might 
 be a painful, and was, perhaps, not a very honest one ; but it 
 seemed the only means of success ; and he took it. 
 
 Lo, the young, the handsome, the energetic Waldstein 
 stands at the altar with a woman old enough to be his moth- 
 er, the rich widow Nikessin, of Landeck. There were many 
 seeking her hand. It had even been promised to one ; but 
 Waldstein was strongly supported by influential friends ; his 
 person was a still stronger recommendation ; and she gave 
 him her hand and her riches. 
 
 Still there was little chance of his obtaining great favor at 
 court, or a high command in the army ; for he had displeased 
 the Archduke Matthias, one of whose chamberlains he had 
 been for a short time, and who ultimately became emperor. 
 We know not, indeed, whether he sought either for some 
 time ; and a portion of the next two years was consumed in 
 a long and severe sickness, brought on by the folly of his vdfe, 
 in giving him a love potion, with a view of gaining or of re- 
 taining the affection of a young man for an old woman. Her 
 own death, not long after, freed him from such dangers ; and 
 now Wallenstein starts into active life, but not till after a 
 long period of retirement, nor until he had reached his thirty- 
 third year. 
 
 From the Lady of Landeck he had inherited large estates 
 
280 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 in Moravia ; and he seems, for nearly ten years, to have de- 
 voted himself to the cultivation and improvement of his lands. 
 During this period had raged furiously what is called the 
 Fraternal War, hetween the Archduke Matthias and the 
 weak Emperor Rudolph. Neither the service of a fool nor 
 that of a rogue was very desirable ; and Wallenstein took no 
 part with either. We are told that he was eagerly solicited 
 by both parties ; but of this I find no distinct proof ; and if 
 it was so, he must have been sought for his wealth ; for as 
 yet he had gained no military renown. At length, however, 
 broke out the war of Friuli, between Ferdinand of Gratz, 
 archduke of Camiola and Styria, and the Venetian repubhc ; 
 and Wallenstein issued forth from Moravia at the head of 
 two hundred well-appointed cavalry, all raised upon his own 
 estates, to give aid to the Austrian prince. 
 
 The fortress of Gradisca was at that time blockaded by the 
 Venetians, who were slowly carrying on the siege of the place. 
 The great danger of the garrison lay in the want of provisions, 
 and the first exploit of Wallenstein was to throw a large sup- 
 ply into the place. The war had little result, and terminated 
 soon after by a treaty of peace ; but Wallenstein's military 
 fame was established, and his services were acknowledged by 
 Ferdinand. The soldiers sang praises of his liberality ; the 
 officers and the noblemen of the army enjoyed his table and 
 benefited by his purse ; and now, received with honor at Vien- 
 na, Wallenstein found himself appointed one of the chamber- 
 lains to the emperor, and obtained the command of the militia 
 of Moravia. This appointment gave him much power ; and 
 his marriage, which speedily followed, with Isabella Catharine, 
 daughter of Count Harrach, a minister of the emperor, both 
 added to his fortune and procured him great influence at the 
 imperial court. He fixed his residence at Olmutz, displaying 
 the splendor and profusion of a prince ; but events were now 
 preparing which opened for him a career of prospefity and re- 
 verse which has but few parallels in history. 
 
 I must pause upon these events, though it will be but 
 briefly. The kingdom of Bohemia, peopled principally by a 
 Sclavonian tribe, had resisted for many years, with flery vigor 
 and considerable success, both civil and religious tyraimy. 
 Though the house of Austria, after the year 1526, claimed 
 dominion over Bohemia, and though the Roman Cathohc 
 faith was tolerated in the land, still the forms ol' liberty were 
 maintained, and Protestantism was the predominant religion 
 in the country. The crown of Bohemia was elective, and, on 
 
WALLENSTBIN 381 
 
 the accession of each monarch, the forms of election were gone 
 through. The people sufiered no occasion to pass without ex- 
 acting from the Austrian princes some recognition of the lib- 
 erties and privileges of Bohemia. Rudolph granted a charter, 
 called the Letter of Majesty, by which entire freedom of re- 
 hgion, and the maintenance of all rights, was granted. Mat- 
 thias, before his coronation, was required to swear at the altar, 
 with his hand on the Bible, that he would maintain the privi- 
 leges contained in Rudolph's charter ; and an expression of 
 consent from the people was demanded before the crown was 
 put upon his head. After Ferdinand of Gratz, the heir of his 
 cousin Rudolph, had been elected King of the Romans, Mat- 
 thias sought to secure for him the crown of Bohemia also, and 
 enlarged his promises and engagements to the Bohemian peo- 
 ple. But the character of Ferdinand, as a persecutor of the 
 Protestants, was well known ; the Bohemians were wary ; and 
 before they would elect him as the successor of Matthias, or 
 suffer him to receive the crown, they exacted from him the sig- 
 nature of a charter, by which he pronounced them free of their 
 allegiance in case he violated any of the privileges secured to 
 them, or any of the engagements into which he entered at his 
 coronation. This done, he was elected and crowned. 
 
 The object of the emperor and the archduke was now at- 
 tained, and the mask was thrown off'. Two new churches 
 were built at Bnmau and Klostergraben, in Bohemia, by the 
 Protestants of the district. They were seized by the Catholics : 
 one was pulled down, and one was shut up by the orders of 
 the emperor. 
 
 Matthias was represented, in Prague, by a Council of State, 
 and to the lords of this council the Protestants sent deputies, 
 complaining of the outrage. The deputies were thrown into 
 prison by the monarch's representatives, and the Protestant 
 nobility now laid their remonstrances at the foot of the throne. 
 Shortly after, they were summoned by the Council of State to 
 hear the emperor's reply. It was bold and tyrannical. The 
 monarch avowed the act of which the Protestants complain- 
 ed, declared that the states of Bohemia had abused their char- 
 ter, and asserted that the deputies had rendered themselves 
 liable to punishment as rebels. 
 
 The indignation excited was extreme ; the people were as- 
 sembled in the market-place, and the charter of the hberties of 
 Bohemia was read to them, in conjunction with the imperial 
 letter just received. It was with difficulty that the populace 
 were prevented from storming the palace of the Council of 
 
282 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 State ; and when a deputation of noblemen proceeded to in- 
 form the lords of the council that no decree tending to endan- 
 ger freedom of religion in Bohemia could be received after the 
 emperor's signature of the great charter, a number of the pop- 
 ulace followed them to the hall. A confused and stormy 
 scene then took place, in the midst of which two of the lords 
 of council and the secretary were thrown out of the windows, 
 and miraculously escaped with life. 
 
 This act of violence could not be passed over, as the states 
 of Bohemia were well aware; and although they endeavored, 
 by general professions of loyalty and apologies for the tumult, 
 to turn away the wrath of the emperor, they neglected no pre- 
 caution to defend themselves against his vengeance. A Coun- 
 cil of Thirty was chosen to conduct the affairs of the country; 
 the army was placed under the command of Count Thum, 
 one of the most distinguished Protestant noblemen ; and ne- 
 gotiations were opened with the various Protestant states of 
 Germany, with the view of obtaining aid and assistance in 
 case of war. At the same time, the acts of the Council of 
 Thirty rendered war inevitable. The Archbishop of Prague, 
 the Abbot of Brunau, and a number of the Romish clerg}% 
 who were accused of having taken part in the first acts of ag- 
 gression, were expelled the kingdom, as well as the whole body 
 of Jesuits ; and the determination of the leaders was now very 
 clear, to render Bohemia a purely Protestant state. 
 
 Negotiations succeeded between the emperor and his in- 
 surgent subjects ; but the Bohemians refused to disarm till 
 certain securities were afforded for their safety and their rights. 
 Matthias, who had lost the energies of his youth and the per- 
 severance of his middle age, would fain have yielded something 
 to quiet his people and die in peace ; but the Archduke Fer- 
 dinand thought that he could profit by the occasion to annul 
 the privileges of the Bohemians, and he urged on his cousin to 
 unsheath the sword. Two imperial oflicers, named Dampier 
 and Bucquoi, marched into Bohemia ; but their appearance 
 was a signal for the union of all parties in the kingdom to de- 
 fend their rights. Catholics and Protestants laid aside their 
 religious disputes, and took the field together ; and the famous 
 Count Mansfeld, engaged in the cause of the insurgents, led a 
 body of veteran free companions to their aid, and soon obtain- 
 ed possession of Pilsen, the only town of importance which 
 maintained its allegiance to the house of Austria. Bucquoi 
 and Dampier were held m check, the Protestants of Moravia 
 and of Upper and Lower Austria were moving in favor of 
 
w'aLLEN STEIN. 283 
 
 their Bohemian brethren, and Bethlem Gabor, the restless 
 and adventurous Prince of Transylvania, prepared to march 
 upon Vienna and extinguish the Austrian empire. 
 
 What had been the conduct of Wallenstein during these 
 events? The insurgents had striven to gain him to their 
 party. Although he was by no means a man of a persecuting 
 spirit, he vi^as now a sincere Roman Catholic, and showed 
 himself a faithful servant of the emperor. No considerations 
 of religious toleration, no thought of the liberties of his coun- 
 try, seemed to affect him in the least. He rejected all over- 
 tures from the Bohemian states ; and with zeal, diligence, and 
 skill endeavored to preserve Moravia for the emperor. But 
 the spirit of revolt had seized upon the province, and the pro- 
 vincial states resolved to send deputies to raefet those of Bo- 
 hemia at Brun. Wallenstein endeavored to intercept them ; 
 but he was not supported by the militia, over whom he held 
 a nominal command, and all his efix)rts were unsuccessful. 
 The united states of Brun declared him fallen from the com- 
 mand of the militia; and though he attempted to resist, a Bo- 
 hemian force, sent to attack him in Olmutz, compelled him 
 to evacuate a town where he could calculate upon but little 
 support. He carried off' the public treasure with him, how- 
 ever, and delivered it to the emperor, who allotted a part 
 thereof to Wallenstein, for the purpose of raising a regiment 
 of cuirassiers. 
 
 The Emperor Matthias, in the midst of these dark and 
 ominous events, closed his long and turbulent life, on the 20th 
 of March, 1618, and Ferdinand of Gratz succeeded to all the 
 hereditary dominions of Austria. He had been already elected 
 King of the Romans ; but the imperial crown was yet to be 
 attained ; and he turned his eyes anxiously to Frankfort, where 
 he knew his claims were likely to be opposed in the Diet by 
 many who might not have ventured to raise their voice against 
 him had the strength of the house of Austria not been broken 
 by the revolt of many of its provinces. He dared not leave 
 the Danube for the Rhine, however, while the aspect of every 
 thing around him was so menacing ; and in the mean while 
 Count Thum, with a Urge army, every day increasing by re- 
 enforcements from Upper Austria itself, marched on with 
 rapid steps toward Vienna, while Bethlem Gabor, with his 
 Transylvanian hordes, was known to be advancing across 
 Hungary. 
 
284 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WALLENSTEm. 
 
 Every thing is confusion and terror in Vienna. The city 
 is without troops for its defense ; the inhabitants are cold and 
 indifferent ; the roar of artillery is heard on the left bank of 
 the Danube ; the bridge is in possession of the Bohemian 
 forces. No resistance can be made ; and a busy troop of 
 frightened courtiers in one of the halls of the imperial palace 
 surround a man of the middle age, and clamorously beseech 
 him to fly and save himself. 
 
 " If I fly, all is lost," replied Ferdinand. ** I will stay, what- 
 ever be the consequence." 
 
 He spoke with a tone and look which might well become 
 a mighty monarch ; but it failed to give confidence to the 
 terrified people around him. One after another quitted him, 
 and he was left almost alone. The balls of the Bohemian 
 guns fell into the courts of the palace ; and twelve, or, as 
 some say, sixteen Austrian noblemen pushed their way into 
 the very chamber where their monarch stood, and, with a 
 written paper in their hands, pressed for its signature. It 
 contained the terms demanded by the Bohemians : terms 
 which would have given security to religion and to liberty. 
 
 Ferdinand hesitated ; and one of the lords, forgetting all 
 restraint, seized him by a button of his coat, exclaiming, 
 *' Nandel,* wilt thou sign ?" 
 
 But hark ! There is a trumpet in the palace square, the 
 clang of horses' feet, the sound of armor. Have the Bohe- 
 mians broken in ? People run to the windows ; and lo, a 
 regiment of Dampier's cuirassiers. They have come to save 
 their sovereign in the hour of need ; they bring news, too, that 
 the whole army is close upon their track ; the Austrian dep- 
 uties retreat in haste toward the camp of Count Thurn ; and 
 Ferdinand has time at least for thought. 
 
 Still, security was far from obtained. Dampier's whole 
 army was not sufficient to maintain Vienna against the ever- 
 increasing forces of Count Thurn ; but tidings reached both ^ 
 the court and the camp of an event which changed the face * 
 of afTairs in a moment ; and men's tongues were busy with 
 • A rude and familiar abbreviation of Ferdinand. 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 285 
 
 the name of Wallenstein. Let us change the scene, and sec 
 what this event was. 
 
 There are two armies in presence on the banks of the Mol- 
 dau, as it flows on from Budweis toward Prague. The small 
 city of Moldau Tein is within sight from the high ground ; 
 and upon a httle elevation is a camp surrounded by a num- 
 ber of baggage wagons, which, drawn up in a square, form a 
 sort of redoubt in the rear of a force of some five or six thou- 
 sand men. These are the army, and that the camp of the 
 adventurous Peter Ernest, of Mansfeld ; and that larger force, 
 marching on to attack him, is the Austrian army under Buc- 
 quoi. After a brief cannonade, they meet hand to hand ; and 
 fierce and resolute is the resistance of Mansfeld and his free 
 companions- But they feel that the overwhelming power of 
 the enemy can not be resisted in the open field, and they re- 
 treat, in good order, into the circle of their wagons, like the 
 ancient Huns. There they can renew the fight with greater 
 advantage ; and charge after charge of the Austrian forces is 
 vigorously repelled. In vain the camp is attacked on every 
 side ; the Austrian troops are getting exhausted under the 
 heat of a bright day of June, and that day is drawing toward 
 a close without the victory being won. 
 
 At length, however, Wallenstein and his cuirassiers obtain 
 leave to make the attack, after infantry and cavalry have both 
 been repulsed. His charge is fierce ; his troopers strong and 
 enthusiastic ; but how, unsupported by infantry, can he break 
 through that double barricade, defended vigorously by brave 
 men and veteran soldiers ? We know not how, but he has 
 done it ; and Wallenstein and his troopers are in the midst 
 of Mansfeld's camp ; the rest of the Austrian forces pour in ; 
 the victory is won, the enemy in full flight, and the road to 
 Prague is open. 
 
 Such were the tidings which reached the court of Vienna 
 and the camp of Count Thurn, spreading joy in the one and 
 consternation in the other. To save the Bohemian capital 
 was now the great object of the insurgents, and, breaking up 
 their camp at once, they marched to meet Bucquoi under the 
 walls of Prague, 
 
 Vienna was saved by a charge of cavalry on the banks of 
 the Moldau. The road to Frankfort was now free ; and Fer- 
 dinand of Gratz hurried to seize the imperial crown. Almost 
 at the same time when he succeeded in his object, the Hun- 
 garian people formally deposed him from their throne, and 
 elected Frederic, the Elector Palatine, for their king. 
 
286 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Bethlem Gabor now menaced Vienna ; the Bohemiaa '. 
 troops hastened to join him ; terror spread before his path, 
 and desolation marked where he had been. Bucquoi, defeat- 
 ed by the savage Transylvanian hordes, was unable to do any 
 thing to save the capital ; and it is attributed to Wallenstein 
 that the Austrian army was preserved, and enabled to effect 
 its retreat into the large islands in the Danube. Neverthe- 
 less, Vienna was straightened for provisions. Twelve thou- 
 sand Bohemians, and an innumerable swarm of Transylvani- 
 ans and Hungarians, lay within sight of the city, and one 
 bold effort would have put the allied armies in possession of 
 the capital. But time was wasted ; bad weather set in ; and 
 the commencement of an unusually early and severe winter 
 drove the Bohemians back to their homes. Bethlem Gabor 
 retired to enjoy what he had acquired, and once more Vienna 
 was saved. 
 
 At the same time policy had been acting her part. Max- 
 imilian of Bavaria, one of the shrewdest and most calculating 
 princes of the age, had been gained over to the party of the 
 emperor ; France had been secretly dealt with ; and a dis- 
 graceful convention was entered into at Ulm, between the 
 body called the Catholic League, of which Maximilian was 
 the head, and the princes of the Protestant Union, of whom 
 Frederic, the Elector Palatine, had been the nominal leader. 
 Those princes now bound themselves to afford no aid to the 
 newly-elected King of Bohemia, except in defense of his he- 
 reditary dominions, while those of the Catholic League did 
 not bind itself to give no succor to the emperor. The former, 
 as is but too common with Protestant princes, sacrificed the 
 interests of their religion, without remorse, to their personal 
 policy ; and the spirit of liberty displayed in the kingdom of 
 Bohemia was quite sufficient to counterbalance, in the minds 
 of sovereigns, the merits of the Protestant cause, in defense 
 of which that kingdom first raised the standard of revolt. 
 Although many other causes combined to produce indifference 
 to the fate of Bohemia in the surrounding states ; though 
 jealousy, love of tranquillity, fear of the power of Austria, to- 
 gether with a thousand petty passions, all had tlicir part, yet! 
 there can be no doubt that a dull and unexpressed dislike to 
 revolutionary movements, however great the provocation and 
 however just the cause, had no slight share in withholding a 
 multitude of the German princes from taking part with Bo- 
 hemia, in its resistance to a power which was becoming dan- 
 gerous to the liberties of all the German people. 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 287 
 
 Nevertheless, several distant states either saw advantages 
 to be gained by the humiliation of Austria, or dangers to be 
 avoided by raising up a barrier to the advance of her power. 
 Denmark and Sweden, Holland and Venice, with several even 
 of the German states, recognized Frederic as King of Bohe- 
 mia, and consequently acknowledged the justice of the act 
 which placed him on the throne. 
 
 The more powerful of these states, however, were far dis- 
 tant ; the others were slow to act ; Ferdinand of Gratz had 
 obtained great moral power by his election ; Maximilian of 
 Bavaria was as active and energetic as cold and politic ; and 
 before any great movement was made by the allies of Bohe- 
 mia to check the arms of the Catholic allies, the Bohemian 
 crown was lost and won ; and the battle of Prague decided 
 the fate of Frederic, and left his kingdom at the mercy of a 
 conqueror. This event occurred on the 8th of November, 
 1620 ; Frederic fled from the capital in despair, and the 
 whole of Bohemia submitted. 
 
 Wallenstein was not present at the battle of Prague, but 
 was occupied with a body of troops in some operations of in- 
 ferior importance. He was sent shortly after to maintain the 
 imperial power in the province of Moravia ; and, during three 
 months, policy superseded vengeance. It was not till the ar- 
 rangements of the imperialists and the Bavarians were com 
 plete, and insurrection was guarded against in every quarter 
 that the sword was unsheathed to punish. Then many of th( 
 noblest, the bravest, and the most virtuous in the land wera 
 led to public execution ; the estates of a still greater numbei 
 were confiscated and ordered to be sold ; and Bohemian exiles 
 crowded the courts of Europe. A general decree of proscrip 
 tion afterward followed, by which all Protestants were ban 
 ished from the kingdom ; and the estates of more than si^ 
 hundred forfeited nobles were sold to the best bidders. 
 
 It is not necessar}^ here to dwell upon the barbarous crueltj 
 of the victors. Nothing that the blackest page of history can 
 show equals the crimes that were perpetrated. Tyranny and 
 despair, in many places, produced resistance ; and resistance 
 was drowned out in blood. The innocent were confounded, 
 with the guilty, the submissive with the refractory. Old and 
 young were slaughtered together ; neither age, nor sex, nor 
 station, nor character, afforded protection ; the flame of burn- 
 ing towns and villages rose up throughout the kingdom ; and 
 the land was watered with the gore of its inhabitants. 
 
 Wallenstein took no part in these atrocities. Though a 
 
288 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 steadfast Roman Catholic, he had not imbibed the spirit of 
 persecution. But sad to say, not called upon to exercise his 
 military talents, he engaged in meaner pursuits — ^mean, even 
 ■where the object is elevated by the grandeur of the motive. 
 To be covetous from ambition can never dignify covetousness. 
 Wallenstein's sole occupation, for many months after his re- 
 turn to Olmutz, seems to have been the acquisition of con- 
 fiscated estates. The market was glutted with them : few 
 could be found wealthy enough to purchase ; their tenure, too, 
 might be somewhat precarious ; and, consequently, the price 
 was very low. To what extent his acquisitions went at this 
 time, I do not know, but they were undoubtedly very great ; 
 and, within about four years after the battle of Prague, he 
 had expended, in the purchase of domains, nearly eight mill- 
 ions of florins. Each of these estates, it is calculated, was 
 sold to him at less than a third of its real value, so that the 
 extent of the possessions he acquired may be very easily con- 
 ceived. 
 
 Where the money was obtained to pay for them has been 
 made a matter of doubt ; but wealth begets wealth ; the 
 revenues of one domain, so cheaply purchased, soon supphed 
 the means of acquiring another ; and it must ever be remem- 
 bered that, though splendid in his hospitaUty, luxurious in his 
 style of living, and liberal to all who served him, Wallenstein 
 conducted his domestic affairs with a degree of care, accuracy, 
 and economy perfectly marvelous. In the heat of war and 
 in the eagerness of political negotiation, he never forgot for a 
 moment the most thoughtful supervision of his vast estates. 
 The most minute details seemed not insignificant in his eyes, 
 the grandest schemes of improvement not too vast for the reach 
 of his mind ; and, from the care of his poultry-yard to the 
 building of cities, the foundation of schools and colleges, and 
 the regulation of the power of the priesthood in his domains, 
 nothing was forgotten, neglected, or postponed. His letters 
 show a variety of objects, a combination of powers, and a gen- 
 eral grasp of mmd perhaps unparalleled. 
 
 While thus occupied in acquiring, regulating, and improv- 
 ing, the military genius of Wallenstein was not allowed to 
 slumber unemployed. Bethlem Gabor again troubled the 
 Austrian empire, and in the Hungarian war, as it is some- 
 times called, gained immense and extraordinary success, when 
 the composition of his armies is considered. Dampier and 
 Bucquoi fell before him ; no effort of the emperor seemed capa- 
 ble of stopping his advance ; and he received no check of any 
 
VVALLENSTEIN. 289. 
 
 importance till Wallenstein was called into the iield against 
 him. But then the balance turned. The Bohemian and the 
 Transylvanian met at Schamitz ; Bethlem Gabor had not 
 concentrated his whde army, and was defeated ; and again 
 at Kremser, Wallenstein was victorious over another division 
 of the Transylvanian forces, toward the end of 1621. The 
 Prince of Transylvania sued for and obtained peace, and re- 
 tired to prepare for a renewal of the war. 
 
 Less than two years had elapsed ere Bethlem Gabor was 
 again in the field ; but Wallenstein seenis to have been in 
 some degree neglected, or, at all events, his merits were not suf- 
 ficiently appreciated. An Italian officer, of the name of Ca- 
 raffa, was appointed to the chief command of the army against 
 the Transylvanians ; and Wallenstein occupied an inferior 
 position, Wallenstein was not altogether above jealousy. 
 He wooed glory as a bride, and would not share the possession 
 with any one. He kept aloof from CarafTa, with the corps 
 which he commanded. Not, indeed, that he showed any 
 criminal neglect, as has been stated ; for of that there is not 
 the shghtest proof, and Carafia's force and high military repu- 
 tation seemed to render the immediate co-operation of Wal- 
 lenstein unnecessary. Caraffa, however, was defeated and 
 surrounded. No means of escape were left him ; and his 
 whole army was in the most perilous position. But Wallen- 
 stein appeared at the critical moment, to deliver the imperial 
 general ; the blockade was forced, and the army saved. 
 
 Honors now began to flow in upon Wallenstein. His mili- 
 tary skill and great services were admitted by all men ; and 
 he was created Duke of Friedland, with the dignity of Count 
 Palatine. This elevation gave him the power of honoring 
 those who served him, for attached to it was the privilege of 
 granting patents of nobility, as well as that of coining money. 
 But the new prince, for as such we must now regard him, 
 was not without enemies and difficulties. Charges were from 
 time to time made against him at the imperial court ; and 
 certainly, the license which he tolerated, if he did not en- 
 courage it, in the armies he commanded, gave just ground for 
 complaint. He acted upon the principle of making the war 
 keep the war ; and at this Ferdinand had no right to mur- 
 mur ; for the imperial treasury was very low ; both soldiers 
 and officers badly paid ; and the armies, absolutely necessary 
 for the defense of the empire, could not have been kept on foot 
 by any other means. Wallenstein seems to have gone some- 
 what further, indeed, and to have taken little heed if the con- 
 
 N 
 
290 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 tributions, raised by his officers in the countries where they 
 were quartered, amounted to a sufficient sum to reward them 
 for their military services, as well as to supply the troops with 
 necessaries. Great was the muraiuring, then, of the districts 
 through which the triumphant general passed ; and the em- 
 peror, while loading him with distinctions, had more than 
 once to remonstrate against the exactions which he permitted. 
 The enthusiastic love and admiration of the soldiery, how- 
 ever, followed their ever-liberal leader ; and all men were 
 eager to serve under one with whom honor and wealth were 
 sure to be acquired. 
 
 Very different was the conduct of Wallenstein in regard to 
 his own domains, and to those which were the theater of war. 
 Without dwelling long upon the subject, and particularizing 
 various instances of his paternal care and judicious activity in 
 promoting and securing the prosperity and happiness of his 
 people, it would be difficult to give even a faint idea of the 
 zealous and watchful interest he took in their welfare. Suf- 
 fice it that nothing was neglected, and that, had we not the 
 records of his military achievements and his political plans, 
 we might conceive, from his letters, that his mind had been 
 incessantly occupied by the care of his vast possessions. 
 
 While Wallenstein was combating the Turkish and Tran- 
 sylvanian hordes in the south and east, events were taking 
 place in the north and west of Germany which opened for 
 him a wider field, and a more glorious and dangerous career. 
 The unhappy Elector Palatine, driven in sorrow and disgrace 
 from Bohemia, soon saw himself stripped of his hereditary do- 
 minions by the power and authority of Austria, the arms of 
 Bavaria and the Catholic League, and the military skill of 
 Tilly. The Protestant princes of the empire, in general, 
 showed the most shameful and lamentable indifference, both 
 to the fate of their brother and ally and to the religious and 
 political perils which menaced themselves. The only persons 
 who attempted to stem the torrent of Austro-Catholic invasion 
 in the Palatinate were Count Mansfeld, the Margrave of Ba- 
 den Durlach, and Duke Christian of Brunswick. A small 
 corps of English auxiliaries assisted ; and great courage, en- 
 ergy, and resolution were displayed ; but against Spinola with 
 a Spanish, and Tilly with a Bavarian army, the ground could 
 not be maintained. Battles and skirmishes were fought and 
 lost ; towns were besieged and taken, till at length the Cath- 
 olic League was master of the Palatinate ; and the power of 
 the emperor menaced the liberties of all Germany. 
 
WALL EN STEIN. 291 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The veiy extreiriity of the peril, the very depression of the 
 powers of Protestant Germany, at length called into active 
 resistance those who should have resisted long before. The 
 Elector of Saxony, a base and selfish man, had openly taken 
 part with the house of Austria, in putting down the insurrec- 
 tion of Bohemia ; but Ferdinand was not a man to be very 
 grateful for services, the objects of which were all ambitious ; 
 and the elector saw, with dismay, the extent of power to 
 which Austria had attained. The proceedings of the emper- 
 or, too, gave good reasons for supposing that the laws of the 
 empire itself would be considered no barrier to his designs. 
 His dealings with the conquered Palatinate had been opposed 
 to all law, and carried out in spite of all remonstrance ; and 
 Bavaria and Austria still kept the sword unsheathed, without 
 notifying against whom it was next to be directed. 
 
 Tilly, the great general of the Roman Catholic League, 
 very soon, upon frivolous pretenses, pushed his excursions into 
 Lower Germany ; and it began to be feared, or understood, 
 that the strong-hold of Protestantism in the empire was to be 
 invaded by the same powers which had completely subdued 
 the south. These apprehensions counseled preparation ; and 
 it is probable that, when once the determination to resist was 
 adopted, the views of the Protestant states went further ; that 
 the egregious error which they had committed, in remaining 
 inactive so long, was perceived ; and that a resolution was 
 taken to atone for the past, as well as to guard against the 
 future. To reduco the authority of the emperor to its lawful 
 limits, and to break the exorbitant power of the Catholic 
 League, were objects which naturally presented themselves to 
 the minds of men ; and there can be little doubt that these 
 objects were sought for by the Protestants, as well as those 
 which they avowed. 
 
 The circles of Lower Saxony began to arm ; negotiations 
 were entered into with neighboring and remote powers, En- 
 gland, Denmark, Sweden, Venice, Holland, France, were ap- 
 plied to ; and hopes and encouragements of some kind were 
 
892 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 derived from all. The spirit spread. The administrator of 
 Magdeburg, the Duke of Brunswick, the Duke of Mecklen- 
 burg, took part with the circles of Lower Saxony ; England 
 promised men and money ; and Christian IV. of Denmark 
 made ready for the field. Arms, troops, and stores were col- 
 lected ; magazines were formed ; fortifications were repaired ; 
 and an army of sixty thousand men started up to defend the 
 liberties which had been so long forgotten. 
 
 The cabinet of Vieima was both angry and alarmed. Re- 
 monstrances and threats were used, but without success. The 
 confederates were too strong to be apprehensive, and were now 
 ahve to evils which they had long overlooked. The King of 
 Denmark, too, had in his large continental possessions both a 
 motive and an encouragement ; for the safety of Holstein and 
 Jutland depended upon the safety of Lower Saxony ; and nei- 
 ther Denmark nor Sweden could see the power of the emper- 
 or extended, with unlimited sway, to the shores of the Baltic, 
 without jealousy and alarm. At the same time, those two 
 possessions insured to the King of Denmark both support and 
 retreat, in case of disaster in Germany proper ; and, although 
 a lover of pleasure, and in some degree addicted to excess, 
 Chi'istian IV. of Denmark was a warlike prince and a skill- 
 ful soldier. He received the command-in-chief of the Protest- 
 ant army, but prudently waited for aggression on the part of 
 the enemy. 
 
 The imperial orders were given, after all negotiations htid 
 failed ; and Count Tilly, following the course of the Weser, 
 advanced, as if to put the contest to the issue of a battle. 
 The principality of Kalemberg w£is soon overrun by the Ba- 
 varian troops, while the King of Denmark, on the right bank 
 of the Weser, spread himself out in the Duchy of Brunswick, 
 weakening somewhat too much, it is said, the main body of 
 his army by detachments sent to protect particular points of 
 importance. Tilly, however, was not strong enough to under- 
 take much in the presence of such a general as Christian IV., 
 and no great progress was made on either side. 
 
 At length, however, the concentration of the King of Den- 
 mark's forces, the reappearance of Mansfeld and Christian of 
 Brunswick in the field, and the rumor of fresh levies in Lower 
 Saxony, with the threatening aspect of Sweden, and the cer- 
 tainty that active negotiations for help were going on between 
 the Protestant leaders and foreign countries, comi)elled Tilly 
 to apply to the emperor for prompt and immediate support. 
 
 Ferdinand, however, had nothing to give ; his resouroea 
 
WALLENSTEIN. t93 
 
 were exhausted ; the Austrian troops were all employed, either 
 in keeping in subjection the south of Germany, or in watch- 
 ing the enemies which menaced the empire from the side of 
 Transylvania. All the greatest achievements of the war had 
 been effected by the forces of Bavaria and the Catholic League^ 
 which were now found insufficient to attain the object in view 
 in Northern Germany ; and Ferdinand was not well pleased 
 to be wholly dependent upon Bavaria and the Catholic League 
 for success and power. Not only, however, did there seem no 
 remedy for a state so dangerous to the permanence of his au- 
 thority, but the advantages gained seemed likely to be wrest- 
 ed from him, and his overbearing rule greatly reduced. In 
 this dilemma, without men, without money, without means 
 of any kind to recover a decided preponderance in the field, 
 Ferdinand received an offer which seemed to many of his 
 courtiers merely the vision of a presumptuous madman, and 
 even to Ferdinand himself must have appeared delusive. 
 
 Wallenstein came to the emperor's aid, and proposed, on 
 certain conditions, to raise and equip, by his own exertions, an 
 army of fifty thousand men. It is generally stated that this 
 was to be done at his own expense ; but this is not exactly 
 accurate, although undoubtedly all the labor, and the first 
 great expenses, lell for the time upon Wallenstein. It ap- 
 pears clear, however, that that great officer was ultimately to 
 be repaid, either from the imperial treasury, or from contri- 
 butions and confiscations in the countries which he was des- 
 tined to invade ; and h^ avoided a considerable portion even 
 of the first expenses by the method he took to gather his army 
 together. He stipulated for, and received power to repay him- 
 self and reward his officers ; and he apparently left the same 
 liberty to those commanders who brought him in bodies of 
 volunteers. Stripped of all decent formalities, what he de- 
 manded and what he gave was a general commission to plun- 
 der to a certain amount ; and we find indications of the ex- 
 tent to which the commission was nominally limited ; for we 
 are assured that the imperial government, though it paid noth- 
 ing in the first instance, allowed six hundred thousand florins 
 as levy money for each infantry regiment. This was evident- 
 ly to be obtained how the officers could ; but it is clear that 
 accounts were to be kept and afterward arranged with the 
 emperor's treasury. 
 
 The ofler was a great relief to Ferdinand ; but, while some 
 laughed at the proposal as chimerical, others insinuated ap- 
 prehensions in regard to the views of the proposer. The em- 
 
294 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 peror sought to diminish the numbers of the stipulated force ; 
 hut Wallenstein was firm. He represented that a less num- 
 ber of men would not even be able to maintain themselves, 
 much less to effect any important object. The emperor, of 
 course, yielded ; and Wallenstein, raising his standard at Egra, 
 called all soldiers who were willing to serve under him to as- 
 semble at certain appointed places. 
 
 With marvelous quickness, a powerful army started into 
 existence. The fame of Wallenstein had spread to every part 
 of Europe ; and all the adventurous soldiers at that time un- 
 occupied rushed from north, south, east, and west toward Bo- 
 hemia, to enlist under the great and liberal commander. No 
 questions were asked ; no country, no religion was an objec- 
 tion. Strength, courage, arms of some kind, were the only 
 things required of any man. In a month twenty thousand 
 soldiers were ready for the field ; and very shortly after, Wal- 
 lenstein was marching toward Lower Saxony at the head of 
 thirty thousand men. 
 
 The rapidity with which this extraordinary undertaking 
 was executed, of course left little time for equipment or for 
 training. The army was ragged and ill-disciplined. But 
 splendor soon succeeded to the appearance of poverty ; and, in 
 a very few weeks, discipline was sufficiently established to en- 
 able the general to defeat completely the forces of the Duke 
 of Brunswick Lunenberg, at Gottingen. 
 
 These troops had been sent, apparently, to prevent his ef- 
 fecting a junction with Tilly ; but W?illenstein had no inten- 
 tion of effecting such a junction at all. He would have no 
 commander to overrule his plans, no comrade to share in his 
 glory. Keeping aloof from Tilly, but holding constant com- 
 munications with him, in which the struggle for superior au- 
 thority was sometimes visible, Wallenstein thought it enough 
 to divide, and defeat in detail the armies of the confederate 
 states, leavhig Tilly to do the same on his part. 
 
 His appearance in the field, the extent of his forces, and the 
 success of his operations, soon drove the King of Denmark and 
 the Lower German states to open a negotiation for peace. 
 Tilly, it would appear, might have sullered himself to be 
 brought to mild terms, or to be lulled into inactivity by spe- 
 cious proposals ; but Wallenstein cut the negotiation short, 
 by demands too outrageous and domineering to be listened to 
 by a king at the head of sixty or seventy thousand men. 
 
 No very striking events occurred in the latter part of 1625 ; 
 and it is probable that the exhausted state of the country, 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 895 
 
 swept by such numerous armies, a large portion of which nei- 
 ther spared nor economized, prevented rapid or decided move- 
 ments on either side. Still, however, Wallenstein gained 
 ground, and still his forces increased, while he labored dili- 
 gently, in the midst of all his purely military operations, 4;o 
 obtaui more certain supplies than the countries which he in- 
 vaded could afford. All the resources of his own principali- 
 ties were taxed to the utmost, to furnish stores for the impe- 
 rial troops ; and although wo must not say that he organized 
 a commissariat, yet he certainly made some steps toward the 
 improvement of a branch of military science, not even now 
 sufficiently attended to, and then very generally neglected. 
 
 • The next campaign was opened early in the year, by Tilly 
 on the Weser, and Wallenstein on the left bank of the Elbe. 
 The first operations of the latter general were undertaken in 
 the little duchy of Anhalt, where he seized upon the bridge 
 over the Elbe at Dessau, in order to command a free passage 
 at any time over the river, and open a way into Brandenburg. 
 Strong redoubts were immediately erected on the right bank ; 
 and the importance of this position being instantly seen by the 
 Protestant princes, Count Mansfeld, with his veteran bands, 
 was ordered to attack the bridge, and make every effort to ob- 
 tain possession of the passage. Three several battles or skir- 
 mishes took place in the month of April. In the first two, all 
 Mansfeld's efforts were defeated by the mere resolute defense 
 of the redoubts ; but when his movements, on the 24th, an- 
 nounced a renewal of the attack, Wallenstein caused the 
 bridge to be hung with^ail-cloth, so as to conceal his intended 
 operations, passed his whole army over, and, on the 25th, is- 
 sued forth to meet Mansfeld in the field, when a sanguinary 
 engagement ensued, and the troops of the Protestant leader 
 were routed with terrible loss. 
 
 Nevertheless, little more than a month had passed ere the 
 indefatigable Mansfeld was again at the head of twenty thou- 
 sand men. A large body of English auxiliaries having landed 
 at Hamburg some time before, and a portion, if not the whole, 
 having gone to swell the count's force, a new plan of opera- 
 tions now suggested itself to the daring Mansfeld. He had 
 found means to recruit and refresh himself even in the sands 
 of Brandenburg, and had also, it would appear, opened com- 
 munications with Bethlem Gabor, who was now operating in 
 Hungary. He determined, then, to make a dash through Si- 
 lesia, in order to effect his junction with the Transylvanian, 
 to be followed by a combined attack upon Vienna. 
 
29e DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 No sooner was this design discovered by the imperial court 
 than terror seized upon the emperor and his ministers. In- 
 stant commands were sent off to Wallenstein to hasten after 
 Mansfeld ; and although he remonstrated earnestly against 
 being compelled to abandon all his plans, and pointed out the 
 inevitable loss and injury which his army would sustain in 
 the passage of the Carpathian Mountains, the orders to march 
 were reiterated, and Wallenstein obeyed. He was not in 
 time, indeed, to prevent the junction of Mansfeld's forces with 
 Bethlem Gabor, and the immense loss which he had antici- 
 pated took place in his own ranks. But Vienna was now pro- 
 tected by a powerful army ; the supplies which Bethlem Ga- 
 bor had expected did not arrive ; and, notwithstanding the 
 junction of Mansfeld, he hastened, as usual, to conclude a 
 hollow truce with Vienna. 
 
 Mansfeld, mortified and disheartened, determined to seek 
 supplies of money from the Venetian republic, and, resigning 
 the command of his troops to a prince of Weimar, set out for 
 Venice in person. He was taken ill, however, in Dalmatia, 
 and died, it is said, of a broken heart, though more probably 
 from one of the diseases of the country. 
 
 Nothing more was to be done in the south of Germany. 
 Wallenstein had been deprived of the glor}' he had expected 
 in the north ; and, placing his troops in winter quarters, he 
 proceeded to Vienna, to prepare for the campaign of the suc- 
 ceeding year, and to silence his enemies, who were busy at 
 the ear of Ferdinand. Blame was cast upon him, both for 
 what he had done and for what he had not done. Men said 
 he had not obeyed with sufficient alacrity the imperial order 
 to march after Mansfeld, and yet, with strange inconsistency, 
 censured him for the losses which his army had sustained in 
 the Carpathian Mountains, although he had foreseen and pre- 
 dicted those losses before he began the march. Another mor- 
 tification, which followed his recall from the north of Ger- 
 many, was to see Tilly gather the laurels which he had hoped 
 to win. 
 
 No sooner was the field clear of Wallenstein, than the King 
 of Denmark attempted to take advantage of his absence for 
 the purpose of carrjing on more active operations. But the, 
 veteran Tilly not only out-maneuvered him completely, but 
 forced him to a battle at the village of Lutter, in the Barm- 
 berg, and gave him a terrible defeat. Sixty standards, the 
 whole artillery, baggage, and ammunition of the Danish army 
 were lost, and between four and five thousand dead remained 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 297 
 
 upon the field. Terror seized all the Protestant states of 
 northern Germany ; the people would make no effort to sup- 
 port their princes in resisting the imperial power ; and apathy 
 and fear reigned supreme. The states vainly fancied that 
 submission would bring peace, and that the emperor would be 
 contented with the humiliation which had been inflicted upon 
 them. But they soon learned that such was little the inten- 
 tion of the imperial tyrant, and still less of his haughty general. 
 
 No sooner did spring appear than Wallenstein was in the 
 field again, at the head of forty thousand men ; and his march 
 was a triumphal procession through Silesia, Brandenburg, and 
 Mecklenburg, to the frontiers of Holstein. In vain did states 
 remonstrate and princes sue ; in vain did some pretend neu- 
 trahty, and some offer submission. Wallenstein spurned of- 
 fers, proposals, and negotiations, openly proclaimed the abso- 
 lute power of the emperor, and gave a significant notification 
 that the German empire, as previously constituted, was to 
 be brought to an end. No more electors, no more princely 
 confederations : an absolute monarch and a submissive coun- 
 try was that which Wallenstein proposed to raise up and to 
 maintain. Neither did he desire any sharer in his counsels 
 or his deeds ; and, upon an idle pretense, Tilly was sent across 
 the Elbe, to keep the Dutch in check, while the imperial gen- 
 eral pursued the Danish army toward its own country. 
 
 More than once that army turned and attempted to bar 
 the way ; but a series of brilliant actions at Heiligenhausen 
 only added to the renown of Wallenstein and to the disasters 
 of the Danes. Holstein, and Jutland itself, were overrun by 
 the still increasing forces of Wallenstein ; and the King of 
 Denmark was obhged to embark the ruins of his array, and 
 seek refuge in his islands. All this was accomplished in one 
 campaign ; and the army of Wallenstein, now swelled to the 
 number of a hundred thousand men, lived at free quarters in 
 the subjected principalities, raised contributions, committed all 
 sorts of excesses, and punished the states of northern Germany 
 for their pusillanimous inactivity. 
 
 The Duchy of Mecklenburg was Wallenstein's reward for 
 his successful campaign. Much opposition was made to the 
 grant by many of the imperial counselors ; but Ferdinand had 
 other debts toward Wallenstein, besides that of gratitude. 
 An immense sum was owing to him for the levy and equip- 
 ment of troops, and the imperial debtor had no means of re- 
 paying him but by acquiescence in his ambitious demands. 
 In order to press his suit with the emperor, who was then at 
 
 N2 
 
298 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Prague, Wallenstein had quitted the scenes of his conquests, 
 and returned to Bohemia ; but he had left Count Arnheim in 
 command of the army, and kept up with him a constant and 
 eager correspondence. 
 
 It is now that the towering genius and vast grasp of Wal- 
 lenstein's mind shine out most conspicuously. Not contented 
 with having rendered the emperor all-powerful in Germany, 
 he resolves to make him master of the Baltic. Fleets are to 
 be created ; sea-ports are to be strengthened and improved ; 
 immense naval arsenals are to be prepared ; and order after 
 order is given by Wallenstein to Arnheim, with a view to the 
 steps necessary lor the accomplishment of these great purposes. 
 
 At the same time, though absent, he shows great anxiety 
 for the maintenance, or, perhaps, I might more properly say, 
 for the establishment of discipline in the army. He had tol- 
 erated, because he was obliged to tolerate, great excesses and 
 terrible exactions ; but we are bound to admit that his corre- 
 spondence does not display any of that spirit of peculation of 
 which he had been accused. On the contrary, we find him 
 refusing indignantly any share in the contributions which had 
 been demanded ; and he now gives stern and severe ordere for 
 punishing with the utmost rigor those officers of whose op- 
 pression he had been informed. He even threatens Picco- 
 lomini, one of his most distinguished and favorite officers, and 
 refuses to countenance him in his unjust exactions. 
 
 Notwithstanding these efforts, however, there can be no 
 doubt that license of the most frightful character existed in 
 his armies, which may be described as bands of robbers on a 
 grand scale. He had formed and supported them, Schiller 
 tells us, upon the exanaj)le of Mansfeld, but the scholars soon 
 exceeded the master. 
 
 The very precarious power which a commander held over 
 men so enlisted and kept together rendered Wallenstein pecul- 
 iarly anxious at this time to introduce some better system ; 
 for, even at the beginning of 1628, he foresaw, almost with a 
 prophetic eye, the coming contest with the Swedes, and seems 
 to have been fully aware of the perils and the importance of 
 the struggle. Anxiously and repeatedly, in his letters, he or- 
 ders all the motions of Gustavus Adolphus to be watched, 
 long before that prince showed the slightest intention of invad- 
 ing Germany ; and a strange sort of fear and suspicion regard- 
 ing him, almost amounting to hatred, mark all Wallenstein's 
 thoughts at this time. He even orders the King of Sweden's 
 horoBoope to be drawn by various celebrated astrologers ; and, 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 299 
 
 though we know not the result, it is clear that Wallenstein 
 felt a presentiment that a struggle for Jife and death was des- 
 tined to take place hetween him and the Swedish monarch. 
 
 Still he pursues his plans without hesitation, determines to 
 hreak the maritime power of Denmark, even attempts to use 
 the discontent of the Danish people, in order to dethrone 
 Christian IV. and obtain the crown for the emperor ; and 
 early in 1628, he resumes his military operations, and his 
 great schemes for creating a naval force in the Baltic. 
 
 Almost all the sea-ports of Pomerania and Mecklenburg 
 were completely at the disposal of the great commander. One 
 alone showed a determined spirit of resistance, proclaimed its 
 independence, as one of the free Hanseatic Towns, and refused 
 to admit the troops of the conqueror. Arnheim, in Wallen- 
 stein's absence, attempted, by negotiations, persuasions, and 
 threats, to gain peaceful possession of this town of Stralsund, 
 which, situated in a very strong position, opposite to the Isle 
 of Rugen, was an object of anxious desire to the imperial 
 commander. The people of Stralsund, however, encouraged 
 by the Danes, resisted all his proposals ; and at length force 
 was resorted to. By the 23d of May, Arnheim had obtained 
 possession, after two attacks, of all the principal outworks ; 
 but re-enforcements of English and Danish troops inspired the 
 people with a determination to resist to the last ; and Wal- 
 lenstein's pertinacious resolution to reduce this city brought 
 about the event he most dreaded, the interference of the King 
 of Sweden in the war. 
 
 Hopeless of obtaining greater support from Denmark, un- 
 able to resist alone the imperial arms, the people of Stralsund 
 applied to Gustavus Adolphus for assistance ; and sixteen 
 hundred men, in two divisions, under David Leslie and Count 
 Brahe, were at once sent for their defense. By the efforts of 
 these forces, all that Arnheim had taken was soon recovered. 
 
 Such was the state of aflairs when Wallenstein joined the 
 army ; and, in a general assault, at once recaptured all the 
 external works, and was only repelled from the inner line of 
 defenses by the gallant determination of the Scottish troops. 
 His batteries soon ruined the walls, and left the place, in fact, 
 no longer tenable. Negotiations for a capitulation were com- 
 menced and protracted for some time ; but the arrival of a 
 Danish fleet in the port, and a promise, soon fulfilled, of fur- 
 ther succor, revived the courage of the inhabitants. The ne- 
 gotiations were broken off, and the siege recommenced. 
 
 The hour of fortune, however, had now passed ; tremen- 
 
300 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 dons rains set in ; the ground around the city became a marsh ; 
 a fever broke out in Wallenstein's camp, sweeping oflf hund- 
 reds of his men in a day ; a Danish army landed at Jasmund, 
 threatening the rear of Wallenstein's army ; and with bitter- 
 ness of heart he found himself compelled to raise the siege 
 and march against the enemy. The Danes, however, imme- 
 diately re-embarked their troops, but landed again at Wolgast 
 and Hohendorf By a rapid and brilliant movement the im- 
 perial general surprised them before they could re-embark, 
 and defeated their army with terrible loss. The Castle of 
 Wolgast enabled the routed Danish forces to gain their ships, 
 by turning its guns against the enemy ; but Wallenstein's 
 victory was complete, and afforded some consolation for his 
 disappointment at Stralsund. 
 
 In the mean time, all his efforts to create a fleet in the 
 Baltic had proved ineffectual. The Spanish branch of the 
 house of Austria had promised to put twenty large ships at 
 the emperor's disposal ; but these ships never appeared ; and 
 a fruitless attempt to take the town of Gliickstadt, which was 
 constantly relieved by the Danish vessels, showed Wallenstein 
 that a war with a naval power was hopeless without a navy. 
 His views on this subject were laid in detail before the em- 
 peror ; and he strongly urged the necessity of concluding a 
 peace with Denmark. Ferdinand, satisfied with the immense 
 power he had obtained, yielded a willing consent ; and Tilly 
 and Wallenstein opened negotiations with Danish plenipoten- 
 tiaries at Liibeck. The terms were arranged without much 
 difficulty ; all the possessions of the King of Denmark were 
 restored ; Christian solemnly pledged himself never to inter- 
 fere any more in the affairs of Germany ; and the treaty was 
 signed in 1629. 
 
 The whole German empire seemed now at the disposal of 
 Ferdinand. Every thing submitted to him. His word was, 
 in fact, law in the empire ; but Wallenstein had foreseen the 
 storm that was soon to burst upon Germany ; and he determ- 
 ined to take at once one of those two steps which were neces- 
 sary to secure the advantages gained. With the prophetical 
 spirit of genius, he had perceived that, once freed to act in the 
 direction which his interest and his inclination pointed out, 
 Gustavus Adolphus, already renowned in arms, would carry 
 war into the heart of Germany, and that he would find a vast 
 body of the German people ready to make an eflbrt, under his 
 banner, to cast off the galling yoke of the emperor. Two 
 great efforts were dictated by sound policy in these oirciim" 
 
WALLEN8TEIN. SOI 
 
 stances ; first, to give Gustavus Adolphus sufficient occupa- 
 tion in other lands, in order to render the execution of his de- 
 signs upon Germany impossible ; and, secondly, by kindness, 
 lenity, and justice, to reconcile the German people to a burden 
 which pressed heavily upon them, but might be greatly light- 
 ened. 
 
 One of these efforts Wallenstein made, though not with 
 that energy and greatness of conception which characterized 
 almost all his designs. The other he neglected entirely. 
 
 The King of Sweden was at war with the King of Poland ; 
 the Swedish troops were actively engaged in Poland ; their 
 success, and the exhausted state of his own resources, had in- 
 clined Sigismund, king of that country, to listen to temis of 
 accommodation. It would have been well worth the cost 
 and the exertion to send thirty thousand imperial troops to 
 the aid of the King of Poland, and to support him by a month- 
 ly subsidy, in carrying on the war ; yes, even if the crown 
 jewels had been pawned to supply the means. The theater 
 of hostilities would thus have been removed from Germany. 
 If Gustavus was defeated, he would be powerless against the 
 empire ; if he were successful, success would be purchased by 
 exertions which would exhaust his resources for many a year. 
 
 Wallenstein, however, only sent ten thousand men under 
 Count Arnheim, an officer not well disposed to the task. 
 Nothing was effected ; and Arnheim himself retired from the 
 imperial service. We know not whether this niggardly assist- 
 ance was thus hmited by the will of Wallenstein, or by that of 
 his imperial master ; but it is clear that a great error was 
 committed in this case. In the other, a greater was com- 
 mitted still. Exhausted Germany was panting for repose : 
 kindness, even moderation would have been received as the 
 greatest of boons ; but a grasping and bigoted monarch had 
 no notion of holding his oppressive hand. An edict was pass- 
 ed, named the Edict of Restitution, by which the Protestants 
 were called upon to restore immediately all the Catholic 
 Church property which had been sequestered since the year 
 1555. A new interpretation was put upon the treaty of 
 Passau ; and it was boldly announced that all Protestants 
 were liable to be driven out of the states of Catholic princes. 
 Wallenstein had ever shown great toleration in his own do- 
 mains ; but it is not to be denied that, if he did not encour- 
 age the emperor in this most iniquitous proceeding, he aided 
 to carry out the edict in the most barbarous and relentless 
 manner. 
 
302 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 It would be as tedious as painful to dwell upon all the 
 cruelties which were committed, and the oppression that was 
 exercised, by the imperial commissioners ; but a spirit of re- 
 sistance was aroused in the hearts of the German people, 
 which only waited for opportunity to display itself Nor was 
 it alone against the emperor that wrath and indignation was 
 excited. Wallenstein drew down upon his head even more 
 dangerous enmity than that which sprung up against Ferdi- 
 nand. He ruled in Germany with almost despotic sway ; for 
 the emperor himself seemed at this time little more than a 
 tool in his hands. His manners were unpopular, stern, re- 
 served, and gloomy. He shared not in the revels of his hght- 
 hearted and licentious officers. He communicated to none 
 his plans and purposes ; and, liberal to excess of his wealth, 
 he was cold and unbending in his demeanor. His haughty 
 pride, too, scattered offense abroad throughout all classes. 
 Princes were kept waiting in his ante-chamber ; and all peti- 
 tions and remonstrances against his stern decrees were treat- 
 ed with the mortifying scorn which adds insult to injury. The 
 magnificence of his train, the splendor of his household, the 
 luxury and profusion that spread every where around him, 
 afforded continual sources of envy and jealous hate to the an- 
 cient nobility of the empire. The Protestants throughout the 
 land were his avowed and implacable enemies ; and the Ro- 
 man Catholic princes viewed him with fear and suspicion. 
 Maximilian of Bavaria, whose star had waned under the 
 growing luster of Wallenstein's renown, who had lost that 
 authority in the empire which he knew to be due to his serv- 
 ices and his genius, solely by the rise and influence of Wallen- 
 stein, and whose ambitious designs of ruling Germany through 
 an emperor dependent upon him for power, had been frustrated 
 entirely by the genius which placed the imperial throne upon 
 a firm and independent basis, took no pains to conceal his hos- 
 tility to the Duke of Friedland ; and while the faults and of- 
 fenses of the great general raised up a multitude of enemies 
 against him, his services, his achievements, and his virtues 
 added to the number of his open and secret foes. His efibrts 
 to restore discipline, to check corruption, and to put an end to 
 excessive exactions, proved as dangerous to him as his pride 
 or his ambition. Though the soldiery still generally loved 
 him, their officers hated the hand that put a limit to the op- 
 pression by which they throve, and would fain have resisted 
 its power. The Italian mercenaries, especially, were enraged 
 by the puuiBhmonts with which he visited their crimes, and 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 803 
 
 the restraints which he placed upon their licentiousness ; and 
 we find the name by which he was generally known among 
 them was " the tyrant." We may well suppose, too, that in 
 cases where officers, independent of him, and having great 
 claims upon the empire for services performed, w^re forced to 
 apply to him, in order to obtain preferment and reward, it was 
 done with a bitter heart. Wallensteia, it is true, exerted him- 
 self generously to forward their views ; but we can hardly 
 imagine Tilly and Pappenheim soliciting the interest of Wal- 
 lenstein, without a degree of mortification which must have 
 produced some enmity toward the man. 
 
 While these feelings were gathering strength in Germany ; 
 while Wallenstein, with no friends, though many supporters, 
 saw himself an object of jealousy or hatred to the leaders of 
 every party throughout the empire ; and while the suppressed 
 but cherished indignation of all Protestant Germany was pre- 
 paring for the emperor a dreadful day of reckoning, events 
 were taking place in other countries which hurried on rapidly 
 the dangers that Wallenstein had foreseen. 
 
 In France, a weak king, and a powerful, politic, and re- 
 lentless minister, appeared in undissembled hostility to the 
 house of Austria ; and the famous Cardinal de Richelieu 
 busied himself, successfully, to raise up enemies to the Ger- 
 man branch of that family, while he employed the forces of 
 France, either in contending with the Spanish branch, or in 
 suppressing every vestige of domestic liberty. 
 
 In Poland, Sigismund, after vainly contending with Gus- 
 tavus AdolphuSj and receiving an inefficient aid from Ger- 
 many, was anxious to conclude the disastrous war with Swe- 
 den. Richelieu interfered ; Oxenstiern negotiated on the part 
 of Gustavus ; and a truce of six years was concluded in Au- 
 gust, 1629, by which the veteran and victorious Swedish troops 
 were set free to act in any other direction. A great part of 
 Livonia was virtually ceded to Gustavus, together with the 
 towns and territories of Memel, Braunsberg and Elbingen, 
 and the strong fortress of Pillau. 
 
 At the same time, Richelieu impressed upon the mind of 
 Gustavus the honor, the advantage, and the necessity of re- 
 ducing the immense power of the emperor, and delivering the 
 Protestant states of Germany from the oppression under which 
 they groaned. Many an eager application had been made to 
 the Swedish monarch by the princes of those Protestant states , 
 and there can be no doubt that now those applications were 
 secretly renewed. I find it stated that " the Hanse towns 
 
 n» T- 
 
304 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 joined in the petition, and offered the resources of their wealth, 
 that the states of Holland warmly supported the application 
 of the Protestant League, and that many of the Catholic 
 princes themselves intimated that they would either remain 
 neuter, or aid the King of Sweden to suppress the overgrown 
 authority of a tyrannical prince." 
 
 Confident in his own powers of mind and warUke skill, sup- 
 ported by the love and admiration of his people, relying on 
 the valor and discipline of his troops, and foreseeing all the 
 mighty combinations which were certain to take place in his 
 favor, Gustavus hesitated but little. He consulted with his 
 ministers, indeed heard and answered every objection that 
 could be raised ; and then apphed to the Senate at Stock- 
 holm to insure that his plans were approved, and that his 
 efforts would be seconded by his people. His enterprise met 
 with the most enthusiastic approbation ; and then succeeded 
 all the bustle of active preparation. Funds, armies, and mag- 
 azines were provided ; and alliances were proposed and con- 
 cluded with every power which feared or hated the house of 
 Austria. 
 
 While this storm was gathering in the North, while the 
 towns of Sweden were bristling with arms, and her ports filled 
 with ships, Ferdinand was driven or persuaded to an act the 
 most fatal to himself, and the most favorable to the King of 
 Sweden. A Diet was summoned to meet at Ratisbon early 
 in the year 1630 ; and the chief object of the emperor in 
 taking a step so dangerous to the power he had really ac- 
 quired, and to the projects so boldly put forth in his name, 
 seems to have been to cause his son to be elected King of the 
 Romans, tbtls acknowledging the authority of those whom he 
 had menaced and trampled on. 
 
 The Diet assembled, and princes flocked thither from all 
 parts of Germany ; but not lar off, at Memingen, lay Wal- 
 lenstein, at the head of an army of a hundred thousand men. 
 The army was ready to obey his lightest word. He professed 
 himself the devoted servant of the emperor, and neither by 
 deeds nor words acknowledged any other power in Germany. 
 But if Ferdinand had any idea of overawing the Diet, the 
 scheme was frustrated by the skill with which its proceedings 
 were arranged. Its first act was one in which the great ma- 
 jority of its members were certain to agree, and which at once 
 struck from beneath the hand of the emperor the staff whereon 
 he leaned. After that it was easy to decide upon minor ques- 
 tions, and to decide unbiased. 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 30» 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The Diet is assembled at Ratisbon, and princes and prel- 
 ates crowd the hall. Forms and ceremonies are gone through ; 
 it is announced that the object of the meeting is to settle all 
 undecided questions in the empire, and to establish, on a firm 
 basis, a permanent and honorable peace. Those very words 
 instantly raised the images of a thousand most difficult ques- 
 tions ; but shortly after, the name of the archduke, King of 
 Hungary, is proposed to the Diet for election as King of the 
 Romans, and a scene of indescribable confusion and mur- 
 muring takes place. A voice demands that, before any such 
 election is considered, the complaints of the people of Germany 
 against the imperial armies shall be heard ; and then a perfect 
 storm of accusations pours down. Every sort of tyranny and 
 oppression, every sort of cruelty and exaction, every sort of li- 
 centiousness and vice is attributed to the emperor's troops ; 
 but the hatred and the charges all concentrate themselves 
 upon the head of the great commander of the imperial forces ; 
 and there is a shout for his instant dismissal. 
 
 Each elector has some accusation to bring, either personally 
 against himself or against the soldiers under his command. 
 His pride, his haughtiness, his ambition, the immense power 
 and the immense wealth he has obtained, the contributions 
 which have been levied under his authority, the sharp an- 
 swers he has given to complaints, the contempt with which 
 he has treated remonstrances from magistrates, states, and 
 princes, the precision with which he has executed the em- 
 peror's decrees, the very punishments which he has inflicted 
 upon his offending soldiery, are all mingled together in a chaos 
 of accusation. Then, again, the licentiousness of his soldiery 
 and the crimes of his officers are all charged to his account. 
 Not an insolent trooper, not a peculating commissary, not a 
 lawless captain of free companions, but has done something 
 for which Wallenstein is made answerable ; and the whole 
 charge is summed up by pointing him out as Odmm ac 
 nausea generis humani. 
 
 Ts there none in all that great assembly to speak a word 
 
806 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 for the absent general ? none to point out that to his sword 
 the emperor owed his salvation in his greatest need ? none 
 to show that he was called upon, in the space of a few short 
 weeks, to bring an army into the field capable of checking the 
 King of Denmark with sixty thousand men ? none to declare 
 that he was obliged to take such men as offered ? none to 
 prove that he had striven to correct their vices and restrain, 
 their exactions ? Not one I Every man present was his en- 
 emy ; and the cry was universal, " He must be dismissed." 
 
 The Elector of Bavaria led the way, jealous of Wallen- 
 stein's fame, his wealth, and influence ; and every other fol- 
 lowed, moved mostly by private passion rather than by public 
 spirit ;. but all joined in the one cry, and in seeking the one 
 object. It is only wonderful they did not demand his head. 
 
 But what will the emperor do, for he it is who must de- 
 cide ? If he be as bold as he is ambitious, he may order the 
 army to march rapidly upon Ratisbon, and crush all opposi- 
 tion at one blow. If he be as resolute as he is enterprising, 
 he may refuse to listen to clamor or to yield to charges un- 
 proved. If he be a sincere friend, a grateful sovereign, or a 
 wise prince, he will certainly support the servant who came 
 to his aid in the hour of need, and who was never more need- 
 ed than at the present moment. Is there none in all his court 
 to represent to him that on the decision of this moment hangs 
 not only the safety of the future, but the maintenance of the 
 advantageous position which Wallenstein has obtained for 
 him ; that, having committed the false step of calhng the Diet 
 together, it behooves him to resist its attempt to dictate who 
 shall be his general ? 
 
 There were some in the court who boldly took this course, 
 and advanced many another argument to show that it would 
 be most injudicious as well as ungrateful to yield to the de- 
 mand of the Diet. Their arguments should have had the 
 more weight, as it was known that no love of Wallenstein in- 
 fluenced the speakers. 
 
 But, on the other hand, the Elector of Bavaria had obtain- 
 ed habitual command over the mind of the emperor. Spain, 
 too, was decidedly opposed to the Duke of Friedland. His 
 genius was of too commanding a character, his perceptions too 
 clear, his schemes too vast, not to excite suspicion, distrust, 
 and animosity in the weak, cunning, and boastful court of 
 Madrid. Many of the imperial counselors had long been ar- 
 rayed against Wallenstein : the lands of some of them had 
 been plundered by his troops ; to some of them he had given 
 
WALLEN8TEIN. SOT 
 
 offense by his bold language and resolute opposition ; and the 
 balance of influence and authority was decidedly against him 
 in the imperial court. 
 
 Still Ferdinand hesitated, and affected much" surprise at 
 the charges brought against his general and his armies. He 
 yielded in the end, however ; and it is said, upon very good 
 authority, that his ruinous decision was brought about by the 
 arts of the same skillful politician who had conjured up the 
 storm which now menaced the empire from the north. Riche- 
 heu had sent an embassador to Ratisbon, upon the idle pre- 
 tense of seeking, by every means, to terminate the dissensions 
 which had arisen between France and Spain regarding the 
 duchy of Mantua. In the train of the embassador came the 
 well-known intriguing friar. Father Joseph, the most unscru- 
 pulous and cunning of the cardinal's emissaries ; and he, we are 
 assured, found means to persuade the emperor that, by yield- 
 ing to the demand of the electors and removing Walleristein 
 for a time, he might obtain the election of the King of Hun- 
 gary, and then reinstate the Duke of Friedland in his com- 
 mand as soon as popular anger had subsided. 
 
 However that might be, Ferdinand, as I have said, yielded, 
 openly expressing his regret at the step he was about to take, 
 and the apprehensions which he entertained for the conse- 
 quences. Count Questenberg and another nobleman, who liad 
 been long on intimate terms with Wallenstein, were sent to 
 the camp to notify to him his removal from command, and to 
 soften the disgrace by assuring him of the emperor's grati- 
 tude and affection. Men, however, looked anxiously for the 
 result ; for the peculiar character, or, rather, quality of Wal- 
 lenstein's ambition had been misunderstood, and many antici- 
 pated open resistance on the part of a general at the head of 
 a hundred thousand men. Some even feared for the personal 
 safety of Questenberg and his companion, and it was clearly 
 with some hesitation they themselves undertook the danger- 
 ous task. 
 
 Surrounded by a few officers, conversmg, easily and quietly, 
 though with laconic brevity, in one of the halls of Memingen, 
 stood a tall, spare, but powerful man, with high features, and 
 small, dark, piercing eyes. He was dressed with exceeding 
 splendor, and on his left hand stood an open cabinet of exqui- 
 site workmanship. His brow was grave, and his face had 
 habitually a stern expression, but, if any thing, the look was 
 less gloomy than ordinary. The few words he spoke Were 
 even cheerful, and they referred to calm and happy subjects. 
 
308 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 A few minutfes after he had entered the hall, a chamber- 
 lain, in magnificent attire, threw open the door, saying, 
 
 " Counts Questenberg and Werdenberg, your excellency, on 
 a mission from his imperial majesty." 
 
 Wallenstein bowed his head, and, preceded by a troop of 
 ushers, pages, and lackeys, who ranged themselves to the right 
 and left as they entered, appeared the imperial ministers. 
 Wallenstein advanced to meet them with a well-satisfied and 
 cordial expression of countenance ; and when Questenberg, 
 after the ordinary salutations, hinted that he desired a private 
 audience, the Duke of Friedland answered, with a smile, 
 
 " It is needless, your excellency. The object of your com- 
 ing is perfectly well known to me. The stars have made me 
 acquainted with it long ago ;" and then, taking from the open 
 cabinet an astrological table, he placed it belbre the eyes of 
 the wondering envoys, saying, " You will perceive, by the posi- 
 tion of the planets, that the star of Maximilian of Bavaria 
 overrules that of Ferdinand. The emperor is betrayed. I 
 grieve for him, but blame him not ; though, m truth, I am 
 sorry he has given me up with so little resistance. Neverthe- 
 less, I obey him." 
 
 This was his answer to the message which took from him 
 his high command. No burst of anger, no words of reproach, 
 no pitiful irritation was displayed by Wallenstein. He enter- 
 tained the envoys with splendor during their stay, made them 
 several valuable presents, and sent them back with a letter to 
 the emperor breathing calm and dignified submission, thank- 
 ing the sovereign for past favors, and begging him to turn a 
 deaf ear to all slanderous reports. 
 
 Resigning the command of the army, which, under hig 
 guidance, had performed such splendid achievements, Wallen- 
 stein retired to his town and palace of Gitchin, and devoted 
 himself to the administration of his own vast domains. Ru- 
 mors were, ofcour.se, current of angry feelings and evil designs 
 against the emperor ; for men attributed to Wallenstein the 
 same passions which would have influenced them had they 
 been in his situation. Historians have not scrupled to chron- 
 icle as facts the suspicions of the time ; but they all dissolve 
 into mere smoke upon critical examination. All Wallen- 
 stein's letters show in every line the faithful and obedient sub- 
 ject, as well as the hospitable and magnificent prince. Doubt- 
 less he had a consolation and a hope ; for the sword of Gus- 
 tavus Adolphus was already unsheathed, and he, as well as 
 others, must have perceived that the sword of Wallenstein 
 must, sooner or later, be opposed to it. 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 309 
 
 Tilly took the command of the army, supported by the gal- 
 lant but cruel Pappenheim ; but neither of these great officers 
 seem to have had any share in the disgrace of Wallenstein. 
 On the contrary, both continued to maintain with him a 
 friendly correspondence ; and the admiration with which two 
 of the greatest generals of the age evidently regarded him is 
 a very high tribute to the merits of the Duke of Friedland. 
 True it is, Tilly might think himself lucky in escaping accusa- 
 tions similar to those which had ruined Wallenstein ; for his 
 own forces in the Palatinate had committed fully as many 
 crimes, and even greater cruelties, than the army of Wallen- 
 stein in the north of Germany. But Wallenstein was an ob- 
 ject of jealousy as well as hatred ; and his dismissal was oc- 
 casioned not by the acts which his troops had committed, but 
 by the deeds which he himself had achieved. 
 
 It is highly to the honor of Tilly that upon one occasion, 
 if not more, while he was commanding the imperial army 
 with success, he warned his great rival of the rumors which 
 were current against him, in order that he might be upon his 
 guard. 
 
 Wallenstein treated those rumors with the contempt they 
 merited, while he felt and appreciated the honorable conduct 
 of Tilly. There were other warnings, however, which, un- 
 happily, merited greater attention, and received as little. 
 Even in the very height of his mgst successful career, after 
 his arms had laid Germany prostrate at the feet of the em- 
 peror, and the peace of Liibeck had terminated all danger 
 from Danish hostility, intimation reached him from quarters 
 the least liable to suspicion, of designs upon his liberty, if not 
 upon his life. Slavata, the chancellor of Bohemia, in the mid- 
 dle of the year 1629, ventured to put him on his guard, in 
 terms which left it doubtful whether his own imperial master 
 ,was not already playing the traitor with his faithful servant. 
 
 " I have be^ informed," he writes to Wallenstein, " by 
 several persons of distinction, that Tilly has received orders 
 to seize your highness and tlirow you into prison ; or, if that 
 can not be done, to send you out of the world in a summar)^ 
 manner." 
 
 Whether this design was entertained at so early a period, 
 and, if so, whether it is chargeable upon the Bavarian or upon 
 the emperor, certain it is, that Wallenstein gave no heed to 
 the tale, and reproved Slavata even for listening to it, ex- 
 pressing the utmost confidence both in the emperor and Tilly. 
 Happy had it been for him had his confidence been extended 
 
310 DARK SCExNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 less far. Even the most peaceable demeanor, even the calm- 
 est domestic employments, even the most open display of trust 
 and reliance on his sovereign's honor and gratitude, could not 
 shield Wallenstein from hate and suspicion. But the time 
 was rapidly approaching when his services were again to be 
 required for the salvation of the monarchy, and he was spared 
 to confer greater benefits, and to make ingratitude more black. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 There were negotiations which failed, and a Danish me- 
 diation which was not successful in delaying the movements 
 of Gustavus Adolphus ; and, leaving his daughter in the land 
 which he was never more to see, the King of Sweden took 
 leave of his Senate with words which left a deep impression 
 on all hearts. But few of those words will I repeat ; but 
 they express the motives which roused him to arms. " Not 
 lightly," he said, *' do I plunge you and myself into this new 
 and perilous war. My witness is Almighty God, that it is 
 not for pleasure that I fight. The emperor has most shame- 
 fully injured me in the person of my embassadors ; he has up- 
 held my enemies and persecuted my friends and brethren ; he 
 has trampled my religion in the dust, and has stretched out 
 his hand even to my crown. Piteously do the oppressed states 
 of Germany call upon us for help, and, by God's will, so will 
 we give it them." 
 
 In the month of June, 1630, the wind at length filled the 
 sails of the royal fleet ; and on the 24th of the month it ap- 
 peared ofi* the Isle of Rugen, on the coast' of Pomerania.* 
 The king himself was the first man who sprang on shore, 
 and, kneeling on the beach, he offered thanks to God for the 
 safe voyage of his fleet and army. This act of devotion of- 
 fered, he commenced that course of brilliant military opera- 
 tions which secured the liberty of Protestant Germany. 
 
 It is not my object to enter into the details of his short but 
 brilhant career ; but some sketch of the events must be given 
 
 • It does not seem clear whether Gustavus first landed at Rugen or 
 Peene Monde, in Usedom. Biit the matter is not of any very great 
 cooMquooce. 
 
 S .. 
 
WALLENSTBIN. 311 
 
 which called forth Wallenstein from his retirement. The 
 troops which follow the king are few in number ; but they 
 are veterans disciplined in a peculiar manner, active, perse- 
 vering, and drilled with a precision totally unknown among 
 the other armies of Europe. Divested of much of the useless 
 steel, which encumbered rather than protected the soldieiy 
 of the day, their evolutions are performed with a rapidity 
 and a degree of accuracy which renders each regiment equal 
 to two of the enemy ; and their fair-haired monarch, tall, pow- 
 erful, and chested like a bull, is at once the greatest tactician 
 and the stoutest soldier of his times. 
 
 With a Ibrce of little more than twenty thousand men, he 
 undertakes at once to establish a wide base for after opera- 
 tions, by making himself master of the whole Pomeranian 
 coast. With the speed of lightning Wolgast is taken, Camin 
 surrenders, the Isles of Wollin and Usedom are cleared of the 
 enemy, and the Swedish army is before Stettin. Bogisla 
 XIV., duke of Pomerania, is terrified, and hesitates. He 
 ,-would fain negotiate, he would fain remain neuter. 
 *f^ " He who is not for us is against us," replies Gustavus ; 
 and the duke is forced to decide and ally himself with the 
 Swede. Town after town falls before the arms of Sweden, 
 and from almost every garrison that capitulated the army 
 of the Swedish monarch was recruited ; for the imperial troops 
 were mostly mercenaries from foreign lands, right willing to 
 take service under any great commander. Once incorporated, 
 however, with the army of Gustavus, the rigid discipline of 
 the Swedish regiments soon changed the habits of the men, 
 and held them to their standard. 
 
 Every day fresh bodies of men came in to join Gustavus 
 from the most opposite quarters. The fragments of Mans- 
 feld's army, the remnant of that of Christian of Brunswick, 
 companies which had served under the King of Denmark, 
 and those who had raised Wallenstein to glory, now hastened 
 to serve with a greater than any^ and to lose their wild habits 
 under the rule of the Swede. 
 
 While Gustavus was fixing himself firmly in the land, 
 while his forces were increasing every day, while Damm, 
 Stargard, Camin, Wolgast, and several other places spoke 
 the success of his arms, the court of Vienna, less wise than 
 Wallenstein, laughed scornfully at the invasion, and called 
 the King of Sweden his Majesty of Snow, declaring that the 
 cold of the north only kept his power together, and that it 
 would melt away as it approached the south. Even the 
 
315J DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Protestant Electors seemed to hold the aid he brought them 
 cheap, and, at all events, derived not sufficient courage from 
 his appearance in the field to make any efibrt against the 
 emperor. 
 
 Very different was it, however, with the people of the coun- 
 try where- the Swedes appeared. Gustavus had the art of 
 winning hearts as well as cities ; and the tenderness and con- 
 sideration which he displayed toward the districts traversed 
 by his armies stood in bright contrast with the conduct of the 
 imperial generals. Wherever the latter came, pillage, ruin, 
 desolation spread around ; and in Pomerania especially their 
 ravages were fearful, upon the pretense of laying waste the 
 country before the Swedes. The Swedish soldiers paid for 
 all that they required ; no man's property suffered by their 
 presence ; nothing was taken but with the consent of the 
 owner, who was fully recompensed for all he gave. Thus, in 
 town and country, the Swedish array was received with open 
 arms ; a multitude of Pomeranians took service with Gus- 
 tavus ; and the states of the duchy joyfully voted a contri- 
 bution of a hundred thousand florins in aid of the friendly in- 
 vaders. 
 
 The imperial troops in Pomerania, though commanded by 
 a famous general, Torquato Conti, could effect nothing against 
 the Swedes. Many an effort was made, but all were frus- 
 trated, and an early and a cutting winter soon drove Conti to 
 seek winter quarters for his sickly and disorganized forces. 
 As usual, a suspension of arms was proposed for the winter, 
 and deputies were sent to Gustavus to arrange the terms. 
 The reply of the King of Sweden was characteristic, and not 
 at all satisfactory to the envoys. 
 
 " The Swedes," he replied, " are soldiers in winter as well 
 as summer ;" and, leaving the imperial generals to do as they 
 thought fit, Gustavus pursued the war. 
 
 Every step was marked with success. The imperial troops 
 were sufierwl to enjoy no repose in their winter quarters ; 
 Greifenhagen, Gartz, and Piritz were taken ; and the Aus- 
 trian troops were driven into the march of Brandenburg with 
 great loss, both of men and artillery. The passes of Kibnitz 
 and Damgardcn opened the way for the King of Sweden into 
 Mecklenburg ; and the duke of that country, stripped of his 
 possessions for the benefit of Wallenstein, was stirred up to 
 take the field in order to recover his duchy ; but his troops 
 were not able to make head against Pappenheim, who was 
 Bent to oppofe them, and were soon almost totally dispersed. 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 313 
 
 In the mean time, the barbarities exercised by the imperial 
 forces in the march of Brandenburg were a disgrace to human 
 nature. The elector was not at enmity with the emperor ; 
 but his country was treated with more cruelty than was ever 
 inflicted before upon a conquered territory ; and, weak and 
 vacillating as he was, the elector was forced to issue a proc- 
 lamation, commanding his people to put to death every Aus- 
 
 * trian soldier found plundering. Still, he did not venture open- 
 ly to take part with the King of Sweden, who, adhering to 
 his plan of securing Pomerania as a base Ibr future operations, 
 proceeded to reduce Demmin and Colberg, and to prepare for 
 the siege of Frankfort on the Oder. 
 
 The success of the Swedish monarch bore better fruit than 
 the mere capture of towns. France was encouraged to throw 
 off the mask, and openly- to ally herself with the Protestant 
 King of Sweden. A subsidy of four hundred thousand crowns 
 annually was promised on her part ; and Gustavus undertook 
 to keep thirty-five thousand men in the field. The weak 
 princes of Germany still hesitated to fight against their ene- 
 my, and to support their deliverer ; they consulted and nego- 
 tiated at Leipsic, when they should have been acting, and 
 were only the more severely treated by the emperor in conse- 
 quence. But the open alliance of France threw immense 
 moral weight into the scale of Gustavus. 
 
 It is true that, at this very time, a negotiation was in prog- 
 ress, which might have snatched from the King of Sweden 
 the fruit of all his efforts. Wallenstein, in his retirement at 
 Gitchin, still kept his eyes fixed upon the game that was 
 playing, and conceived a bold move, which, had it been made 
 decidedly and at once, must have rendered the emperor the 
 winner. He knew something of the King of Denmark, for 
 he had both fought him and negotiated with him. He was 
 aware that Christian regarded Gustavus with jealousy, if not 
 enmity ; and he proposed that an offensive and defensive alli- 
 ance should be concluded between the emperor and the King 
 of Denmark, which would place the fleets and armies of tlie 
 Danes at the back of Gustavus, while the imperial forces en- 
 countered him in front. This sagacious design he communi- 
 cated to the court of Vienna, and, fully authorized by the em- 
 peror, conducted for some time secret negotiations with the 
 
 -King of Denmark. The latter,' of course, required a bribe ; 
 and the cabinet of Vienna hesitated so long as to what terri- 
 tory should be given up to the Dane, that the time for action 
 passed away. 
 
 O 
 
314 DARK SCExNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 In the mean time, Tilly busied himself in collecting the 
 scattered forces of the empire, which had been sadly shattered 
 by the dismissal of Wallenstein. As soon as this was efiect- 
 ed, he marched toward Pomerania, at the head of a very 
 large army. He found Gustavus too strongly posted, how- 
 ever, to justify an attack ; and leaving eight thousand men at 
 Frankfort on the Oder, to secure his communications, be 
 marched in a westerly direction to Magdeburg, taking New 
 Brandenburg by the way. In the latter town,^ the ferocious 
 soldiers of Tilly gave no quarter, and a frightful scene of mas- 
 sacre took place ; but, as the imperial general marched on- 
 ward toward Magdeburg, Gustavus Adolphus, quitting his 
 strong position at Schwedt, made a rapid advance upon 
 Frankfort on the Oder. The place was invested, as if for 
 regular siege ; but the weakness of the defenses, and the ne- 
 cessity of rapid success, encouraged Gustavus to attempt a 
 general assault. The town was carried by storm ; and the 
 garrison received nothing from the Swedes but what they 
 called " New Brandenburg quarter." 
 
 Tilly had made a movement in retreat, to relieve the town 
 of Frankfort, as soon as he heard it was invested ; but, on re- 
 ceiving intelligence of its fall, he resumed his march upon 
 Magdeburg, and commenced the siege of that great and im- 
 portant town. Its fate is well known to all readers of history. 
 It was taken by a stratagem, on the 10th of May, and the 
 most frightful cruelties were perpetrated with the tacit con- 
 sent of Tilly. Pappenheim reveled in blood ; every crime 
 that can stain human nature was committed ; women as well 
 as men, infants as well as their parents, were butchered ; 
 the town was set on fire in various places ; and one of the 
 finest cities in Germany, with the exception of two churches 
 and a few small houses, was reduced to ashes. 
 
 This, however, was the last success of Tilly, who boasted 
 of having fought six-and-thirty battles without ever suffering 
 a defeat. A greater master of the art of war was in the field, 
 and the bloody and victorious career of the Waloon was draw- 
 ing to a close. 
 
 Gustavus was loudly blamed for not marching to the relief 
 of Magdeburg ; and so much effect had this censure upon his 
 mind, that he thought himself obliged to put forth a public 
 justification. He showed that he had immediately commenc- 
 ed his march to the assistance of the Magdeburgers, but that 
 it was impossible for him to advance against an enemy like 
 .Tilly without securing a road for retreat, should it be neces- 
 
f 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 316 
 
 'sary, and the means of obtaining supplies for his army. The 
 friendship of the Electors of Brandenburg and Saxony was 
 more than doubtful. The former had even opened his gates 
 to the Austrians, and shut them against the Swedes. Gus- 
 tavus applied to both for some security that his army would 
 be supplied and his retreat unmolested ; but they hesitated 
 and temporized, till Magdeburg had fallen. Gustavus might 
 probably have added, had it been politic to do so, that his 
 army was not sufficient to encounter that of Tilly in the field 
 without withdrawing garrisons from many places that had 
 been taken, which would have been too tedious an operation 
 to afford even a chance of relieving Magdeburg. 
 
 The decision, to which neither the arguments of Gustavus 
 nor the necessities of their position had been able to bring the 
 princes of Lower Germany, was forced upon them by the in- 
 sane exultation of the court of Vienna at the fall of Magde- 
 burg, and by the cruelties of the imperial commanders. Hesse 
 was plundered and oppressed ; and the Landgrave of Cassel 
 was threatened with all the vengeance of the imperial arms, 
 unless he consented to receive Austrian troops into his land, 
 to give up his fortresses to the emperor, and to raise imme- 
 diate contributions for carrying on the war. The landgrave 
 boldly refused ; and Tilly was marching to ravage his coun- 
 try, when the movements of Gustavus forced the Waloon to 
 alter his plan. The King of Sweden perceived that it was 
 necessary to secure some strong places in Brandenburg, and 
 he demanded possession of the town of Spandau from the vac- 
 illating elector. George William would still have temporiz- 
 ed ; but Gustavus would permit of no further procrastination. 
 He appeared before Berlin itself, at the head of his army, and 
 peremptorily demanded that the elector should declare which 
 side he would take in the war. 
 
 " I will not be worse treated," he said, " than the imperial 
 general. All I demand of the elector is security and bread 
 lor my troops ; and this he must either give, or see his capi- 
 tal taken and plundered." 
 
 Such language, and the Swedish artillery pointed upon Ber- 
 lin, soon brought the elector's hesitation to an end. Spandau 
 was placed in the hands of Gustavus ; and a treaty was sign- 
 ed, by which the gates of the important town of Custrin were 
 to be opened, at all times, to the troops of Sweden. 
 
 These great points accomplished, Gustavus retired into 
 Pomerania, where he was received with the warmest expres- 
 sions of joy by a liberated people. Shortly after, a re-enforce- 
 
316 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 ment of eight thousand Swedes and six thousand English 
 auxiharies gave him means of prosecuting the war with great- 
 er vigor ; and he once more appeared on the hanks of the 
 Elbe, near the spot where that river is joined by the Havel. 
 His approach alarmed Pappenheim, who sent in haste to call 
 Tilly to his assistance ; and the imperial general, abandoning 
 his designs upon Cassel, marched rapidly to Wolmirstadt. 
 
 The army of Gustavus was still infinitely inferior to the 
 united forces of the Austrians. But the king took up a com- 
 manding position at Werben, and intrenched himself so strong- 
 ly, with earth-works of great extent, that his camp became 
 almost impregnable. He did not, it is true, restrict himself 
 entirely to this position, for we find that the Swedes cut off 
 three regiments of Austrians, posted at too great a distance 
 from head-quarters. This loss seems to have stimulated Tilly 
 to make an attack upon Gustavus's intrenchments at Werben, 
 from which the king would not suffer himself to be drawn to 
 risk a general battle. All the effbrts of the Austrians, how- 
 ever, were ineffectual ; and repulsed at every point with loss, 
 they were obliged to retreat to Wolmirstadt, an immense 
 multitude deserting by the way. 
 
 Shortly after, the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel, whose bold 
 reply to Tilly had done so much honor to his name, appeared 
 in the camp of the Swedes ; the first reigning prince who, of 
 his own free will, declared for the liberty of his country. The 
 King of Sweden received him joyl'ully ; and a treaty of alli- 
 ance was signed, which was honorably kept by both parties 
 until the peace of Westphalia. 
 
 In the mean while, however, the imperial court seemed re- 
 solved to drive all the princes of Lower Germany into the 
 arms of Sweden. Tilly was ordered to bring the neutrality 
 of the Elector of Saxony to an end, by requiring hira to re- 
 ceive the imperial troops, to carry the Edict of Restitution 
 into execution, and either to disband his own forces, or to 
 unite them with the imperial army against the King of 
 Sweden. Saxony was powerful, populous, and wealthy, and 
 Gustavus Adolphus was near at hand. Tilly was not ig- 
 norant of the danger of the step he was forced to take, nor of 
 the high qualities of the enemy who lay at Werben, watch- 
 ing his movements. He had already, at llatisbon, pointed 
 out the immense abilities and the great power of Gustavus, 
 and had ended by saying, *' This is a player, against whom 
 to lose nothing is to win much." 
 
 The court of Vienna paid no attention to his remonstrances, 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 317 
 
 however, and its commands were conveyed by a messenger 
 to the double-dealing Elector of Saxony. Indignation over- 
 came doubt and timidity. The elector rejected the terms of- 
 fered, and sent off an embassador to treat with the King of 
 Sweden. Tilly immediately entered his territories, with an 
 army re-enforced by five-and-twenty thousand veteran soldiers. 
 Blood and pillage spread over the whole land ; and more 
 than a hundred villages were burned to the ground, while 
 the embassador of the elector was treating with the King of 
 Sweden, 
 
 Gustavus received the propositions of Saxony with great 
 coldness. He pointed out to Count Arnheifn, who had now 
 taken service under the elector, and who was the person sent 
 to treat with him, that he could put no trust in the good faith 
 of John George, especially while his ministers were known to 
 be in Austrian pay. When pressed to explain what would 
 satisfy him, he demanded that the fortress of Wittenberg 
 should be given up to him, that the elector's eldest son should 
 be placed in his hands as a hostage, that his troops should re- 
 ceive three months' pay at once, and that the traitors in the 
 Saxon ministry should be delivered to him. 
 
 These seemed hard conditions to Arnheim ; and, retiring 
 from the Swedish camp, he carried, what he thought, the bad 
 tidings to his master. But the elector now knew that there 
 was no safety for him but in the alliance of Sweden ; and he 
 exclaimed, "Not only W^ittenberg, but Torgau and all Sax- 
 ony, shall be open to him. He shall have my whole family 
 as hostages ; and, if that is not enough, myself also. Hasten 
 back to him, and say that I am ready to give him up any 
 traitors he will name, and at once to pay the subsidy that is 
 demanded." 
 
 Gustavus, however, had only rendered the conditions ex- 
 cessive in order to try the good faith of the elector ; and he 
 immediately reduced his demands, on that prince's frank ac- 
 knowledgment of his necessities. A treaty was instantly 
 signed ; the Saxon army was close to the banks of the Elbe ; 
 Gustavus made not the slightest delay, but crossed the river 
 at Wittenberg, and effected his junction with the forces of the 
 elector. 
 
 Tilly had made no movement to impede this operation, but 
 had proceeded to besiege Leipsic, which fell after a very brief 
 resistance. The capitulation was signed in the house of a 
 grave-digger ; and it was now high time that Tilly should pre- 
 pare for battle. Gustavus, with the united Swedish and 
 
318 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Saxon array, was in full march upon Leipsic. At Torgau a 
 council of war was held, to determine what was to be done ; 
 but the opinion of Gustavus was decidedly in favor of risk- 
 ing a general battle, and it prevailed. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 7th of September, 1631, the 
 two hostile armies came in sight of each other ; and very soon 
 after, the engagement began. I will not dwell upon the 
 events of that great day, when was fought the battle of Brei- 
 tenfeldt, or, as it is more commonly called, of Leipsic. Suf- 
 fice it that the right wing of the allied army, composed almost 
 altogether of Saxon troops, was completely routed by the Aus- 
 trians, and fled. But victory often did more harm to the im- 
 perial armies than defeat. Plunder and pursuit occupied a 
 great number of Tilly's men ; the Swedish forces were not 
 only unbroken, but making progress rapidly against the ene- 
 my ; the. brilliant charges of Pappenheim, and the cool and 
 resolute efforts of Tilly, produced no effect ; a number of Aus- 
 trian guns were taken and turned against the flank of their 
 army ; and, after the hardest fought field of the whole war, 
 the imperial troops were routed with great slaughter. Gus- 
 tavus remained the master of the field. The total loss of 
 Tilly is estimated at ten thousand men ; he himself, severely 
 wounded, barely escaped with life ; the fiery and resolute Pap- 
 penheim was forced to fly among the last ; and a hundred 
 standards, thirty pieces of artillery, three thousand prisoners, 
 and the whole baggage of the imperial army, attested the 
 complete success of the King of Sweden. The army of 
 Sweden lost only seven hundred men in killed and wounded ; 
 but the defeated Saxons counted two thousand missing ; and 
 the whole glory of the field remained with Gustavus. At 
 the moment when success was most needed to decide the 
 wavering, encourage the faint-hearted, and strengthen the 
 brave and determined in perseverance, victory showed itself 
 on the side of Gustavus ; and the battle of Leipsic was worth 
 the whole of his other achievements. 
 
 As soon as the news was known and believed at Vienna, 
 consternation spread through the imperial court ; and every 
 one expected to see the victorious Swede under the walls of 
 the capital. But Gustavus determined to follow another 
 course ; and his policy has been severely criticised, not alto- 
 gether without justice ; for much was to be said in favor of 
 an advance upon Vieima, although the failure of many other 
 commanders might do something to deter from such a step. 
 The great battle which had been gained, the dispersion of the 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 319 
 
 imperial troops, the constcr«ati(Hi which existed in the capital, 
 and the vast accession of strength which was obtained by the 
 King of Swedea, justified perhaps the boldest measures. But 
 the plan of Gustavus was in itself bold and energetic, and 
 was framed with a view to great political results, which could 
 not be obtained by an advance upon Vienna. The Protestant 
 states of the <5entral and western parts of Germany had been 
 stricken down, and cast into a condition of apathetic despair 
 by the long triumph of the imperial arms. A single victory, 
 in a remote part of G erraany, was not sufficient to raise them 
 up from the moral stupor into which they had fallen. It re- 
 quired the presence of the victor among them : it required 
 efibrts and achievements imder their own eyes, to restore to 
 them vigor, and activity, and warlike strength. It might 
 enter into ti^ calculations of the conqueror of Tilly, that his 
 small army was but the nucleus of an avalanche which must 
 be gathered round it as it rolled on to overwhelm the imperial 
 power in the heart of the Austrian dominions, and that the 
 -central and western parts of Germany aflbrded the field where 
 the greatest accession of strength was to be gained. He re- 
 solved, therefore, to send the Saxon army into Bohemia, where 
 it seemed that much was to be gained and little to be lost, 
 and to march in person across the whole empire, direct toward 
 the banks of the Rhine. 
 
 His progress was one continued triumph ; and the effect 
 of his appearance among the Protestant princes, who had so 
 long tamely submitted to oppression, was marvelous. Soldiers 
 flocked to his standard from all quarters ; nobles and electors 
 unsheathed the awords which had seemed glued to their scab- 
 bards ; and few places, even belonging to the Roman Catho- 
 lics, ventured to resist. Wurtzburg, Hanau, Wertheim, were 
 taken, the two first by surprise, the latter by storm ; and 
 Frankfort itself received the conqueror. 
 
 The array of the Duke of Lorraine, which made a faint 
 effort to impede the progress of the Swedes in Franconia, dis- 
 persed like snow under the sun ; and, approaching the Rhine 
 at Oppenheim, Gustavus forced the passage of the river in 
 presence of the Spanish troops collected on the left bank. 
 Oppenheim was taken ; and the strong city of Mayence fell 
 after a short siege. Worms, Spires, Landau, and a number 
 of other less important places were captured by the Swedish 
 monarch ; and almost all that Tilly, and Spinola, and Wal- 
 lenstein had gained were now lost to the emperor. Mayence 
 remained the head-quarters of Gustavus for some weeks ; but 
 
320 DARK8CENES0F HISTORY. 
 
 early in the spring he made a dash at Bavaria, appeared be- 
 fore Donauwerth, took it by a coup-de-raain, and passed the 
 Danube. 
 
 After the defeat of Tilley at Leipsic, all eyes turned to 
 Wallenstein. Pappenheim himself declared that they had 
 no hope but in him ; and the emperor would doubtless have 
 sought his assistance immediately, but that a strong party in 
 the court and cabinet of Vienna, and a still stronger party in 
 the Catholic League, headed by Maximilian of Bavaria, could 
 not lay aside their jealous suspicions, and opposed his recall to 
 power even to the last. 
 
 In the mean time, while Gustavus was pursuing his con- 
 quering course, and the Saxons were penetrating into Bohe- 
 mia, and subduing the whole land, Tilly gathered together 
 the fragments of his army. Great exertions, too, were made 
 by the Elector of Bavaria to raise sufficient forces to check 
 the advance of the Swedes, and prevent their junction with 
 the Saxons under the walls of Vienna. 
 
 Tilly, once more able to appear in the field, again displayed 
 his energy and skill, and took up one of the strongest positions 
 in Germany, behind the River Lech, near the spot where it 
 flows into the Danube at Rain. The frontiers of Bavaria 
 were thus defended ; the position seemed impregnable ; and 
 Maximilian himself took part in the operations of the Waloon 
 general, hoping to see the storm of war turned away from his 
 own electorate. Seventy-two pieces of artillery defended the 
 camp ; the river was deep and rapid ; the banks not very ac- 
 cessible, and the army well supplied. 
 
 Nothing, however, could witlistand the genius and impet- 
 uosity of Gustavus. His own officers attempted to dissuade 
 him from attacking the imperial forces ; but the King of 
 Sweden knew the courage of his troops and his own resources. 
 A wooden bridge was thrown over, the river with extraordi- 
 nary rapidity, a cavalry ford was found higher up the stream; 
 the Swedish foot passed the bridge under a tremendous fire, 
 and the horse crossed by the ford. The right bank of the 
 Lech was gained ; and the forces of Gustavus began to form, 
 while the auxiliary troops were passing. Tilly saw that every 
 thing must be hazarded at that critical moment, and a gen- 
 eral attack was immediately ordered. But the Swedish ar- 
 tillery had already opened their fire ; and the ball of a small 
 piece called a falconet struck the imperial general in the knee, 
 crushing the bone. Nearly at the same time. General Al- 
 trmger, the second in command, was also wounded and car- 
 
WALLENSTEIN.. 321 
 
 ried from the field ; and the imperialists, deprived of their 
 generals, fled in confusion. The Elector of Bavaria, with a 
 small body of horse, did all that was possible to rally the 
 routed troops, and succeeded in leading a considerable body 
 of men to Ingoldstadt during the night. Thither, too, was 
 Tilley carried ; but on the following day the brave old Wa- 
 loon died, recommending, with his expiring breath, that In- 
 goldstadt should be defended to the last. 
 
 Nothing could stop Gustavus ; but, pursuing his career 
 along the Lech, he made himself master of Augsburg and 
 Landshut, and then dashed on upon Munich, which received 
 him with prayers and supplications. No cruelties were exer- 
 cised by the Swedish monarch. The rich, indeed, were forced 
 to contribute somewhat largely to the support of his army ; 
 but considerable sums were distributed among the poor of the 
 city by the generous conqueror. 
 
 Nothing now remained to the emperor but his hereditary 
 dominions. His power was at an end on the Rhine, on the 
 Elbe, on the Oder. The Saxons^ were in possession of Bo- 
 hemia ; the Swedes occupied Bavaria ; he had no army in 
 the field, no general to command, no money to raise forces. 
 The misuse of power had plunged him from the highest point 
 of authority to the lowest depth of despair ;^ and its conse- 
 quences now forced him to degradation. He had to apply to 
 one whom his folly had abandoned, and whom his ingratitude 
 might well have disgusted. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 In peaceful arts, and calm and tranquil pleasures, passed 
 the days of Wallenstein after his removal from the command 
 of the imperial array. Arts and sciences received encourage- 
 ment at his hand ; his people were improved and benefited ; 
 and his mighty genius seemed to repose in peace upon all the 
 softer things of life. I have shown, however, that he took a 
 deep interest in the welfare of his imperial master, and that 
 he proposed plans for his sovereign's benefit, which nothing 
 deprived of success but the niggardly and bigoted spirit of 
 
 Oij 
 
322 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the man he attempted to serve. Thus was frustrated the 
 projected treaty with Denmark. Had it been carried out, 
 Gustavus would never have appeared in Munich, nor Arnheim 
 have taken Prague. 
 
 Though still hesitating to call Wallenstein to command, 
 the emperor besought him to negotiate with the Saxon gen- 
 eral, very shortly after the battle of Leipsic. Arnheim had 
 been one of his favorite officers, and Wallenstem readily un- 
 dertook the task. A personal interview took place between 
 himself and the Saxon commander at the Castle of Kaunitz* 
 It lasted only for a few hours ; but it would seem, from one 
 of Wallenstein's letters, the concessions he was authorized to 
 make, on the part of the emperor, were not such as his own 
 judgment showed him were necessary, nor such as a victori- 
 ous enemy was likely to accept. The negotiations were pro- 
 tracted for some time without effect ; and the victorious ca- 
 reer of Gustavus every day rendered the difficulty of treating 
 more great. The defeat and death of Tilly, on the Lech, and 
 the complete prostration of Bavaria before the King of Swe- 
 den, at length overpowered the opposition of Wallenstein's 
 enemies at the court of Vienna, and he was applied to as a 
 last resource. 
 
 It was a bitter compliment, and Wallenstein refused to 
 have any thing to do with the military affairs of the empire. 
 He was ill, he said, suffering severely, and could not under- 
 take such a responsible task. 
 
 Persons have supposed that his reluctance was affected ; 
 but well might he pause and hesitate — well might he even 
 refuse. He knew the man he had to deal with ; he knew, 
 by this time, the sovereign whom he was called to serve ; he 
 knew that courtiers and ministers would be ready at any mo- 
 ment to betray him, and the emperor to abandon him when 
 no longer wanted. 
 
 Moreover, what was he called upon to undertake ? To re- 
 pel from the Austrian dominions the greatest general in Eu- 
 rope, at the head of a victorious array, without having a single 
 regiment to bring into the field against him. The imperial 
 troops were nowhere. Most of the districts from which they 
 might have been raised were in possession of the enemy ; and 
 even Hungary could hardly maintain itself against the Turks 
 and Transylvanians. Wallenstein was called upon once more 
 to create an army as well as to command it ; but the position 
 ^of affairs was very different now from that which it had been 
 on a former occasion ; for then Tilly was in the field at the 
 
WALLENSTEIN. ^ 
 
 head of large forces, ready to co-operate and to assist : now 
 Tilly was dead, and his forces scattered over the country. 
 
 At length came a letter, in the emperor's own hand, pray- 
 ing, in abject terms, for assistance. He besought his faithful 
 servant not to abandon him in the hour of adversity. To 
 this entreaty Wallcnstein yielded ; but, even now, a weak 
 prince and subtile enemies sought to limit his power, and put 
 a check upon his actions. They proposed that the archduke, 
 king of Hungary, should share in the command ; and the very 
 suggestion excited a burst of indignation, which mingled a 
 blasphemous boast with a firm refusal. 
 
 The proposal was not pressed ; and, in a conference with 
 the Duke of Eggenberg, at Znaim, Wallenstein agreed to as- 
 sume the command of the imperial troops for three months, 
 boldly promising within that time to have from forty to fifty 
 thousand men in the field. He would not consent to accept 
 the command for any longer period ; nor would he receive a 
 salary ; but a fourth duchy was conferred upon him ; and 
 Wallenstein once more raised his standard with the same 
 magical effect as before. Armed men seemed to start from 
 the earth to do him service ; officers petitioned for commis- 
 sions to raise troops ; some brought in a company, some a reg- 
 iment, some a troop of horse. Arms and stores were provid- 
 ed ; his own resources were taxed to the very uttermast. The 
 emperor did nothing ; Wallenstein did every thing ; and in 
 little more than ten weeks forty thousand experienced soldiers 
 were ready to take the field in opposition to the Swede and 
 the Saxon. But Wallenstein refused to command them. 
 The three months for which he had stipulated came to an 
 end. The promised service was amply performed ; and he 
 expressed his determination to retire again into private hfe. 
 
 Illness and poverty were the reasons assigned. We know 
 that he was ill, and may well judge that he was poor ; for 
 the resources of all his duchies could hardly supply the means 
 of raising and equipping such a force. But the emperor feared 
 that the army, in which his safety lay, would melt away as 
 rapidly as it had arisen, if Wallenstein were suffered to leave 
 it ; and messenger after mes-senger, of every rank and charac- 
 ter, were sent by the sovereign to the subject, begging him 
 to retain his command. 
 
 He was entreated to name his own terms, and he did so. 
 Perhaps he hoped, by obtaining inordinate power, to guard 
 himself against the eminent peril in which he was likely to 
 be placed. He demanded the supreme command, and eijtire 
 
324 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 disposal of all the Austrian and Spanish troops in Germany. 
 Every military office, rewards, punishments, pardons, were all 
 to be decided directly or indirectly by him. Neither the em- 
 peror nor his son were to exercise any military authority, nor 
 even to appear with the army. A principahty was to be his 
 immediate reward ; and, in the expectation of conquest, he 
 demanded a conquered province. Various other stipulations 
 were added, the vainest, but the most important of which 
 was, that he was not to be removed from command without 
 due notice. 
 
 These conditions have been represented as proofs of his am- 
 bition and his inordinate love of power. But Wallenstein 
 undertook to fight Gustavus Adolphus, and no authority could 
 be too great to enable him to do so successfully. However 
 that might be, the emperor subscribed to the conditions with- 
 out hesitation, and from that moment the war assumed a to- 
 tally different character. 
 
 The very intelhgence that Wallenstein was in the field had 
 an instant effect upon every party concerned. Protestant 
 Germany heard the news with fear and anxiety; the Cath- 
 olic League revived ; new hope sprang up with the emperor 
 and his allies ; and Gustavus himself at once laid aside the 
 daring impetuosity which had characterized his later move- 
 ments, and prepared to meet the Duke of Friedlaud with that 
 careful prudence which the presence of such an enemy re- 
 quired. 
 
 Wallenstein determined to try the first energies of his new 
 army against a less formidable foe than Gustavus, and com- 
 bining policy with his military operations, to detach, il' possi- 
 ble, the Saxons from their alliance with the Swede, both by 
 negotiations and by arms. He knew that, if this could be 
 accomplished, the King of Sweden must necessarily abandon 
 the central parts of Germany, to fall back upon his resources 
 in the north ; and during the whole time occupied by the 
 collection of his forces, the negotiations with Arnheim had 
 been carried on under his direction. The conduct of the lat- 
 ter general is not explained. Although the Elector of Sax- 
 ony steadily refused, at this period, to enter into a separate 
 peace without the concurrence of Gustavus, and although the 
 King of Sweden eagerly and impatiently urged the command- 
 er of the Saxons to vigilance and activity, Arnheim sufiered 
 Wallenstein to levy a powerful army under his very eyes, 
 and was unprepared to offer effectual resistance when the im- 
 perial forces were ready for the field. Against him the first 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 825 
 
 operations of the Duke of Friedland were directed. March- 
 ing with the utmost rapidity upon Prague, Wallenstein ap- 
 peared before that city on the 4th of May, and Arnheim re- 
 treated with unseemly haste. The garrison was small and 
 inefficient ; the Capuchin friars within the walls aided more 
 than the guns of Wallenstein to efiect a breach ; the imperisxl 
 troops mounted to the assault, and the city was carried by 
 storm. The Saxon troops in the castle capitulated imme- 
 diately ; and Wallenstein led his victorious troops on through 
 Bohemia, reducing without difficulty every place which op- 
 posed him. 
 
 Saxony was now open to his arms ; and, in pursuit of his 
 political views, Wallenstein was eager to carry the war in 
 that direction, certain of soon withdrawing the King of Swe- 
 den from the scene of his late triumphs without striking a 
 blow directly at himself But the strongly expressed wishes 
 of the emperor, and the entreaties of the Elector of Bavaria, 
 induced him to abandon his well-conceived plan, and to turn 
 his arms against Gustavus himself He required, however, 
 that the Elector of Bavaria should join him with the remnant 
 of his forces, and place himself under his command ; and 
 when Maximilian submitted to this humiliation, and effected 
 his junction with the imperial general at Egra, Wallenstein 
 perhaps marked his triumph over his bitterest foe and calum- 
 niator with somewhat too ostentatious satisfaction. They 
 promised in writing, indeed, to lay aside all enmity, and act 
 for the future with cordiality and good faith ; but the only 
 bond between them was necessity ; and Wallenstein' s genius 
 soon delivered Maximilian from that tie. 
 
 Numbers were now on the side of the house of Austria. 
 Wallenstein was at the head of sixty thousand men, and Gus- 
 tavus knew that skill was not wanting. He at once felt that, 
 opposed to such a general and such an army, it was impossi- 
 ble to maintain himself in Bavaria, «r to make any forward 
 movement with success ; and as soon as he found that Wal- 
 lenstein was advancing toward the Upper Palatinate, he de- 
 termined to take up such a position as would at once cover 
 the newly-emancipated principalities on the Rhine, and keep 
 open his communications with the north. Nuremberg was 
 fixed upon for this object, and thither Gustavus retreated, and 
 intrenched himself in the most formidable manner round the 
 town. 
 
 That city had opened its gates to the Swedes with joy, at 
 the time of the monarch's first successes. It had wavered, 
 
 .*•• 
 
326 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 however, when Wallcnsteiii had so suddenly raised up the 
 imperial power, and had sent deputies to make submission 
 and bespeak clemency. But now the presence of Gustavus 
 seemed to restore confidence ; the magistrates exerted them- 
 selves energetically to assist him in his operations, and laid 
 up all sorts of stores to provide against the day of danger. 
 The whole town was surrounded with the most extensive 
 earth-worl^ that had ever been thrown up in a modern war- 
 fare ; bridges were cast across the river ; and three hundred 
 pieces of artillery defended the town and the Swedish camp 
 without the walls. All this was effected with extraordinary 
 rapidity ; and when Wallenstein arrived within sight of Nu- 
 remberg the Swedish position was impregnable. 
 
 Wallenstein' s military genius now showed itself in a light 
 in which it had never before been displayed. He was pressed 
 to attack the enemy ; but he steadily refused, saying that bat- 
 tles enough had been fought already, and he must now try 
 another method. He accordingly took up a position about 
 five miles from Nuremberg, upon a range of wooded hills, with 
 a small stream in front of his camp. Intrenchments were 
 thrown up ; redoubts were erected ; and every approach was 
 furnished with strong defenses. The right was protected by 
 marshy ground, the front by the steep banks of the Kednitz ; 
 and two conspicuous hills were inclosed within his lines, and 
 carefully fortified. In this position to the southwest of Nu- 
 remberg, he commanded many of the roads by which the city 
 received supplies ; and his light troops were easily spread over 
 the country, incessantly harassing the foraging parties of 
 Gustavus, and cutting off convoys of provisions from his camp. 
 To starve his enemy out of his lines was Wallenstein's de- 
 termination ; and he adhered to it in spite of all the efforts 
 of Gustavus, and of urgent remonstrances from the rash and 
 impetuous officers of the imperial court. Numerous skirm- 
 ishes took place, in some of which Gustavus commanded in 
 person ; and the loss of a great magazine at Friendstadt at 
 one time reduced the army of Wallenstein itself to a very great 
 strait for want of provisions. 
 
 Still the Duke of Friedland adhered to his plan ; and it be- 
 came apparent to Gustavus that he must either soon force 
 Wallenstein to abandon his position, or decamp himself from 
 Nuremberg. His forces had been greatly increased by the 
 arrival of his favorite minister, Oxenstiern, with a body of 
 thirty-six thousand men, which had been scattered over the 
 various conquests of Gustavus, and collected by the chancellor 
 
WALLENSTBIN. 327 
 
 to support his great master. It is necessary, however, to re- 
 mark, that the apparent fault of bringing so many jfresh 
 mouths into a camp where famine was already felt, was less 
 so in reality than appearance. The order for these troops to 
 join him had been given by Gustavus before he was aware 
 of, or could divine, Wallenstein's plan ; and the eager impet- 
 uosity which that great general had shown- in his previous 
 campaigns rendered it highly probable that he would attempt 
 some operation against which the utmost strength of the 
 Swedish army would be required. At length, after great suf- 
 fering, Gustavus, with his army thus re-enforced, determined 
 to attack Wallenstein in his lines, and, erecting batteries as 
 near as possible, he kept up a furious cannonade upon the im- 
 perial camp during one whole day. This produced no effect 
 whatever, either upon Wallenstein's lines or his determina- 
 tion ; and on the following day, the 23d of August, Gustavus 
 crossed the Rednitz with his whole army, and appeared on 
 the left flank of the imperial position. A general attack took 
 place on the 24th ; but Wallenstein's camp had been rendered 
 impregnable, and the columns of the Swedes were repulsed at 
 all points. Wallenstein was every where in the hottest of 
 the fire, exposing his person to the greatest dangers, and prov- 
 ing to his soldiery that his determination not to quit his lines 
 proceeded from no want of personal courage. After the re- 
 treat of the Swedes, Wallenstein distributed large sums of 
 money among the wounded officers and soldiers, which must 
 have been drawn from his own private resources. Many oth- 
 er acts of liberality, especially toward prisoners taken from 
 the enemy, are mentioned at this time : and some negotia- 
 tions for peace succeeded, but were without effect. 
 
 For eleven weeks the two greatest and most powerful ar- 
 mies which had appeared in modern Europe remained, like 
 dark thunder-clouds, in presence of each other ; but, at length, 
 having lost twelve thousand men by disease, famine, and the 
 sword, and exhausted the whole supplies of Nuremberg and 
 the neighboring country, Gustavus Adolphus broke up his 
 camp, threw five thousand men into Nuremberg for its de- 
 fense, and, with drums beating and colors flying, marched 
 past the face of Wallenstein's position. 
 
 Still that great general would not be tempted to attack the 
 Swedish army in its retreat. His cavalry he had been obliged 
 to place in distant quarters, for want of forage near at hand ; 
 and, even had his whole force been present on the field, Gus- 
 tavus's army, re-enforced by Oxenstiern, was hardly inferior in 
 
328 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 point of numbers, and much superior in point of discipline to 
 that of the imperialists. Pappenheim also, on whom Wal- 
 lenstein greatly relied, was at a distance ; and with the best 
 sort of courage, moral courage, the Duke of Friedland bore all 
 taunts and reproaches, rather than put to the hazard of a sin- 
 gle battle, in unfavorable circumstances, the fate of the Ger- 
 man empire. Had Gustavus been defeated, he had immense 
 resources to fall back upon. Had Wallenstein been defeated, 
 the last stake of the emperor was played and lost. 
 
 If any thing was wanting to the justification of Wallen- 
 stein, the result of the battle of Lutzen afforded the strongest 
 proof of the superiority of the Swedish troops of Gustavus. 
 
 The King of Sweden took his way at once from Nurem- 
 burg to Neustadt ; and thence, having dispatched Duke Ber- 
 nard, of Weimar, to Wurzburg, he himself pushed on, with 
 the main body of his forces, into Bavaria. The imperial 
 army also separated : the Elector of Bavaria hastened to de- 
 fend his dominions ; and Wallenstein, sternly refusing to aban- 
 don his own judicious plans for the purpose of protecting the 
 electorate, pushed forward, with the forces which he himself 
 had raised, into the heart of Saxony, resolved to prevent the 
 junction of the Saxons and the Swedes. To effect this ob- 
 ject, he peremptorily recalled Pappenheim from the Lower 
 Rhine, and commanded General Altringer also to lead all the 
 Austrian forces from Bavaria into Saxony, leaving Maximilian 
 to his own resources. 
 
 Before the arrival of either, Wallenstein had taken Leipsic. 
 and, establishing his head-quarters in that city, forbade all 
 plundering in the Saxon territories,* on pain of death. It 
 was evidently the desire of Wallenstein, partly by force, part- 
 ly by gentleness, to detach the weak and vicious John George, 
 elector of Saxony, from his alliance with Sweden ; and the at- 
 tainment of this object seemed so probable, after the capture 
 of Leipsic, that Gustavus was forced to abandon the brilliant 
 career just opening before him in Bavaria and Austria, and 
 hasten to encourage and support the Elector of Saxony. This 
 sudden determination took Wallenstein by surprise ; and he 
 was on his march to Torgau, in the hope of striking a decisive 
 blow at the Saxon army, when he received inteUigence that 
 Gustavus was advancing rapidly against him. 
 
 The King of Sweden had anived at Naumburg, a very 
 short distance from Leipsic, ere Wallenstein heard of his ap- 
 
 * Schiller states the exact reverse ; but Wullenstein's dispatches are 
 extant ; and even the Croats are tlircotcned with death if they plunder. 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 329 
 
 proach ; but his resolution was instantly taken. To prevent 
 the junction of the Saxons and the Swedes was the great and 
 final object ; but to crush the army of Gustavus himself, in 
 the attempt to effect that junction, was well worth any risk. 
 The Swedish forces at Naumburg were under twenty-five 
 thousand men. The imperial army at Wallenstein's disposal 
 amounted to forty thousand ; and now Wallenstein resolved 
 to fight a general battle, which he had so carefully avoided at 
 Nuremberg. Instantly abandoning his march to Torgau, he 
 advanced with extraordinary rapidity to Weissenfels ; but the 
 Swede had been as prompt in his precautions as Wallenstein 
 in his march. He was as strongly intrenched as at Werben ; 
 and to attack him in his position was impossible. 
 
 The Duke of Friedland now committed the greatest error 
 of his military career. On what was done at this moment, 
 the fate of the war depended. Wallenstein ti-usted the de- 
 cision to a council of war ; and, though that decision was de- 
 void of even common sense, he confirmed it. He was in 
 presence of the most active and enterprising general of the 
 age, one whose successes had been obtained, in a great meas- 
 ure, by watching the opportunities afforded by his enemies and 
 never aflbrding any himself Nevertheless, the council, in 
 their wisdom, decided that it was the King of Sweden's in- 
 tention to remain intrenched at Naumburg, and, therefore, 
 that it would be better for the imperial army to take up win- 
 ter-quarters, in such a manner as to render the sudden re- 
 union of the forces practicable, while Pappenheim, at the head 
 of two thousand horse, should return to the banks of the 
 Rhine. 
 
 To this arrangement Wallenstein consented, placed his 
 troops in cantonments, and not only sent Pappenheim toward 
 the Rhine, but ordered him to make an attack upon Halle, in 
 whicii there was a Swedish garrison, as he went, giving him 
 six regiments of cavalry and six of infantry for that purpose. 
 Wallenstein himself fixed his head-quarters at Lutzen, with 
 a mere handful of troops. 
 
 Nothing could be further from the thoughts of the King of 
 Sweden than the intentions which the imperial officers at- 
 tributed to him ; and while the arrangements which they 
 recommended were in course of execution, he suddenly broke 
 up his camp at Naumburg, and marched toward Pegau, evi- 
 dently with the intention of slipping past the left of the im- 
 perialists, and effecting his junction with the Saxons at Dres- 
 den. He commenced his march before daybreak on the 5th 
 
330 DARK SCE;^ES OF HISTORY. 
 
 of November ; but ere. he had advanced many miles, some 
 prisoners and some intercepted letters were brought in, which 
 showed him the terrible error that Wallenstein had com- 
 mitted. The moment for striking a decisive blow seemed to 
 have arrived, and not an instant was lost ere Gustavus hast- 
 ened to take advantage of it. He found that Pappenheim 
 was already on his march toward the Rhine, with a large di- 
 vision of the imperial forces ; and he resolved at once to rush 
 upon Wallenstein, and destroy him before he could gather his 
 troops together. 
 
 If the Duke of Friedland had committed a great error, of 
 which there can be no doubt, brilliant and noble were his ef- 
 forts to repair it. He had the choice of saving himself and 
 the few regiments with him, by falling back upon Leipsic, and 
 leaving Pappenheim and the other detached corps to their 
 fate, or of maintaining his ground against a superior enemy, 
 and feeding the battle, if I may so speak, with the different 
 corps as they could be brought up to the field. He determ- 
 ined upon the latter course. Signal guns were fired the in- 
 stant he heard of the movements of Gustavus ; and a few 
 brief words, written in the utmost haste, were dispatched after 
 Pappenheim, to bring him back to Lutzen,- where the duke 
 himself remained at the head of only twelve thousand men. 
 Some circumstances favored his bold determination. The 
 weather had been rainy ; the roads were in bad condition ; 
 the day was foggy ; a small stream called the Reipach was 
 gallantly defended by Colonel Isolan, at the head of a small 
 force ; and night fell before Gustavus could arrive in face of 
 Wallenstein's position. Never did skill, sagacity, and activ- 
 ity effect more to repair an error than on the present occa- 
 sion. 
 
 As the troops came in during the night, they were placed 
 in order of battle on the famous field of Lutzen : a dead fiat, in- 
 tersected by ditches. Some of these ditches, especially those 
 which bordered the road from Weissenfels to Leipsic, were 
 deepened during the night, and lined with musketeers, who 
 fired over the earth thrown out as over a parapet. Another 
 line of musketeers supported the first ; and behind the road, 
 with the village of Lutzen on the right, extended Wallenstein's 
 whole force. The walls of the gardens round Lutzen were 
 loopholed and lined with musketeers ; a light field work waa 
 thrown up to protect the left, which was otherwise much ex- 
 posed ; a battery of seven guns was placed in front of the 
 center of the line, and another battery of seventeen guns un- 
 
WALLEN8TEIN. ^1 
 
 der the Lutzen wind-mill, on the right. The infantry occu- 
 pied the center of the field, and the cavalry was posted on 
 the flanks. On the extreme left, a place was reserved for 
 Pappenheim, of whose rapid return Wallenstein felt well as- 
 sured. 
 
 Such were the arrangements for the battle, drawn up by 
 the Duke of Friedland's own hand. It is generally supposed 
 that the imperialists, before the dawn of the following day, 
 had about twenty-six thousand men in the field, including the 
 cavalry of Pappenheim, which he brought from Halle with 
 the most zealous haste. The Swedes were inferior in num- 
 ber, but much superior in artillery and in discipline. Their 
 line would appear to have been more extended than that of 
 Wallenstein, though by no means weak. Before they halted 
 for the night, they were close upon Lutzen, while their right 
 rested on a shallow canal, which did not in any way impede 
 their operations. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 6th of November, Wallenstein 
 himself, who was sufiering severely from gout, came to the 
 field in a carriage, and was carried along the line in a chair. 
 His horses, however, were ready ; and he mounted when the 
 action began. He wore no defensive armor, but was dressed 
 in the ordinary buff coat of a superior officer, richly laced with 
 gold. The King of Sweden was dressed much in the same 
 manner, but with less ornament, and rode a beautiful white 
 horse, which afforded a conspicuous mark to the enemy's 
 musketeers. 
 
 The day broke gloomily ; and a thick fog prevented the two 
 armies, though so near, from perceiving the movements of each 
 other, so that the Swedes, advancing under cover of the mist, 
 were within a thousand yards of the Austrians when the vapor 
 began to disperse. They halted at that distance, and the 
 king commanded prayers to be read in front of every regiment. 
 
 The battle did not begin till between eleven and twelve 
 o'clock, when the sun broke out and the mist gradually dis- 
 appeared. The left of the Swedish army was under the com- 
 mand of a German prince of no light fame, whose genius and 
 virtues Gustavus had at once penetrated. This was Duke Ber- 
 nard of Weimar, who afterward became so greatly renowned. 
 The right was commanded by Gustavus himself, whose only 
 fault as a general seems to have been that he would act as a 
 soldier also. The second line of the Swedish troops was com- 
 manded by Kniphausen. A reserve of Scottish infantry, with 
 one regiment of cavalry, was placed under the command of a 
 
332 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 celebrated Scotch- officer named Henderson, and decided the 
 fate of the battle. 
 
 On the side of the imperialists, Goetz commanded the left 
 "wing, Offizzius the center, and Hoik the right. Wallenstein 
 commanded the whole, and assumed no particular post, but 
 appeared wherever his presence was needed. 
 
 About half past eleven, the firing of the village of Lutzen 
 marked the commencement of the battle ; and the Swedes 
 advanced with a loud shout. Gustavus himself led them on 
 at the head of a regiment of cavalry. They were received 
 with a terrible fire from the two imperial batteries, and I'rom 
 the trenches lined with musketeers ; but they wavered not for 
 an instant. Every soldier, in both hosts, seemed to feel that 
 this was no ordinary combat, that it was the lile struggle of 
 the two greatest generals of the day, the greatest blow that 
 had yet been struck for the predominance of one of two re- 
 ligions. The Swedish cavalry of the right, animated by the 
 personal presence of the king at their head, dashed over the 
 trenches, passed the road, fell like a thunderbolt upon the im- 
 perial left, and drove it back into the plain. The Swedish 
 center, where were the infantry, pushed on with the pike, 
 slaughtered the musketeers in their trenches, carried the seven 
 gun battery in the center of the imperial line, and charged 
 and routed the first line of Wallenstein's iufantiy. But the 
 left of the Swedes, under Bernard of Weimar, was brought 
 to a check at Lutzen. A tremendous fire from the wind-mill 
 battery tore through the regiments of Bernard of Weimar ; 
 and along every loop-holed garden wall ran the flash of the 
 musketry, carrying death into the Swedish ranks. 
 
 Secure in that part of the field, Wallenstein marked the 
 confusion of his left and center, and galloped at full speed to 
 recover the ground lost. His presence acted like magic ; the 
 fugitives rallied, fresh regiments advanced, and charging fierce- 
 ly the victorious Swedish center, drove it back over the road, 
 recaptured the battery, and regained the ground. Every 
 where was Wallenstein in the thick of the fight. The spur 
 was torn from his heel by a cannon ball ; his bufi' coat was 
 pierced in several places by musket bullets ; and every on© of 
 the officers round him was killed or wounded. 
 
 In the mean time, Gustavus, who had left his right and 
 center victorious, had rallied the troops upon the left, and led 
 them on to the attack of Lutzen. At this moment he re- 
 ceived a bullet in his left arm, after having too soon thanked 
 God for victory. The cry ran through the Swedish troops 
 
VVALLENSTEIN. 333 
 
 that the king was wounded ; but Gustavus, althougli the 
 bone was fractured and the pain greaj, shouted aloud, " It is 
 nothing I Follow me." 
 
 A moment after, feeling that he was growing faint, he turn- 
 ed to the Duke of Saxe Lauenburg, who was riding with him, 
 and begged him, in French, to lead him as secretly as possi- 
 ble out of the fight. By this time, however, the advance of 
 Wallenstein's fresh troops, and the recovery of the ground in 
 the center, had altered entirely the aspect of the battle. In 
 passing round between the two armies, in order to find a way 
 to the rear, another bullet struck Gustavus in the back, and, 
 exclaiming to his companion, " I have enough, brother. Seek 
 to save your own life I" he fell headlong from his horse. 
 
 The enemy were still advancing, and victory seemed torn 
 from the hand of the Swedes. Every body fled from the body 
 of the fallen king, except one noble page, the son of the Frei- 
 herr von Lubeling, who leaped from his horse, it is said, and 
 endeavored to remount the king. The effort was in vain, for 
 Gustavus could only feebly raise his hands. The imperial 
 troops swept on, and both Gustavus and the page remained 
 amid the slain. 
 
 Many particulars are giv«n of what followed the king's fall. 
 He is said to have required several sword and pistol wounds 
 to dispatch him, and to have exclaimed, in dying, " I was 
 King of Sweden I" but no reliance is to be placed on such 
 tales ; and all that we really know is, that he fell as the ral- 
 lied imperialists were advancing,''^ and that the boy Lubeling 
 remained with him to the last, and perished in consequence 
 of his fidelity. 
 
 The white horse of Gustavus, flying bloody and masterless 
 along the ranks, announced to his faithful followers the fate 
 of the royal rider. The terrible news reached the ears of 
 Bernard of Weimar, and, hastening to Kniphausen, he held 
 with him a short consultation as to what was to be done. It 
 was proposed to retreat, as the Swedish army was still in good 
 order ; but the gallant duke rejected the idea with scorn, and, 
 announcing his resolution of rescuing Gustavus from the hands 
 of the enemy if still alive, or avenging him if dead, he or- 
 dered the whole army instantly to advance to the charge. 
 
 * By some author it is stated that Gustaviis, after having restored the 
 battle oil his left, had stopped, if not driven back, the imperiahsts in 
 the center. But this is impossible and contradictoiy ; for the very same 
 authors relate the immediate passage of the Austrian troops over his 
 body. 
 
334 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY 
 
 Although Schiller denies the fact, there was assuredly some 
 hesitation. The great body of the troops were undoubtedly 
 moved with rage rather than discouraged by Gustavus's fall ; 
 but some regiments, it is clear, refused to obey ; and Bernard 
 of Weimer cut down the colonel of the Steinbock cavalry 
 with his own hand. This summary punishment restored or- 
 der and obedience, and the whole Swedish line charged with 
 renewed fury. The battery of seventeen guns under the wind- 
 mill was now taken and turned against the Austrians ; the 
 ground in the center was recovered, the trenches repassed un- 
 der a murderous fire, the seven gun battery a second time cap- 
 tured, and the first line of the Austrian infantry driven back. 
 At the same time some of the imperial powder- wagons blew 
 up with a tremendous explosion, and scattered confusion and 
 disarray in the rear. In vain were all the exertions of Wal- 
 lenstein ; in vain he exposed himself in every part of the field ; 
 in vain he rallied the men, and brought them back to the 
 charge ; a second time the battle seemed lost, and the Swedes 
 victorious. Then, however, a new actor appeared upon the 
 field, and all was changed. 
 
 Wallenstein's brief letter of recall had reached Pappenheim 
 while his troops were sacking the town of Halle. He had 
 six regiments of infantry with him, computed at upward of 
 ten thousand men, and eight regiments of cavalry. Could he 
 have brought back the whole of this force to the field of Lut- 
 zen in time for the battle, the Swedish array must have been 
 crushed, and the war perhaps terminated at a blow. But he 
 saw, from the terms of Friedland's dispatch, that not an in- 
 stant was to be lost. It was in vain to hope that the infant- 
 ry, scattered through the town, could be collected and march- 
 &1 to Lutzen soon enough to be of service ; but the cavalry 
 were gathered together instantly ; and, at their head, Pappen- 
 heim galloped off to the last of his fields. He found, it would 
 appear, the left of Wallenstein's forces in full flight ;* but his 
 presence instantly served to rally the cavalry of that wing. 
 
 * I have seen it somewhere asserted that Pappeuheim arrived before 
 the commencement of the battle, and had even time to give his troops 
 some repose ; btit every account of the strife at Lutzen sliovvs that such 
 could not possibly be tlie case. Pappenheim was not an officer to re- 
 main inactive in or near the field; and yet no one makes mention of 
 his taking an^ part in tlie battle till after the imperial lefl was in full 
 flight. The sileuce of all parties shows distinctly that he did not arrive 
 till toward the close of the action, and that Wallenstein's forces at the 
 bogionin^ of the battle were, in reality, under twenty thousand men, 
 and inferior to the Swedes in number as well as in point of artillery. 
 
W ALLEN STEIN. 335 
 
 His cuirassiers and dragoons, though fatigued with a long and 
 rapid march, were animated with the same fierce and fiery 
 spirit as their leader ; and coming like a thunderbolt upon 
 the Swedish right, he drove it back over the field of Lutzen. 
 Wallenstein instantly perceived the new chance of success af- 
 forded him ; and once more rallying the infantry of the cen- 
 ter, he brought it successfully to the charge. 
 
 The Swedish ranks, though shaken even by the efforts they 
 had made, still fought gallantly ; but they were driven back 
 at the point of the pike ; the trenches were regained, and the 
 battery retaken. Cool, calm, full of presence of mind, Wal- 
 lenstein is here represented, even by those who least admired 
 him, as showing all fhe qualities both of a general and a hero. 
 But the greatest loss that could befall the imperial general 
 took place in the midst of this fierce strife, when victory seem- 
 ed turning to his side. Carried on by his fiery ardor, Pappen- 
 heim clove his way, at the head of his cuirassiers, into the 
 very heart of the Swedish right. At the same moment he 
 received two musket-balls in the chest, and, falling from his 
 horse, was carried by his attendants out of the fight. His 
 troops were discouraged by the loss of their fiery leader ; 
 horses and men were equally fatigued with the unparalleled 
 exertions they had made, and could not pursue, or even re- 
 tain, the advantage they had gained. Goetz, Terzky, Collo- 
 redo, and Piccolomini, as well as Wallenstein, did all in their 
 power to maintain the ground ; but the imperial troops were 
 disheartened : many had fled from the field ; and it wanted 
 but one great effort to break the shaken forces that remained. 
 That effort was made by Bernard of Weimar at the end of 
 the day. Bringing forward Henderson's reserve, he formed 
 the whole Swedish forces into one line ; their peculiar disci- 
 pline and tactics afforded great facilities for rapid changes of 
 order ; and with an army in good array, fatigued, but not 
 disheartened, he once more advanced against the shattered 
 imperial line, crossed the road, retook the trenches, again re- 
 captured the guns, and drove back the infantry of the 
 center. 
 
 The sun was setting ; darkness was spreading rapidly 
 around, and Wallenstein was still upon the field ; but the im- 
 perial forces were broken ; many regiments were in full flight ; 
 the cannon were in the hands of the enemy. The Swedes 
 had certainly won the day ; but neither party held the field 
 of battle. Wallenstein led his broken and disheartened forces 
 to Leipsic under cover of the darkness ; and the Swedes, by 
 
33G DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 1 
 
 no means certain of their victory, when night fell retired to 
 Weissenfels. 
 
 Strange to say, hoth parties left their artillery on the field ; 
 and had Wallenstein been aware of what was likely to take 
 place, he might not only have recovered his own guns, but 
 taken those of the Swedes, and turned a defeat into a triumph, 
 Ibr an hour after nightfall six regiments of Pappenheim's in- 
 fantiy arrived at Lutzen from Halle, and were in complete 
 command of the plain. The imperial general knew nothing 
 of their coming, however ; but, learning that their command- 
 er was in Leipsic, they made the best of their way thither, 
 and soon fell into that complete state of disorganization which 
 by this time affected the whole of the Austrian army. Pap- 
 pcnheim, carried to Leipsic, died there on the following day ; 
 and Wallenstein, able to bring only a few thousand men to- 
 gether, with the Swedes on the one side, and the Saxons on 
 the other, retreated to Bohemia, in order to recruit his forces 
 and prepare for a new struggle. 
 
 Such was the battle of Lutzen, the fiercest and best-con- 
 tested action of the war. Although the Swedes had undoubt- 
 edly won the day, the death of their great leader was looked 
 upon by the court of Vienna as more than a victory ; the work 
 of Wallenstein seemed accomplished to the imagination of 
 the imperial courtiers and ministers ; jealousy, suspicion, and 
 hatred raised their venomous heads against the Duke of Fried- 
 land ; and the death of his great rival was the precursor of 
 Wallenstein's fall.* 
 
 * Gustavus Adolphus, we are assured by many writers, was mur- 
 dered at the instigatiou of the Jesuits and the court of Vienna. It is 
 certain that a rumor to that effect was current at the period of his death 
 both among the Germans and the Swedes. The Duke of Saxe Lauen- 
 burg is generally fixed upon as the assassin ; and some facts have been 
 brought forward to show that such was the case. The stoiy is still 
 vei7 generally believed in Germany, but receives no credit, in general, 
 from the historians of other nations. One of Gustavus's guards wrote 
 an account of the murder, which he declares he saw committed, while 
 he himself lay at the distance of fifty yards, having lost his leg a short 
 time befgre. Part of the man's story, however, is so evidently false, 
 that the rest of it can not receive credit. Two persons also confessed 
 the crime, from what motive it is impossible to say; for it is very sat- 
 isfactorily proved that they were not with Gustavus when he fell. If 
 they did it, however, the Duke of Saxe Lauenburg did not. Dako 
 Bernard of Weimar was suspected witliout the slightest cause, and 
 the only real grouuds for attributing the death of the great King of Swe- 
 den to the Duke of Saxe Lauenburg is to be found in the unprincipled 
 character of the man, and the fact that ho escaped perfectly unhurt 
 from the battle of Lutzen. If, however, the statement said to have 
 
W.ALLENSTBIN. 337 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 The winter of 1632-33 passed in preparations for a new 
 campaign, in rewarding the deserving and in punishing the 
 culpable. The preparations were active and energetic ; the 
 rewards were liberal, if not extravagant ; the punishments 
 were cruelly severe. Wallenstein never claimed the victory 
 of Lutzen ; but he suffered, without contradiction, his quarter- 
 master Diodati to do so, in a report to the emperor, written 
 in Vienna, at a distance from Wallenstein ; and a Te Deum 
 was sung in all the Roman Catholic churches. It was dif- 
 ficult, indeed, to account for the loss of the artillery, and the 
 retreat of a victorious army ; but the severities exercised by 
 Wallenstein showed clearly enough that he felt himself de- 
 feated. Twelve officers were beheaded in Prague ; seven 
 were publicly disgraced and dismissed the service ; and forty, 
 who did not appear for trial, were declared infamous, and 
 their names nailed to the gibbet. In the distribution of re- 
 wards, one famous name was wanting. Piccolomini received 
 nothing. It is probable that W^allenstein had not forgotten 
 his former ofienses ; and it is not very apparent that this offi- 
 cer had done any thing to wipe them away from remembrance. 
 
 In the month of May, 1633, the Duke of Friedland was 
 once more ready for the field, and again at the head of forty 
 thousand men well disciplined, armed, and provided ; but the 
 campaign which followed is one of the most obscure and mys- 
 terious in history. It afibrds the only reasons that exist for 
 supposing there might be some truth in the charges afterward 
 
 been drawn up from the lips of the noble boy Lubeling is authentic — 
 of which I entertain many doubts — the king was killed in fair and hon- 
 orable warfare. The boy is said to have survived the battle several 
 days, to have been perfectly sensible to the last, and to have made the 
 statement for the information of his father. If so, it is hardly possible 
 he could have been cut down, trampled under foot by the imperial 
 troops, and then stripped by the Croats, who seldom left any life in the 
 bodies they so treated. It is clear, however, that neither Oxenstiern 
 nor Bernard of Weimar gave the slightest credit to the story of the 
 king's assassination. 
 
 r 
 
338 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 brought against the Dnke of Friedland. To form any thing 
 Hke a rational judgment of his conduct, we must look for a 
 moment at the state of the contending parties. 
 
 The Saxons had overrun a great part of Silesia, and were 
 still in close alliance with the Swedes. Close alUances, how- 
 ever, do not forbid jeaiousy and hatred ; and the Elector of 
 Saxony had never either really loved or trusted Gustavus. 
 After that monarch's death, the ifeame feelings existed toward 
 those who succeeded him, only increased in virulence. Oa 
 the other hand, Duke Bernard of Weimar, one of the most 
 extraordinary men of the day, had become the leader of the 
 forces which won the battle of Lutzen. The famous Chan- 
 cellor Oxenstiern was named the Swedish legate, as it was 
 termed, in Gennany ; and by, incredible efforts he restored 
 confidence and firmness, not only to the Swedish forces, but 
 to the timid and wavering German princes. He could effect 
 little, indeed, with Saxony, Brandenburg, and Brunswick, be- 
 yond maintaining them in a hostile attitude toward Austria ; 
 but meeting the states of Upper Germany at Heilbron, on the 
 Neckar, in the month of April, 1633, he induced them, by 
 persuasion, menaces, and even bribes, to carry on the war with 
 vigor. But the Elector of Saxony refused to take part in the 
 League of Heilbron, as it was called ; and that very fact may 
 be supposed to have displayed sufficiently an inclination to de- 
 tach himself from the common cause of the Protestant princes. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when Wallenstein once more 
 took the field ; and perhaps the considerations which nat- 
 urally arose from these relations might have some share in 
 the conduct he pursued. Nevertheless, it is clear that, after 
 the battle of Lutzen, the Duke of Friedland for some months 
 did nothing at all worthy of his reputation, nothing at all in 
 accordance with the energetic activity of his mind or the stern 
 determination of his character. It is true that he was sufTer- 
 ing severely from disease, which rendered him irritable, impa- 
 tient, and fierce. Perhaps illness might also produce inac- 
 tivity ; but still, the great change in his whole conduct nat- 
 urally produced suspicion. 
 
 Leaving the territories of the Elector of Bavaria to fall 
 under the power of the victorious Swedes, and the elector 
 himself to seek refuge as a fugitive in the Tyrol — leaving the 
 whole states of the Rhine at the mercy of the enemy, Wal- 
 lenstein marched his army toward Silesia. But there, instead 
 of expelling the Saxons under Amheim, he commenced nego- 
 tiations, concluded a short truce, and evidently attempted to 
 
WALLENSTBIN. 839 
 
 effect a separate peace with Saxony. Reports were busily 
 circulated that he was treating for his own individual inter- 
 ests, and that the most ambitious schemes against the impe- 
 rial power itself actuated him at this moment. There is not 
 the slightest proof that such schemes entered into his mind ; 
 and, in pursuit of his great object of gaining the Saxons, we 
 may well conceive that Wallenstein was contented to sacri- 
 fice a portion of his military glory. But we can not so easily 
 account for the inactivity and feebleness of his operations 
 when the truce came to an end and hostilities were resumed. 
 He invested and bombarded the town of Schweidnitz, it is 
 true, but he effected nothing against it ; and when Count 
 Arnheim advanced to its relief, Wallenstein retreated before 
 him, took up a strong position, and contented himself with 
 harassing the enemy with light troops. This conduct has 
 never been explained. 
 
 Shortly after, the mediation of Denmark was offered to 
 bring the war to a conclusion ; and a Congress was appoint- 
 ed to meet at Breslau, to consider the terms of a treaty of 
 peace. In order to give time for negotiations, a new truce 
 was concluded between Austria, Brandenburg, and Saxony. 
 It was to last for a month, and hostilities were not to be re- 
 sumed for some weeks after it expired. The coiiduct of all 
 parties now seems to have been very strange. Neither the 
 Swedes nor the League of Heilbron sent deputies to the Con- 
 gress ; and though Wallenstein was left free to act against 
 the Swedes, he remained perfectly inactive. In the mean 
 time, Arnheim, who had not included the Swedes in his treaty 
 with Wallenstein, set out to confer with Oxenstiern, giving 
 the Duke of Friedland previous notice of his intention. Wal- 
 lenstein, in a letter still extant, endeavored to persuade him 
 not to go. Nevertheless, Chemnitz the historian, who wrote, 
 it is supposed, under the supervision of Oxenstiern himself, 
 declares that a most extraordinary proposition was made by 
 Arnheim to the Swedish minister on the part of the Duke of 
 Friedland. The Saxon general assured Oxenstiern, we are 
 informed, that Wallenstein was on bad terms with the court 
 of Vienna ; that the emperor had called the Duke of Feria 
 from Italy to replace Wallenstein in the command, with the 
 intention of removing and disgracing the latter ; that Wallen- 
 stein was informed of these facts, and had never forgiven his 
 former dismissal. He was now determined, Arnheim said, to 
 punish the house of Austria. He had secured the co-opera- 
 tion of the generals Gallas and Hoik ; and he now proposed, 
 
340 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 through Arnheim, as a mutual Becurity., that six Austrian regi- 
 ments should be exchanged for six Swedish ones. As soon as 
 this was efTected, Arnheim said, Wallenstein would march 
 into Bohemia, and, restoring the privileges of the Bohemian 
 people, march to Vienna and force the emperor to conclude an 
 inglorious peace. 
 
 It is impossible to believe that Wallenstein should ever 
 have conceived so wild a scheme ; nor can we at all reconcile 
 the fact of such a proposal having been made by Arnheim 
 with Wallenstein's letter urging him not to go to Oxenstiern 
 at all. Yet the statement of Chemnitz is distinct ; and it is 
 probable the mystery will never be solved. Oxenstiern posi- 
 tively refused to consent ; and looking upon the very proposal 
 as the vail of some deep design, warned Bernard of Weimar 
 to be upon his guard against the Duke of Friedland. On his 
 return to Silesia, Arnheim had an interview with Wallenstein ; 
 and in several of his letters to the Duke of Brandenburg, he 
 makes the most extraordinary statements with regard to Wal- 
 lenstein's conduct, representing him as varying in his views 
 and proirosals like a madman, and insinuating that the Duke 
 of Friedland had some deep and subtile policy at the bottom 
 of this vacillation. The question is, was Arnheim himself true ? 
 Was Wallenstein really mad or a traitor ? or was Arnheim 
 misrepresenting him, and playing a most infamous part for his 
 own purposes ? • ' 
 
 It must be remembered that, while Wallenstein had re- 
 mained steadfastly attached to one party, and had served his 
 sovereign uninterruptedly for years, making immense sacrifices 
 in so doing, Arnheim had betrayed the cause he was sent to 
 support in Poland, had abandoned the standard under which 
 he served, had fought against the prince under whom he had 
 risen to fame, and was pronounced by a very deep-seeing 
 minister to be the most perfect Jesuit that ever lived. 
 
 If Arnheim was calumniating the Duke of Friedland and 
 playing him false, there were others in Saxony who aided in 
 the intrigue. A certain Count Kinsky, a Protestant noble- 
 man banished from Bohemia, and nearly allied to Wallen- 
 stein by marriage, opened communications with Feuquieres, 
 the French embassador to the Protestant states of Germany, 
 about the middle of the year 1C33. He confirmed Feuquieres 
 in the belief that a rupture betwetni Wallenstein and the 
 court of Vienna was inevitable ; and, after some hesitation, 
 Richelieu, anxious to eflect the complete ruin of the house of 
 Austria, and relying on the repeated assurances of Kinsky, 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 341 
 
 authorized Feuquieres to make the most magnificent overtures 
 to the Duke of'Friedland. A memorial was accordingly drawn 
 up and sent to Wallenstein, in which every bad passion of his 
 nature is courted — ^revenge, ambition, pride, and the crown of 
 Bohemia, and even higher dignities are held out to him as 
 inducements. We find from the letters of Feuquieres, that 
 Wallenstein made no answer. The efibrt was not to be 
 abandoned, however. Urgent proposals were made ; more 
 splendid offers were added ; the support of two French armies, 
 a subsidy of a million of livres, and a guarantee of the crown 
 of Hungary were promised, if Wallenstein would openly raise 
 the standard of revolt against Austria. 
 
 Wallenstein was still silent. In various letters, Feuquieres 
 clearly shows that he thinks the Duke of Friedland is playing 
 a deep game, for the purpose of disuniting the Saxons, the 
 Swedes,, and the French ; and I am strongly inclined to be- 
 lieve that this able statesman's view was just. There were 
 at this time three distinct armies in Silesia ; the Saxon army 
 under Arnheim and the Duke of Lauenburg ; the Branden- 
 burg army under General Borgsdorf ; and a Swedish army 
 under the Bohemian exile. Count Thurn. United, they would 
 have formed a formidable force, especially as all the strong 
 places of Silesia were in their hands ; but dissensions had 
 speedily taken place between Arnheim and Thurn ; the Bran- 
 denburgers made common cause with the Saxons ; and both 
 looked upon their deliverers, the Swedes, as intrusive foreigners. 
 All that could be done to annoy and weaken the Swedish 
 army was early sought for by the Saxon allies of Sweden ; 
 and, at the same time, the most amicable feeling existed be- 
 tween the officers of Wallenstein and of Arnheim. Instead 
 of passing their time in battles and sieges, they spent it in 
 visiting each other, and entertaining their friendly enemies at 
 dinner. Every now and then, indeed, Wallenstein performed 
 some deed of daring or severity, as if to show that it was not 
 fear of the Saxons which kept him quiet. The Swedes natu- 
 i rally looked upon Arnheim as a traitor ; and we are inclined 
 ^to ask whether that general's statements of the views of Wal- 
 lestein to Oxenstiern and others, might not be made with a 
 view to conceal his own treacherous proceedings, while he was 
 carrying on secret negotiations with the Duke of Friedland 
 for a peace between Saxony, Brandenburg, and Austria, from 
 which Sweden was to be excluded, and perhaps France like- 
 wise? 
 
 It is quite consistent with the known character of Wallen- 
 
3«2 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 stein, also, to suppose that, in his lofty reserve, he determined 
 to keep the whole transaction secret, even from the court of 
 Vienna, till every thing was arranged, and that he let Rumor 
 say what she would of his conduct, knowing that his inten- 
 tions were honest and upright. It must be acknowledged, 
 however, that in transactions so dark and obscure, any solu- 
 tion must be purely hypothetical. The only certain facts are, 
 that Wallenstein lay inactive during the whole of the early 
 part of 1633, or contented himself with taking some insignifi- 
 cant places in presence of the Saxon army ; and that he con- 
 cluded a truce with Arnheim, and' then another, for the pur- 
 pose of giving free scope to the negotiations at Breslau. How 
 far those negotiations had proceeded, it may be difficult to 
 discover ; but it would certainly seem that the efforts of Wal- 
 lenstein laid the foundation for that secession of Saxony from 
 the alliance with Sweden which afterward took place. 
 
 It is not improbable, indeed, that such progress had been 
 made toward peace as to alarm the mercenaries of the im- 
 perial army. A great number of these men, especially the 
 ItaUan portion of them, were without principles, attachments, 
 or zeal. They were mere hired sworders, who came for the 
 sole purpose of enriching themselves by the plunder of the 
 country in which they served, with the intention of carrying 
 off their booty to their own land when tired of the trade of 
 war. The very name of peace, then, was hateful to them ; 
 and as Wallenstein always professed to seek for peace, and 
 evidently sought it, he was by this time in no great favor with 
 many imperial officers, who throve alone by the continuance 
 of hostilities. 
 
 The negotiations at Breslau created fear and alarm in the 
 bosoms of many, and somewhat barbarous means were taken 
 to bring them to an end. Prince Ulric of Denmark, who 
 was taking an active part in the matter, while riding on some 
 party of pleasure, passed and saluted Piccolomini, and a few 
 minutes after was shot by one of that officer's carabineers. 
 The negotiations were broken off'; the King of Denmark was 
 loud in his complaints, and Wallenstein was ordered by the 
 emperor to investigate the circumstances of the murder. It 
 was never proved distinctly that Piccolomini had ordered the 
 assassination of the prince ; but strong suspicion attached to 
 him which has not been removed. 
 
 The armistice soon came to an end ; and, hopeless of con- 
 cluding a peace without some further blow at the allies, Wal- 
 lenstein took the field in earnest. He now put forth all his 
 
 %^** 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 843 
 
 strategetic skill, and showed that rapidity and decision of 
 action for which he had been formerly famous. The dissen- 
 sions between the Swedish and Saxon armies kept them sep- 
 arate, but not at so great a distance that a rapid junction could 
 not be effected at any time. The Swedes under Thurn lay 
 in an intrenched camp at Steinau on the Oder, some distauQC 
 below Breslau. Arnheim, with the Saxon forces, was in 
 Kauth, a little to the southwest of the latter city. Wallen- 
 stein could not attack Arnheim without danger from tho 
 Swedes ; nor could he pass the Saxons to attack the Swedes. 
 In these circumstances he determined to deceive Arnheim by 
 a stratagem, and ordered General Hoik, with his division, to 
 move rapidly toward the Elbe in the neighborhood of Meis- 
 sen. Some authors, indeed, say that Hoik had entered Misnia 
 before the last truce, and rpade great progress in the con- 
 quest of the country ; but it does not seem to me probable 
 that Arnheim and the Swedes would have remained quietly 
 on the Oder while an imperial army was within a few march- 
 es of Dresden, and Wallenstein was ready to fall upon Upper 
 Saxony. Ho_wever that might be, the Duke of Friedland 
 now made a feigned movement to follow Hoik, taking care 
 that his operations in that direction should be conspicuous 
 and noisy. Arnheim, completely deceived, broke up his camp, 
 and hurried to the west to defend the Electorate ; and Wal- 
 lenstein, concealing his maneuvers by the mountains, turned 
 rapidly to the Oder and fell upon the Swedish camp. A large 
 body of Austrian cavalry crossed the river and cut off the 
 possibility of Thurn's retreat in that direction, while Wallen- 
 stein, on the left bank, surrounded the intrenched camp of the 
 Swedes. It is said that the defenses of this camp were not 
 yet completed, and that Thurn, with a force of only from, 
 five to eight thousand men, could not have maintained his 
 position against more than thirty thousand. Certain it is, 
 that Wallenstein instantly summoned him to surrender, and 
 gave him but half an hour to decide ; that Thurn at once 
 agreed to capitulate, and that Wallenstein permitted him to 
 do so. 
 
 The terms were regularly drawn up and signed. All the 
 private soldiers became prisoners of war, and the officers 
 were permitted to depart. There can be no doubt that Wal- 
 lenstein might have enforced more severe conditions, and both 
 demanded and obtained the surrender of all the officers like- 
 wise. His not having done so was made a principal charge 
 against him at an after period ; and that charge was un- 
 
944 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 doubtedly well justified ; but it was the fact of having suf- 
 fered Count Thum himself to escape from the vengeance of 
 the court of Vienna that gave point to the offense, Walleri- 
 stein has been defended upon the ground that he liberated 
 Thurn in the execution of a regular convention ; but Wallen- 
 stein could have refused to sign that convention at all, and 
 Thurn must have surrendered. 
 
 His conduct has been variously accounted for. Schiller, 
 believing that all this time he meditated revolt, supposes that 
 he allowed Thurn to escape because their enemies in Vienna 
 were the same ; but it is probable, I think, that the Duke of 
 Friedland expressed his real sentiments when, in answering a 
 reproachful letter from the imperial minister, he said, " What 
 could I have done with this madman? Would to Heaven 
 that the enemy had more such generals as this. At the 
 head of a SwecUsh army he would do much more for us than 
 in prison." 
 
 The captured soldiers were forced to incorporate them- 
 selves with the Austrian army, as was very common in that 
 day ; and, hurrying from conquest to conquest, Wallenstein 
 took Leignitz and Gross-Glogau, and made himself master 
 ol" the whole course of the Oder as far as Frankfort, which 
 also surrendered to his arms. In the mean time, one of his 
 officers. Colonel Schafgotch, made great progress in reducing 
 Silesia ; and while lUo and Goetz pushed on to Pomerania, 
 and captured Landsberg, the key of that country, Wallenstein 
 himself, with the main body of his army, marched up the 
 Neissa, took Gorlitz by storm, and forced Bautzen to sur- 
 render. 
 
 Terror now spread among the allies ; Saxony and Bran- 
 denburg saw their frontiers menaced by a powerful and in- 
 creasing army ; the Swedes beheld their retreat toward the 
 Baltic Hkely to be cut off, and their communication with their 
 resources on the point of being interrupted ; and there can be 
 no doubt that, had Wallenstein been permitted to follow out 
 his own plans, he would soon have forced the two electors to 
 separate themselves from the Swedes, and placed the emperor 
 in a position to dictate what terms of peace he pleased to Ox- 
 enstiern. 
 
 All this time, howeV«er, the enemies of Wallenstein were 
 busy at the imperial court, representing him as a traitor, who 
 was only waiting his opportunity to dismember the empire, if 
 not to dethrone the emperor. Every failing in his character, 
 every error he committed, every rash word he spoke, was 
 
WALLEN8TEIN. 345 
 
 woven together with a thousand threads of falsehood, into one 
 web of calumny and accusation, in which it is now impossi- 
 ble, perhaps, to separate the truth from the lies. 
 
 Wallenstein was not permitted to follow out his best de- 
 signs against the enemy. The fears of the emperor and the 
 Duke of Bavaria checked him in full career. The Swedes 
 were making immense progress in the south, and Ratisbon 
 itself fell betbre the arms of Bernard of Weimar on the 24th 
 of October. Nothing seemed left to impede the march of the 
 Swedish army along the Danube to Vienna. Maximilian, 
 considered once so great a general, was cowed and panic- 
 struck ; the emperor had no one to rely upon but Wallen- 
 stein ; and messengers were sent off to him, entreating, per- 
 suading, and commanding him to march at once, without an 
 instant's delay, to the defense of the Austrian territories. 
 They reached him just as he was hovering like an eagle over 
 Dresden, ready to stoop upon the Saxon capital ; and, with 
 mortification and anger, he obeyed the order. 
 
 Leaving a large body of his troops behind to secure his 
 conquests, he marched through Bohemia toward the Upper 
 Palatinate. At Pilsen he held a conference with the famous 
 Austrian minister, Trautmansdorfl'; and the report of their 
 interview must not be passed over, as the words and conduct 
 of Wallenstein, related by one who waa in no way friendly 
 to him, are totally at variance with the charges afterward 
 brought against him. TrautmansdorfT tells the emperor, in 
 his letters, that he found the Duke of Friedland in the high- 
 est possible state of anger and irritation, complaining bitterly 
 of the calumny of his enemies at the court of Vienna, and of 
 the conduct of the emperor himself, who, contrary to the 
 stipulations which he, Wallenstein, had made on assuming 
 the command of the army, had sent private orders to Gen- 
 erals Strotzzi and Altringer without his concurrence. On 
 account of this interference, Wallenstein expressed his de- 
 termination to resign. This might have been a mere threat ; 
 but at the same time he coupled it with serious advice, which 
 was totally incompatible with the designs attributed to him. 
 He urged the emperor to conclude a peace as speedily as pos- 
 sible, declaring that every thing would be lost if such a course 
 was not pursued ; and he represented to the monarch that 
 ten battles gained by the Austrian troops would be produc- 
 tive of very small results, as the Swedes, supported by all the 
 external and internal enemies of the house of Austria, would 
 never want resources by which their losses might be retrieved, 
 
 P 2 
 
846 t)AHK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 while the loss of a single battle on the emperor's part would 
 put his crown in peril. ^ 
 
 As if to give an opportunity of ascertaining whether the 
 emperor would follow Wallenstein's advice or not, fresh pro- 
 posals of peace were brought by Duke Francis Albert of 
 Lauenburg, before the conferences of Pilsen terminated ; and, 
 strange to say, the emperor and his minister seem to have 
 been perfectly willing to trust the negotiation entirely to the 
 Duke of Friedland. Wallenstisin, however, refused to under- 
 take the whole responsibility of a task in which he probably 
 knew that he should be frustrated by the intrigues of the 
 court of Vienna ; and he merely besought the emperor to con- 
 sult him upon the principal points proposed. It is further to 
 be remarked that, in the correspondence of this time, the em- 
 peror speaks of him in the highest terms, and denies having 
 listened to any reports • against him. The falsehood of this 
 denial is now hardly doubtful. 
 
 After the conferences with Trautmansdorfi] Wallenstein, 
 having previously sent Strotzzi with a considerable force to 
 aid the Elector of Bavaria, marched with the rest of his army 
 to Furth, investing the town of Cham by the way, evidently 
 with the intention of drawing Bernard of Weimar away from 
 the banks of the Danube. In this object he succeeded, for 
 Bernard immediately hastened to give him battle. But with 
 divided forces, too late in the year to recover Ratisbon, and 
 with a Saxon army threatening the frontiers of Bohemia, 
 Wallenstein did not choose to risk an engagement with the 
 victorious Swedes, and, retreating skillfully into Bohemia, pre- 
 pared to place his troops in winter-quarters, within tha em- 
 peror's hereditary dominions. 
 
 This step, it would appear, gave offense to Ferdinand ; and 
 for the first time we find him speakuig of Wallenstein in a 
 jealous and irritable tone. He required the troops to be 
 quartered beyond the frontiers ; and, if that could not be 
 dona, the distribution of the army was to be submitted to the 
 emperor, in order that he might make his own arrangements 
 for the reception of the troops with the governors of the prov- 
 inces. Count Questenberg was the bearer of the emperor's 
 will to the Duke of Friedland, who, anxious to get rid of the 
 responsibility of refusing to obey impracticable commands, re- 
 ferred the imperial suggestions to a council of war, which re- 
 jected them with open contempt, declaring they must have 
 been drawn up by persons utterly ignorant of military mat- 
 ters. The officers composmg the council added to this scorn- 
 
WALLBNSTEIN. 347 
 
 ful reply loud and significant imirmurs at their treatment by 
 the imperial court, complaining that their pay was withhela, 
 that even the money they had advanced for the levy of troops 
 had never been repaid, and that there seemed no hope of their 
 obtaining satisfaction. 
 
 All these murmurs were set down to the charge of Wal- 
 lenstein. Insinuations, rumors, accusations were repeated 
 from mouth to mouth at Vienna ; and the emperor, accus- 
 tomed to break all his own engagements, could not believe 
 that any one would be more faithful. He had formally agreed 
 not to meddle in any way with the command of the army ; 
 but yet at this very time he sent orders to an officer of the 
 name of De Suys to lead the forces under his command to 
 aid the Elector of Bavaria ; and a very angry correspondence 
 ensued, the emperor insisting and Wallenstein opposing his 
 will. The emperor even threatened in language not to be 
 misunderstood ; but the Duke of Friedland still represented 
 the danger of weakening the force at his command. 
 
 Suddenly a great change takes place in the tone of the 
 emperor's letters. He resumes the appearance of confidence 
 and friendship ; and even in the month of January, 1 634, 
 writes in a familiar and kindly manner. At this very time, 
 Ferdinand had taken measures for removing Wallenstein from 
 command, and was in secret communication with the superior 
 officers of the army for the purpose of securing their co-op- 
 eration in whatever course he thought fit to pursue. 
 
 The intrigues which were taking place could not be alto- 
 gether concealed from Wallenstein. He had friends in Vien- 
 na, and many in the camp were sincerely attached to him. 
 He saw that his ruin was determined, and he easily under- 
 stood that the fears of a weak monarch might lead to greater 
 severities than the mere depriving him of com.mand. To 
 Trautmansdorff he had announced his determination of re- 
 tiring altogether from the emperor's service unless peace were 
 speedily concluded, and of seeking a refuge at Dantzic, with 
 a very few friends, to wait for the fulfillment of his prophe- 
 cies. He now, it would appear, determined to forestall the 
 designs of his enemies by immediate resignation ; and gather- 
 ing a number of his officers together in Pilsen, he informed 
 them of his resolution. 
 
 Many authors, having at their head the famous name of 
 Schiller, have here commenced a long detail of treasonable 
 practices carried on by Wallenstein in the imperial army, few 
 of them giving any authorities for the statements which they 
 
348 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 make, and even those few resting their assertions on the most 
 frail and most suspicious foundations ; letters written, and re- 
 ports made to the court of Vienna by the known enemies of 
 Wallenstein, by Italian mercenaries whom he had either pun- 
 ished or offended, and by persons who had more or less a di- 
 rect share in his assassination. 
 
 It is painful to be obliged to say that, among all these, so 
 great a man as Schiller has shown the very least knowledge 
 of historical criticism. His account of Wallenstein's death, in 
 his history, deserves tlie name of a fiction fully as much as the 
 representation of the same event in his play ; and for a mul- 
 titude of statements which he makes there can be brought 
 forward not the slightest evidence whatever. All the story 
 of Wallensteinls transactions with Illo and Piccolomini are 
 based upon materials which can never serve for the foundation 
 of true history ; and though the details of many parts of this 
 sad tragedy are enveloped in mystery, from which it is in vain 
 to hope they will ever be extracted, I must say that Schiller 
 has only rendered the darkness more profound by bringing 
 across it the evanescent flash of his own imagination. Fors- 
 ter has thrown more light upon the scene than any one ; but 
 even he has left the conduct of the principal characters still 
 very doubtful. History, indeed, is but a mist, tlirough which 
 some grand forms are seen, and over which some mountain 
 tops appear. 
 
 We only discover at this point that the conduct of the em- 
 peror was base, pusillanimous, treacherous, and faithless. We 
 know that he did all the things with which he afterward 
 charged the memory of his victirr. : that he concealed his de- 
 signs, that ho affected friend^ip '^hen he meditated murder, 
 that he intrigued with the officerc of Wallenstein's array, that 
 he falsified truth, and successfully enacted the hypocrite. 
 
 Wallensteinr in the mean while, stands a grand shadowy 
 specter, the outlines of which wo can but indistinctly perceive, 
 though we see a vast and majestic form before us. The thick 
 mists with which passion and prejudice have enveloped it are 
 rendered the more obscure aad impenetrable by the gloomy 
 reserve of the man himself, as a black mountain is less easily 
 seen on a dark night than a chalky cliff". What were his de- 
 signs we know not. To what point of treason lie had been 
 goaded on, either by his own ambition or by the ingratitude 
 and baseness of the court of Vienna, it is impossible to say ; 
 but this much is clear, that, till his retreat from Furth into 
 Bohemia, not one proved act of Wallenstein gives any reason 
 
W A L L E N S T B I N. 349 
 
 to suppose that he was engag:ed in treason. The charge rests 
 eolcly upon the assertions oi" the basest, subtilest, and most 
 interested persons, while many of the great general's acts are 
 perfectly incompatible with the ambitious designs ascribed to 
 him. Had he meditated usurping the crown of Bohemia, he 
 never would have treated the proposals of France with con- 
 temptuous silence. Had he thought of dethroning the em- 
 peror, and driving the Austrian family out of Germany by the 
 arms of Sweden, France, and Saxony, he would never have 
 urgently and perseveringly counseled the immediate conclu- 
 sion of peace. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WALLENSTEIN. 
 
 Are these men met for a merry-making, with their gay and 
 glittering accouterments, their plumes waving, their scarfs 
 fluttering, their embroidery glittering in the light ? Yes, they 
 have assembled in the house of Field-marshal Illo for a grand 
 banquet, and forty-two of the most renowned officers of the 
 Austrian army are there. There are, indeed, only three su- 
 perior officers absent : Altringer, and Colleredo, and Gallasso, 
 or Gallas, as he is called, two Italians and a German. They 
 are all met to hold one of the wild revels of the time, on their 
 temporary reunion in Pilsen. But why are there gloomy faces 
 and frowning brows among them ? Their aspect is not that 
 of revelers. They look like angry and disappointed men. 
 But let us hearken to their words. 
 
 " We must not let him resign the command," said one ; 
 *• if he do, the army and we are lost. What can a king of 
 Hungary do against Weimar or Horn ?" 
 
 " What is to become of our pay ?" added another ; " neither 
 my men nor myself have touched a florin these nine months." 
 
 " Except what you squeezed out of the Frankfort citizens," 
 replied another. " But where are we to look for the repay- 
 ment of all our advances ? The emperor owes me, tor money 
 spent in raising my regiment, fifteen thousand crowns." 
 
 " It was upon the duke's assurances I spent my last penny 
 in the emperor's service," said a fourth, " and he must needs 
 see me paid." 
 
850 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 " How can Ke see you paid without an army at his back ?" 
 demanded Illo ; " (he moment he retires from command, he 
 is as powerless with the imperial court as a sick sheep." 
 
 " He will do what he can for every man, be you all sure 
 of that," said Terzsky ; " no one ever gave his money so freely 
 among the soldiers. What I fear is that he will have nothing 
 left to give, and no power to obtain any thing from the em- 
 peror. I know that he • has drained his duchies of the last 
 crown." 
 
 " Why, the emperor owes him twenty millions of florins," 
 rejoined Illo ; *' and it is an easy way, of cancehng the debt 
 to accept his resignation. No, no, my friends, we must not 
 let him resign." 
 
 " But how can we prevent him ?" asked another ; " he told 
 us positively that he would command no longer." 
 
 " That is because he has wearied Vienna in vain with im- 
 portunities for our pay," said another ; " and because he thinks 
 that diplomatic fools have it all their own way with the court, 
 and will do what they like with us, and liimself, and the 
 army. . We must take the same way that the Swedes have 
 taken with good old Oxenstiern, enter into a league among 
 ourselves to do ourselves right, and him too." 
 
 " Nothing rash," said Illo : " if we can keep the duke at 
 our head, we are safe. All he can desire is to be made sure 
 that we will support him. Let us give him the assurance 
 under our own hands then. Look here, I have drawn out a 
 paper which we can all sign ; for it is prudent, though it is 
 firm. There is no treason, no mutiny in that. With this for 
 his security, Friedland can boldly oppose every effort to do us 
 wrong, and make every effort to do us right." 
 
 " Great wrong they wanted to do me," said another officer, 
 •• when they ordered my corps to be quartered at Glogau. 
 Why, after fighting all the summer and all the autumn, I 
 should have had to fight all the winter for my quarters, if the 
 duke had not resisted." 
 
 " Ay, we owe him every thing," answered a new speaker, 
 " and I'll shed the last drop of my blood for him." 
 
 In the mean time the paper was handed round, passing 
 from one to another, till all had read it. No one made any 
 objection, although Piccolomini looked somewhat askance at 
 the pledge, and asked, in a whisper, of an officer near him, 
 
 " What do you think, Brenner ?" 
 
 " I think that without it we are all lost, and the duke too," 
 replied the officer to whom he spoke. 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 851 
 
 " The emperor is a good and gracious master, nevertheless," 
 said Piccolomini, in the same tone. 
 
 " Doubtless," answered Brenner ; " but he has bad men 
 about him ; and you see, we only bind ourselves to serve and 
 obey Friedland as long as he uses the army in the service and 
 for the good of the emperor." 
 
 While they spoke, the meal was served, and all sat down 
 to the rich and dainty fare provided. Wallenstein was not 
 present. Noise he could not bear, and revelry he hated ; and 
 there soon were noise and revelry enough. Rapidly went round 
 the wine, and deep drank the guests. Laughter, and jest, 
 and song, and shouts of applause shook the whole house, and 
 reached even the ears of persons in the houses opposite. The 
 lowest soldiers in the camp, the merest party of plundering 
 cuirassiers who had suddenly fallen upon some unexpected 
 booty, could not have rioted more rudely than the great men 
 there present, the counts, the barons, the generals. Picco- 
 lomini himself drank as deeply as the rest, and, growing wild 
 with wine and excitement, drew his sword and shouted for a 
 bowl of wine to the emperor's health. Every one drank the 
 toast without hesitation ; but when the paper was again men- 
 tioned and produced, every one also signed the promise to hold 
 by Wallenstein to the last drop of their blood, as long as he 
 should continue to command the army in the sei-vice and for 
 the good of the emperor.* 
 
 Even Piccolomini himself put his hand to the paper ; but 
 shortly after, two gentlemen entered the room, whispered a 
 few words to him, and drew him immediately away from the 
 revel. He looked back with longing eyes at the circling wine ; 
 but he had still some sense left, and suffered himself to be led 
 to a house opposite, where lodged two emissaries of the impe- 
 rial court. 
 
 But where was Wallenstein all this time ? Seated in a 
 lonely room, far from the scene of revel, with sentries stationed 
 round, to prevent any noise reaching his ear and disturbing 
 his thoughts. The table before him was covered vidth many 
 
 * The court of Vienna aTterward publicly stated that this loyal clause, 
 though undoubtedly read in the paper submitted before the banquet, 
 was omitted altogether in that which was brought forward for signa- 
 ture afterward, and that the half-drunken guests did not perceive the 
 fraud. The falsehood of this assertion is evident. Many of the officers 
 present were tried for this transaction, and not one of them made the 
 pretended fraud a ground of defense, or even an excuse for their con- 
 duct. They all contended that the document they signed was per- 
 fectly lo3faL 
 
352 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 papers, reports of quarter-masters and adjutants, plans of for- 
 tifications, maps of different countries, and innumerable let- 
 ters. That on which his eyes were fixed, however, was a 
 sketch of conditions proposed for the conclusion of a general 
 peace ; and leaning his head upon his hand, he examined 
 every clause, and thought over it deeply. 
 
 " No, no," he said, at last ; " that will not do. The em- 
 peror does not see that it would give the Saxons an entrance 
 into Bohemia when they pleased, and make them all-power- 
 ful in the empire ;" and, taking a pen, he wrote something in 
 the margin, in a small and feeble hand, very different from 
 the bold and decided style of writing which he had used some 
 twenty years before. He then went on with the other 
 clauses, commenting upon many of them, then sent for a mes- 
 senger, and, sealing up the packet, dispatched it to Vienna. 
 After that, he turned to matters connected with the quarter- 
 ing of his forces, and then wrote some letters to agents on his 
 vast estates, pressing them earnestly to raise money by any 
 means, to enable him to give part of the arrears of pay to the 
 troops. 
 
 For several days after these events, messengers were con- 
 stantly on the road, passing to and fro between Pilsen and 
 Vienna, and between Vienna and Prague. The imperial 
 cabinet was agitated by consultations, conferences, and nego- 
 tiations. A thousand rumors, arising no one could tell how, 
 of great deeds being on the point of execution spread abroad ; 
 and the demeanor of the emperor, agitated, troubled, often at 
 his prayers with more than even his usual devotion, gave 
 countenance to the sinister rumors that were current. The 
 Spanish and Bavarian ministers were very busy, and more 
 than one Italian officer was frequently closeted with the em- 
 peror. 
 
 Sounds reached Wallenstein that gave him some alarm, 
 M'hich even the friendly and confidential letters of the emperor 
 could not altogether remove. On the 13th of February, Fer- 
 dinand wrote to his general, expressing the utmost confidence 
 in him, and trusting the safety of the kingdom of Bohemia to 
 his care. Wallenstein had already been pronounced an out- 
 law, and officers had been appointed to deprive him of his 
 command. The sentence was kept secret, as far as it could 
 be ; but some rumor must have reached Wallenstein's ears ; 
 for, a week after, he dispatched Brenner and Mohrwald to 
 express to the emperor his readiness not only to resign his 
 command, but to appear, at any appointed time or place, to 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 35S 
 
 answer all charges which could be brought against him. 
 Neither messenger reached his destination. Both were ar- 
 rested on the way by Piccolomini and Diodati. 
 
 On the evening, and during the night of the 21st of Feb- 
 ruary, intelligence was brought to Wallenstein that a procla- 
 mation of outlawry against him had been posted up in the 
 streets of Prague ; that Piccolomini and Diodati were march- 
 ing upon Pilsen with the troops under their command ; and 
 that an Italian regiment, to whom he had sent some orders 
 during the day before, had refused to obey, declaring that he 
 was no longer their general. He could doubt no longer. He 
 saw that his ruin was determined, and he resolved to fly and 
 seek refuge with the Swedes. 
 
 Notwithstanding every warning he had received of the 
 machinations of his enemies, notwithstanding all the vast and 
 ambitious designs attributed to him, no preparation had been 
 made for the defense of Pilsen, no troops collected even to 
 guard his person. AX this time, Francis Albert, duke of 
 Lauenburg, was in the town, still charged with a negotiation 
 for peace between Saxony, Sweden, and the empire. Him 
 Wallenstein instantly dispatched to Bernard of Weimar, who 
 was then at Ratisbon, to beg assistance from a generous en- 
 emy. 
 
 Instead of being in league with the Swedes, as has been 
 asserted, Wallenstein was looked upon by them so complete- 
 ly as their enemy, that Bernard refused at first to move a 
 single regiment to protect him ; and, until he heard that the 
 Duke of Friedland had actually quitted Pilsen, he took no 
 one step in his favor. 
 
 In the mean time, however, the unhappy Duke of Fried- 
 land began his march for Egra on the 22d of February, 1634, 
 early in the morning. Ill, desponding, and indignant, with 
 but a handful of troops to accompany him of all the magnifi- 
 cent army he had lately commanded, he journeyed forward in 
 a sort of horse-litter, surrounded by those on whom he thought 
 he could most fidly rely. His friends, Field-marshal lUo, 
 Counts Terzsky and William Kinsky, and an officer named 
 Neumann, bore him company, with the wives of some of them. 
 Colonel Butler, an Irish Roman Catholic officer, commanded 
 two hundred dragoons, who formed part of the escort, and 
 seven companies of infantry made up the rest. In Butler, 
 Wallenstein had the greatest confidence. He had favored 
 him on many occasions ; and he little knew that now, even 
 on the march, Butler was corresponding with Piccolomini, re- 
 
354 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 oeiving his instructionB, and promising to thwart the designs 
 oi"the rebels." 
 
 Wallenstein's first day's march ended at Miess. The sec- 
 ond evening brought him to Egra, the commandant of which 
 fortress was a Scottish Calvinist of the name of Gordon, Heu- 
 tenant colonel of Count Terzsky's regiment : the major of the 
 same regiment was another Scotchman, of the name of Les- 
 lie ; and neither of them had yet heard of Wallenstein's dis- 
 grace with the court of Vienna. They received him, then, 
 with the highest honors ; and Wallenstein, entering the towu, 
 took up his abode at the house of the mayor, which fronted 
 the public market-place. 
 
 Egra was the last fortress on the Bohemian frontier ; and 
 Wallenstein now thought himself in security. Nevertheless, 
 he frankly communicated to Gordon and Leslie the situation 
 in which he was placed, and the cause of his flight from Pil- 
 sen, telling them they might follow him into his exile or not, 
 as they thought fit. They both promised at once to adhere 
 to him ; and Wallenstein slept in peace that night at Egra. 
 
 During the night, however, Butler called Gordon and Les- 
 lie to a conference, showed them a secret order from Picco- 
 lomini, the exact directions contained in which will probably 
 never be known, and the emperor's proclamation against 
 Wallenstein. The determination of the two Scotch officers 
 was instantly changed. In their secret conference, the speedy 
 death of Wallenstein was resolved. Seven others, five Irish- 
 men and two Spaniards, were brought into the plot ; and 
 they all took an oath, over their draAvn swords, to murder 
 their general. He was not to be the only victim, however. 
 Gordon had invited Illo, Terzsky, William Kinsky, and Neu- 
 mann to sup with him, in the citadel, on the following even- 
 ing ; and, as their faithful attachment to Wallenstein was 
 likely to throw impediments in the way of the assassins, it 
 was determined that they should be the first victims. 
 
 The day passed over in perfect tranquillity. Wallenstein, 
 feeling safe in Egra, had determined to wait there for intelli- 
 gence from the Swedes. His faithful friends, Terzsky and 
 Kinsky, with their wives, were lodged in a house opposite. 
 The soldiers of. the garrison seemed all strongly attached to 
 him, and he had no fear. 
 
 When the hour of supper arrived, the four guests proceeded 
 to the citadel, while Wallenstein, who kept himself apart 
 from all such meetings, remained tranquilly at home. As 
 soon as Illo, the two counts, and Neumann had entered the 
 
WALLENSTEIN. 85i 
 
 citadel, the gates were closed. Devereux, one of the Irish 
 conspirators, was placed in a small room next to the supper 
 hall with SIX dragoons, armed only with their swords, to pre- 
 vent noise. Geraldine, another, with twelve more dragoons, 
 was in another chamber close at hand. The rest of the con- 
 spirators were there as guests. Gordon and his companions 
 bore a gay and smiling aspect, received their destined victims 
 with every appearance of frank kindness, sat down to table 
 with them, eat, drank, and made merry. The supper ended 
 and the servants gone, Geraldine and his dragoons entered 
 the hall, while Devereux appeared at the other door. The 
 one cried, " Long live the house of Austria I" the other, 
 " Who are good imperialists ?" Butler, Gordon, and Leslie 
 drew their swords and attacked the unhappy guests. 
 
 Kinsky fell at once. lUo strove to reach his sword from 
 the wall behind him, but was stabbed in the back and slain.* 
 Neumann, terribly wounded, fell under the supper table ; but 
 Terzsky, whose sword was within reach, cast himself into a 
 corner of the hall, and defended himself to the last, calling 
 down vengeance on the traitors. Before he fell, he had killed 
 two of his assailants, mortally wounded a third, and disarmed 
 a fourth, but he was ft length overpowered and slain. Neu- 
 mann, in the confusion, contrived to escape to the court-yard, 
 but it was only to be cut down by the guard, as he did not 
 know the countersign. Leslie (or, as others declare, a servant 
 of Terzsky's) issued forth immediately after from the gates of 
 the citadel, taking his way toward the town. The guard, 
 not knowing him, fired two shots after him, which must have 
 created some alarm, though they did not take effect ; and 
 Leslie, returning to the castle, made the soldiers under arms 
 take an oath of fidelity to the emperor. 
 
 A new consultation was then held, and it would seem that 
 even the murderers of the brave men who had just fallen 
 hesitated to shed the blood of Wallenstein. Long habits of 
 reverence, and even of fear, made them doubt and tremble as 
 they approached the terrible deed. They consulted whether 
 it would not be better to take him alive and carry him as a 
 prisoner to Vienna ; and one even suggested that, though the 
 
 * Schiller's account is different. He says that Count William Kin- 
 sky and Count Terzsky were killed at once, and that it was lUo who, 
 placing himself' in a window, reproached Gordon with his treachery, 
 and killed several of his assailants before he was dispatched. I have 
 chosen, of course, the statements which seem to me best authentica- 
 ted ; but I think it light to point out to the reader that this teirible 
 transaction is very diflferently represented by different writers. 
 
356 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 deed might be very acceptable, the murderers might be pun- 
 ished. 
 
 The slaughter of four superior officers, however, seemed to 
 put long hesitation out of the question ; and Butler soon per- 
 suaded his companions that honors and rewards, not punish- 
 ments, would follow the death of a man equally feared and 
 hated by the imperial court. 
 
 It was resolved to conclude the tragedy. Yet so dreadful 
 was the name of Wallenstein, that the deed was not attempt- 
 ed without the utmost precaution. A hundred dragoons were 
 sent down to parole the streets of the town, to keep all quiet, 
 and especially to watch the house in which Wallenstein re- 
 posed. Nevertheless, some rumors of what had been passing 
 in the castle must have got abroad ; for about midnight the 
 Countesses Terzsky and Kinsky received intelligence of the 
 assassination of their husbands, and filled the air with their 
 shrieks. 
 
 Just about the same hour. Captain Devereux presented 
 himself with six halberdiers at the door of the mayor's house, 
 and demanded to speak with Wallenstein. The duke, after 
 a conference, it is said, upon what authority I know not, with 
 Seni the astrologer, had retired to beef! But it was so com- 
 mon for superior officers to visit him at unusual hours, that 
 his guard, which had not been increased in number, suffered 
 Devereux and his companions to pass. A page upon the 
 steps, indeed, was seized with alarm, and began to make a 
 noise ; but he was instantly run through the body with a 
 pike, and silenced by death. In the ante-room of Wallen- 
 stein's chamber, or just coming out of it, Devereux encountered 
 the valet who had aided his lord to undress, and who begged 
 him not to make a noise, as the duke was going to sleep. 
 
 "But this is the time for noise, friend," shouted Devereux; 
 and, finding the door locked within and without, he burst it 
 open with his foot. 
 
 The voices of women, shrieking for the death of their hus- 
 bands, had come across the square, and called Wallenstein 
 from his bed the moment before. He was standing at the 
 window, leaning with his hand upon the table, and about, ap- 
 parently, to ask the guard below what was the matter, when 
 Devereux burst into the room. Wallenstein turned instant- 
 ly toward him ; and the murderer exclaimed, " Art thou the 
 villain who seekest to bring the emperor's soldiers over to the 
 enemy, and wouldst take the crown from his head ? Now 
 must thou die." 
 
WALLEN8TEIN. 357 
 
 Even at tliis moment he paused, and hvisitated for an in- 
 stant, as if waiting for an answer, Wallenstein, however, 
 made him none. He now understood "the whole ; and bold, 
 proud, and firm to the last, he threw wide his arms and re- 
 ceived the point of Devereux's partisan in his breast. He ut- 
 tered not a word, but fell dead upon the ground, without cry 
 or groan. 
 
 Thus died the Duke of Friedland with the same proud 
 dignity which he had displayed through life. 
 
 A debt of twenty millions was canceled at a blow ; vast 
 estates were acquired by confiscation to the imperial crown ; 
 the emperor was delivered from the fear of the gi-eatest man 
 in his dominions, and from the bond^ige of gratitude to one 
 whom he could never sufficiently reward. It was natural 
 that those who ran down the deer should have a part of the 
 flesh, and all who took a share in the murder were magnifi- 
 cently rewarded. Butler found his bloody hand pressed in 
 that of the emperor. He received a regiment, was made a 
 count. The archbishop decorated him with a gold chain, 
 and confiscated estates supported his dignity. The same was 
 the case with Leslie. Gordon and Devereux were honored 
 and rewarded ; and large sums of money showed each of the 
 common soldiers engaged what a profitable thing it was to 
 murder in the emperor's service. 
 
 It was natural, too, to calunmiate the memory of the dead, 
 as well as to reward the actions of the living. The service- 
 able deed had left a stain behind it, which could not be wiped 
 away like the blood from the hands of the assassins. The 
 charges against Wallenstein and his . friends were pubfished 
 to the world. They were many, serious, and supported by 
 grave assertions. But they failed to convince historians, who 
 approached the subject with any degree of critical intelligence, 
 that Wallenstein ever entertained any serious design of uniting 
 with the enemies of the emperor, till he was driven in self- 
 defense to seek support against the maltreatment of the court 
 of Vienna. Whatever judgment men might form of his con- 
 duct and his character, whether they might think him guilty 
 or innocent, a faithful subject or a mutinous soldier, the dark 
 hypocrisy of the emperor, his scorn for all the forms of justice, 
 his black trafficking in the blood of his subjects, his ingrati- 
 tude, his meanness, his baseness, were displayed by every act 
 that preceded, accompanied, or followed the tragedy of Egra. 
 
358 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The country from Mount Taurus to the Arabian Desert 
 offered, during the latter years of the Republic of Rome, a 
 scene of inextricable confusion, upon which it is needless to 
 dwell. Multitudes of petfy kings and tyrants started up, 
 the limits of whose territories were continually changing ; and, 
 though frequently chastised by Roman generals, the hydra of 
 anarchy invariably renewed the heads that were smitten. 
 
 Though Rome was bold enough to call Asia a Roman 
 province, yet a multitude of states and territories were totally 
 independent, even between the Euphrates and the Mediter- 
 ranean. On the other side of the Euphrates, a wide extent 
 of country was occupied by the Parthians. Tigranes reigned 
 in Armenia ; Mithridates occupied Pontus ; and to the south 
 of Judsea lay Idumsea, filled with the wild children of the 
 desert. In Juda3a itself, after the death of Antiochus the 
 Great, many changes had taken place. Judas Maccabaeus 
 rose up for the deliverance of his people, and, receiving the 
 office of high-priest, made a treaty of league and amity with 
 the Romans. His brethren, Jonathan and Simon, continued 
 to defend Judaea against many enemies, till the latter was 
 treacherously killed, and was succeeded in the high-priesthood 
 by the famous John Hyrcanus, his third son. 
 
 Hyrcanus proved himself a mighty and a good ruler ; and, 
 though not always successful, still he did not fail, on the 
 whole, to extend the power of the Jewish people, subdued the 
 IdumaBans, imposed upon them the rites, and induced them 
 to submit to the law of the Jews. The Idumajans thus be- 
 came proselytes of justice in the eye of the Jewish law, and 
 were looked upon as forming part of the same people, though 
 not descended from any of the tribes of Israel. A portion of 
 the territory which they inhabited had formed part of the in- 
 heritance of Simeon and Judah, and Hyrcanus was therefore 
 justified in requiring them to submit to proselytism, or to 
 abandon the country. 
 
HEHOD THE GREAT. 359 
 
 Under Hyrcanus, the Jewish people were governed, ap- 
 parently, with great equity and justice. He endeavored, it 
 would appear, to purify the religion of the Jews from many 
 of the corruptions which had been introduced. He contented 
 himself with the high-priesthood and the powers which it 
 conferred, and was reputed to possess the gift of prophecy ; 
 but with him ended the theocratical form of government. 
 
 Aristobulus, the eldest son of John Hyrcanus, was an am- 
 bitious and wicked prince. He assumed the regal diadem, 
 and cast his mother, and two of his brethren into prison. His 
 mother he starved to death, and afterward caused his favor- 
 ite brother, Antigonus, to be assassinated. Sickness, however, 
 overtook him, and remorse increased disease, till death termin- 
 ated his career, after a reign of only one year. During that 
 short time, he and his brother Antigonus, whom he slew, had 
 added the greater part of Itursea to Judaea, compelling the 
 inhabitants to become proselytes. 
 
 The death of Aristobulus was followed by the troublous 
 reign of Alexander Janneus, his younger brother, who was 
 delivered from the prison into which Aristobulus had cast 
 him, by Salome, the wife of that prince. Often defeated, he 
 nevertheless rose again from his reverses, greatly increased the 
 territory of the Jews, and by treaty with Aretas, king of the 
 Arabians, induced him to withdraw his troops from Judaea, 
 and retire to Ccelosyria, a portion of which had fallen into his 
 possession a short time before. 
 
 Alexander's wife, Alexandra, obtained rule in the kingdom 
 at his death, after a reign of twenty-seven years, and govern- 
 ed with great power and little scruple during nine years ; but 
 the end of her days was troubled by the revolt of her sec* 
 ond son, Aristobulus, who sought to snatch the kingdom from 
 her hands and from those of his brother Hyrcanus. At her 
 death, Aristobulus succeeded in possessing himself of the 
 royal authority and the high-priesthood, torn from his brother 
 Hyrcanus, who agreed to leave him the dangerous elevation 
 to which he aspired, and to retire forever into a private sta- 
 tion. 
 
 It is at this period of the Jewish history that there first ap- 
 pears, in a prominent light, a man of courage and abilities, 
 whose family was destined to play a prominent part in some 
 of the great tragedies of the world. Antipas, or Antipater, 
 was an Idumsean by birth. By some he is asserted to have 
 been lineally descended from a Jewish family of distinction, 
 carried away in the Babylonish captivity ; but it would ap- 
 
3G0 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 pear that such was not really the case, and that he was mere- 
 ly an Idumaean proselyte of great wealth and talent. Before 
 the death of Alexander, he had married an Idumsean lady, 
 named Cypres, who bore him four sons, Phasael, Herod, Jo- 
 seph, and Pheroras, and one daughter, named Salome. He 
 had been greatly esteemed by Alexander and by his wife Al- , 
 exandra, and had held considerable offices in Idumaea under 
 their several reigns. In these offices he had cultivated the 
 friendship of the neighboring Arabs, and had entered into 
 strict alUance with their king, Aretas. 
 
 In the beginning of the reign of Aristobulus, however, An- 
 tipater was in Jerusalem, a sincere and ardent friend of Hyr- 
 canus. Doubtless he served his own ambition in serving that 
 prince ; but yet, during a long course of years, he showed 
 greater truth and sincerity in his friendship than was usually 
 met with in those corrupt and anarchical times. Indignant 
 at the usurpation of Aristobulus, and grieved at the inactivity 
 of Hyrcanus, Antipater labored to light some spark of ambi- 
 tion in the bosom of the latter. By dint of much persuasion, 
 he at length induced him to fly with him from Jerusalem by 
 night, to the court of Aretas, the neighboring king, and to 
 
 '^ beseech that monarch's aid in the recovery of his kingdom. 
 
 ^ Aretas was then residing at Petra ; and thither the two fugi- 
 tives directed their steps, having taken care to secure a favor- 
 able reception by previous negotiation. 
 
 After much entreaty, Aretas was prevailed upon to enter 
 Judaea at the head of fifty thousand men, for the purpose of 
 restoring Hyrcanus to his throne. He defeated Aristobulus in 
 battle, won a great part of his army from him, and besieged 
 him in Jerusalem. He was forced, however, to raise the 
 giege by the Roman Scaurus, who was bribed by Aristobu- 
 lus ; and the dispute between the two brothers was subse- 
 quently referred to Pompey the Great, when he visited Da- 
 
 \mascus. Antipater conducted the cause of Hyrcanus against 
 
 ' his brother Aristobulus, and performed the task with great 
 skill and judgment, winning the good will of Pompey, al- 
 though he could not obtain an immediate decision in favor of 
 Hyrcanus. 
 
 The imprudence of Aristobulus, however, produced the ef- 
 fect which Antipater desired and probably anticipated. His 
 preparations for resisting the Roman power soon reached the 
 ears of Pompey, who, in consequence, forced him to give up a 
 number of fortresses. He then retired to Jerusalem, and there 
 continued proceedings evidently tending toward hostilities with 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 361 
 
 Rome. But on the approach of Porapey he took fright, vis- 
 ited that great general in his tent, and offered to give his sol- 
 dier's admission into Jerusalem. The soldiers, whom he had 
 himself collected, however, refused to permit the execution of 
 his promise, and shut their gates against a detachment of the 
 Romans sent to take possession of Jerusalem. Thereupon 
 Pompey threw Aristobulus into prison, and obtained posses- 
 sion of the city itself by means of one of the factions into 
 which the Jews were divided. The Temple, indeed, forming 
 a strong citadel in itself, still held out, garrisoned by the sol- 
 diers of Aristobulus. That building, however, was taken by 
 assault, and the holy places profaned by the blood of the Jews 
 and the footsteps of the infidel. 
 
 After this victory Pompey acted with great moderation, ab- 
 stained from touching the vast treasures of the Temple, caus- 
 ed it to be cleansed and purified, and restored the high-priest- 
 hood to Hyrcanus. He rendered Judesa, however, tributary 
 to Rome, and carried away with hira as prisoners Aristobulus 
 and his family, consisting of two sons and two daughters. 
 The eldest of these sons, named Alexander, made his escape 
 by the way, and for many years carried on a desultory war- 
 wiih the Romans. Antigonus, the younger son, accompanied 
 his father to Rome, but afterward played an important part 
 ill the affairs of Judaea. Scaurus remained with two Roman 
 legions in the command of Coelosyria. In the struggles which 
 afterward succeeded between Alexander, the son of Aristobu- 
 lus, and the Pwomans, Antipater, faithful to Hyrcanus, gave 
 great assistance on all occasions to his allies, and contrived to 
 maintain the closest friendship both with Scaurus and Ga- 
 binius. The latter officer, after having gained great glory in 
 Judaea, was succeeded by Crassus, one of the most covetous of 
 the Roman leaders. His only act of note while in Judaea was 
 the pillaging of the Temple, before he set out upon his ill- 
 omened expedition against the Parthians. 
 
 The result of his iniquitous attempt to subdue a nation 
 which had given no offense to Rome is well known. He was 
 misled by his guides, and surrounded and defeated by the Par- 
 thians, who slew him without mercy during a conference, and 
 are said to have poured molten gold down his throat in con- 
 tempt for his insatiable greediness. Thirty thousand Pwoman 
 soldiers were lost in this disastrous expedition ; but Cassius 
 the quaestor contrived to effect his escape with a small body 
 of cavalry, and successfully defended the Syrian border against 
 the irruptions of the Parthians. 
 
 Q 
 
362 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Not long after, the civil war broke out between Pompey and 
 Csesar ; and the latter/setting free Aristobulus, sent him into 
 Syria with two legions to overthrow the party of Pompey in 
 Judaea. He was poisoned, however, very shortly after his ar- 
 rival ; and his son Alexander was also put to death, by Pom- 
 pey's order, at Antioch. His wife and daughters, with his 
 younger son Antigouus, found refuge with Ptolemy of Chalcis. 
 
 In the war between Pompey and Cajsar, Antipater dis- 
 played the utmost dexterity, avoiding the enmity of both ; 
 and after the success of the latter, and the death of his former 
 friend, he rendered great and important services to Caesar in 
 his expedition against Egypt. Mithridates of Pergamos, in 
 his march to join Julius in Egypt, had been stopped at As- 
 calon, by the opposition of the people of the country ; but he 
 was speedily joined by Antipater at the head of three thousand 
 armed Jews ; and his influence with both the people of Pal- 
 estine and the Arab princes in the neighborhood proved even 
 more serviceable to Mithridates than this re-enforcement. His 
 military skill and great courage were now displayed in- a re- 
 markable manner. Marching on along the sea-shore, Mith- 
 ridates advanced into Egypt without any further opposition, 
 till he reached the town of Pelusium, to secure which place 
 was an important object with Caesar. The town made a 
 vigorous defense ; but Antipater, with his Jewish and Syrian 
 troops, effected a breach in the walls, and, pouring into the city, 
 opened the way for the rest of the army. A large tract of 
 country, however, between Magdolum and Memphis, was oc- 
 cupied by a Jewish population, which showed the strongest 
 determination to prevent the junction of Mithridates and Cee- 
 ear. The diplomatic skill of the Idumaean was now called 
 into play ; and in a very short space of time he contrived to 
 bring over the whole of the emigrant Hebrews to the party 
 of Caesar. A battle succeeded between Mithridates and the 
 Egyptian troops ; and in it the wing commanded by Mithri- 
 dates himself was completely defeated, with the loss of eight 
 hundred men. Antipater, however, who commanded the left 
 wing of the army, not only defeated the body of troops opposed 
 to him, but, turning upon those who had proved victorious 
 over Mithridates, he routed them with great slaughter, and 
 took their camp. After a junction had been effected with 
 Caesar, he continued to distinguish himself greatly in the war, 
 and was highly honored and caressed by the mighty Roman. 
 
 It was in the midst of this glorious career that Antigonus, 
 the son of Aristobulus, thought fit to appeal to Caesar against 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 8M 
 
 one who had just rendered him such important services. He 
 charged Antipater with having caused Aristobulus to be poia,- 
 6ned and Alexander to be beheaded, and laid many grievous 
 complaints both against him and Hyrcanus for the misgovern- 
 ment of the Jewish people. But the Idumaean, who was pres- 
 ent, rose and defended himself with great eloquence. The 
 sentence of the Roman tribunal was in his favor ; and Csesar, 
 confirming Hyrcanus in the high-priesthood, left Antipater to 
 choose what principality he would receive as a reward for his 
 services. The Idumaean immediately fixed upon Judaoa ; and 
 he was named procurator, with leave to rebuild the walls of 
 Jerusalem, which had been cast down by Pompey. 
 
 The conquest of Egypt being complete, Caesar hastened to 
 reduce Pontus, Armenia, and Cappadocia, in which Pharna- 
 ces, the son of Mithridates the Great, was waging a vigorous 
 and successful war against Rome. Antipater accompanied 
 Julius, at all events, to the frontiers of Syria, and then re- 
 turning to Judaea, quieted some factions which had arisen in 
 Jerusalem, rebuilt the walls of the city, and assumed the mil- 
 itary government, leaving to Hyrcanus all the rights and priv- 
 ileges of the high-priesthood. Hyrcanus, however, was a sloth- 
 ful and indifferent man, and a mere machine in the hands of 
 Antipater. 
 
 In order to rule the country with greater facility, and witL 
 a view to the future aggrandizement of his family, Antipater 
 nominated his eldest son, Phasaelus, governor of Jerusalem 
 and the surrounding countrj'^, and bestowed upon his second 
 son, Herod, the fine district of Galilee. Both were very young 
 men, and both sought at this time, by an honorable rivalry, to 
 merit the love and respect of the people committed to their 
 charge. 
 
 Thus much it has seemed necessary to say of Antipater the 
 Idumsean and his family, in order that the reader may be 
 aware of the events which first raised Herod the Great from 
 a private station to that high power and authority, in the ex- 
 ercise of which he afterward gained a dark and terrible fame 
 in history. 
 
364 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 The Jewish Sanhedrim was sitting in all the picturesque 
 costume of the East ; and busily did they whisper with eager 
 faces one to the other, asking still each of his fellow, " Will 
 he come ?" 
 
 On the outside of the council chamher was a multitude of 
 people, under the shadow of the porticoes or of the great build- 
 ings, moved by all those factious passions, to which none have 
 been more terribly made slaves than the giant-minded race of 
 Israel. There were the clamor and the confusion of a thou- 
 sand tongues, all the wild, fierce gesticulation of the East, the 
 screaming, the groaning, the shouting, the chattering, which 
 may often be seen in an Oriental crowd on very small occa- 
 sions. 
 
 This, however, was no small occasion ; for Herod, the gov- 
 ernor of Galilee, notwithstanding his father's vast influence 
 and renown, had been called to take his trial before the great 
 council of the nation, for a violation of the Jewish law. The 
 case was one of life and death ; for the law had been un- 
 doubtedly violated ; and a bitter faction had risen up against 
 Antipater and his children, which was sure to strain the letter 
 of the statute to the utmost. 
 
 " No man could be put to death in Judaea without the 
 solemn sanction of the Sanhedrim," so said the law ; and Her- 
 od, the young governor of Galilee, had undoubtedly treated 
 this law with contempt. The people without argued sharply 
 with one another, as their passions or their interests led them, 
 and called for his death or justified his conduct, according to 
 their party and their prejudices. 
 
 " Why, what has he done ?" cried one. " He has only 
 performed an act of justice, and delivered the country under 
 his rule from oppression." 
 
 " He has slain Hezekias I he has slain Hezekias I" scream- 
 ed another ; " and whether Hezekias was bad or good, mat- 
 ters not^ for he had no right to put him to death without the 
 sanction of the Sanhedrim." 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 365 
 
 " But Hezekias was a robber," replied others, " himself a 
 notorious violator of the law. He had put to death many 
 without authority." 
 
 " Still he could not be justly condemned without the San- 
 hedrim," said another. " Whatever were his crimes, Herod 
 was not his judge, and ought to die according to the law." 
 
 Thus argued the crowd ; but the question within was still, 
 " Will he come ?" and many doubted it, and listened eagerly 
 for any sound in the city that might give note of Herod's ap- 
 proach. 
 
 At length there was a loud shout, distant and dull, but still 
 showing that something had greatly moved the people ; and 
 it was repeated nearer and more near, till the crowd from 
 without began to flow into the place of assembly, women, whose 
 husbands had perished with Hezekias, tearing their garments 
 and appealing for justice, and others with the prying eye of 
 curiosity, and others moved by faction and by prejudice. Still 
 there was a roar and a shout without, and many of the San- 
 hedrim turned pale. 
 
 One asked another, " Is he a man of terrible countenance'?" 
 for few were there who had seen Herod, and few even of 
 those remembered him. 
 
 A moment after, a band of armed men, several hundreds 
 in number, with breast-plate and helmet, and sword and spear, 
 came into the area, and thronged the ^pen space before the 
 tribunal. The eyes of the judges ran over the troop, seeking 
 for the mighty man who in a few short weeks had freed 
 Galilee from the great band of plunderers which had so long 
 oppressed it. But the soldiers parted on either side, and from 
 the midst approached, and stood before the Sanhedrim, a fair 
 and beautilul youth, unarmed, but clothed in a long purple 
 robe of the finest and most costly texture. He seemed hardly 
 to have reached manhood ;* but upon his broad and lofty 
 brow was the firm dignity of mental power and high courage. 
 There was no dread, there was no hesitation, although he 
 stood there to be judged for life or death. Calmly and firmly 
 he rolled his dark eye over the elders of the people ; and when 
 no one spoke, he said aloud, " You have summoned Herod. 
 Herod is here I" .. 
 
 Still the Sanhedrim sat voiceless. Dread and doubt seemed 
 to have taken possession of them all. They looked upon one 
 
 * The age of Herod at this period is uncertain. In one account he is 
 said to have been under sixteen ; but after dates, given in Josephus, 
 would lead us to believe that he was several years older. 
 
360 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 another ; but no one spoke. There was a profound silence * 
 The accusers were dumb ; the very cries of the mothers, whose 
 robber sous he had slain, were stilled; and he stood several 
 minutes before the council ere any one ventured to speak. 
 
 At length Simeon, the son of Shetaoh, called Semeas, rose. 
 He was an old man, righteous and fearless, who had seen 
 many a heavy day pass over Jerusalem, and knew the hearts 
 of the rulers well. He saw that Herod's boldness would ab- 
 solve him, and he was resolved to raise his voice against it. 
 
 "Hearken, you who are judges with me," he exclaimed. 
 " Neither I nor any of you, I suppose, have known such a case 
 as this, that one summoned to take his trial here ever stood 
 before us in such a manner. Every one who comes to be tried 
 by this council presents himself with submission, shows fear 
 and dread, strives to move us to compassion in a mourning 
 garment, and with hair disheveled ; but this great man Her- 
 od, called to answer a heavy accusation, and accused of mur- 
 der, stands here clothed in purple, with his armed men around 
 him. If we condemn him by our law, he may put us to death, 
 and himself escape it. Nevertheless, Herod himself I do not 
 so much complain of in this matter, for, of course, he is more 
 careful to preserve himself than the laws ; but I complain of 
 you and of your ruler, who have allowed him thus to act. 
 But take you notice that God is great, and this very man, 
 whom you are about ^o acquit and suffer to go free on account 
 of Hyrcanus, your high-priest, will one day punish both you 
 and him." 
 
 The speech had its efiect. A murmur ran through the 
 assembly ; and men said to one another, " Let us do justice 
 on this man Herod, be the result what it may." 
 
 Voices were about to be raised for judgment, if not for jus- 
 tice, for Herod had violated the Jewish law, by slaying men 
 taken in actual crime, without the decision of the Sanhedrim. 
 Such was his only offense ; but the Sanhedrim was tenacious 
 of its power ; and all the Jews were sticklers for the letter of 
 the law. But at this moment, when an adverse decision was 
 most likely to be given, the high-priest rose and adjourned the 
 further proceedings till the following day. 
 
 Herod retired to his house, and the high-priest to his 
 
 • The Jewish rulers seem to have been more struck by Herod's pre- 
 senting himself gorgeously appareled rather than in the weeds of hu- 
 miliatioD, than by the body of armed men who accompanied him. These 
 were not very numerous, sufficieutly so, indeed, to insure his personal 
 •afety, but not to endanger the government or the security of thie town. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 367 
 
 palace ; but when Hyrcanus was alone in his own chamber, 
 he took out of his scrinium a letter which had reached his 
 hands that morning, and read once more the words that it 
 contained. 
 
 " Know, O Hyrcanus," so ran the last lines of the letter, 
 " that if thou dost give way to the madness of this stiff necked 
 people in this thing, and they do evil unto Herod, the son of 
 Antipater, thy friend, I will bring an army upon Jerusalem, 
 and take the power out of thine hands, and severely punish 
 the people of thy city, even as it has deserved." 
 
 It was signed with the name of Sextus Caesar, president 
 of Syria ; and the warning was not lost upon Hyrcanus, whose 
 sense of gratitude was less strong than his sense of fear. Mes- 
 sengers from the ethnarch reached Herod that night beseech- 
 ing him, for the love of Hyrcanus, to quit the city, and not to 
 appear before the Sanhedrim again. 
 
 The youth smiled proudly, and murmured to himself, " If I 
 do, it shall be with an army." 
 
 Within an hour, he and his men of war mounted their 
 horses, and marched deliberately out of Jerusalem, taking the 
 way toward Damascus. 
 
 Tumult and confusion spread through the holy city ; the 
 council of seventy-one murmured loudly against Hyrcanus for 
 suffering Herod to escape. They were more bold in his ab- 
 sence than in his presence ; and they said, " What was in 
 this beardless boy that we should have feared him ?" but ere 
 many days were over, there came a rumor of war from the 
 north. Men said that Herod was created, by Sextus Csesar, 
 general of the Roman army of Coelosyria, and that his legions 
 were already in motion toward Jerusalem. Each man who 
 came from Galilee, or Batanaea, or Samaria, brought tidings 
 of moving armies and troops advancing to the south ; and still 
 the name of Herod was on every one's lips ; and fear filled 
 the hearts of the factious and the turbulent. Some talked of 
 resistance, and of raising armies too ; but when Herod was 
 heard of at Gamela, and his troops crossed the Jordan and 
 entered Samaria, and when Judaea itself was entered, and the 
 armed men reached Beroth and Gibeon, terror took possession 
 of all ; and men went and besought Antipater and Phasaclus 
 to take means for defending the city. The answer was, " Can 
 I fight against my own son whom ye have sought to oppress ?" 
 "Can I fight against my own brother, whom ye have wrong- 
 ed ?" 
 
 At the prayer of Hyrcanue, however, Antipater and his 
 
368* DARK SCEiNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 eldest son went forth to meet Herod, and to intercede for peace. 
 They found the young man, the general of a mighty army 
 ready to obey his lightest word, and eager for the pillage of 
 Jerusalem. They found him fierce and angry too, his look 
 proud and his spirit vehement. 
 
 " Think they," he asked, *' that they can deal with Herod 
 like a common malefactor, and summon him before their coun- 
 cil, and judge him to death for not obeying all the forms of 
 their law ? When their law was impotent against the mur- 
 derer and the robber, and the common pillager of the land, 
 with my own right hand I took him, with my own hand I 
 slew him, and put to death the companions of his crimes. 
 For this have I been disgraced in the sight of men, by stand- 
 ing as a criminal before their tribunal ; and verily I will wipe 
 away the stain, even though it be with their own blood." 
 
 But the voice of his father was powerful with him ; and 
 Antipater found means to pacify him, and made him see that, 
 having shown the people of Jerusalem his power, it was suf- 
 ficient to overawe them for the future. Herod was persuaded 
 that he would gain more glory by sparing the city than by 
 punishing the Jews ; and, having arrayed his troops within 
 sight of the walls, he turned back on his way, and left Jeru- 
 salem at peace. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 War and confusion spread throughout the Roman empire. 
 Ceesar was slain in the Capitol ; innumerable factions arose ; 
 and Syria became one scene of anarchy. Cassius took posses- 
 sion of the Asian province, and with ten legions exacted heavy 
 contributions from the people. 
 
 Faithful to the policy which he had always followed, An- 
 tipater, without taking any decided part in the wars between 
 the Roman factions, supported the power which was predom- 
 inant. His policy was successful. Cassius and Marcus both 
 beiriended the Idumajan family ; and once more Herod was 
 made general of the forces of CoBlosyria. We find a whisper 
 in history, that already Cassius had promised, if successful 
 
HEROD TUB C4REAT. 369 
 
 in the war with the triumvirs, to make Herod King of 
 JudsBa. 
 
 Bat a great loss was about to befall Herod. The only pow- 
 er which had acted as are straint upon his ambition was to be 
 taken away. Antipater was poisoned at a banquet by one 
 named Malichus ; and the cup was administered by the but- 
 ler of Hyrcanus himself 
 
 Herod was resolved upon revenge ; but there was much 
 difficulty in accomplishing it without provoking a civil war. 
 Malichus was protected by Hyrcanus ; the Jews, and even 
 the people of Galilee, believed they had been treated more 
 mildly by him than by Herod, in the levy of contributions to 
 the Romans ; and Malichus boldly denied all share in Antip- 
 ater's murder, and afleeted to mourn for him as a friend. 
 Herod was forced to dissemble ; and, pretending to believe the 
 declarations of his enemy, he determined to try his power be- 
 fore he used it. He boldly approached Jerusalem at the head 
 of a body of armed men. Admission was refused him by 
 Hyrcanus, at the instigation of Malichus ; but Herod treated 
 the commands he received with scorn, and entered the holy 
 city with his troops. He abstained from slaying Malichus in 
 Jerusalem, indeed ; but he laid a trap for him, and, inducing 
 him to proceed to Tyre, had hun slain upon the sea-shore as 
 he was approaching the city. 
 
 The power of Herod remained great and increasing. An- 
 tigonus, the son of Aristobulus, supported by a Roman army, 
 attempted to gain possession of Judsea ; but Herod defeated 
 and expelled him ; and Hyrcanus, with his own hand, put a 
 garland on his head as his best friend and protector. The al- 
 liance between them was confirmed by the espousals of Herod 
 and the beautiful Mariamne, daughter of Alexander, son of 
 Aristobulus. She. was also grand-daughter of Hyrcanus him- 
 self Herod had previously married an Idumaean lady named 
 Doris, by whom he was already the father of one son named 
 Antipater. 
 
 Notwithstanding the glory he had acquired, notwithstand- 
 ing the services he had really rendered the Jews, notwith- 
 standing the moderation which he had shown in many things, 
 and to attain to wliich, with his vehement and imperious dis- 
 position, must have cost him a great effort, Herod was still an 
 object of envy to many of the Jewish factions. The effects 
 of these evil passions were not long in displaying themselves. 
 
 After the death of Cassius and Brutus, while Octavius 
 CsDsar turned his steps toward Italy, Mark Antony took his 
 
 02 
 
370 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 way to Asia, and entered Bithynia, where he was met by 
 deputations from many of the Eastern nations, and among the 
 rest by a large party of Jews. Herod, however, was before 
 fhem in reaching Antony, who was in some degree bound to 
 the interests of his family, by hospitality received at the hands 
 of Antipater, when the triumvir accompanied Gabinius into 
 Syria several years before. Herod, however, did not trust to 
 the gratitude of a Roman. He knew that there was a passion 
 far more powerful, and that he did not fail to gratify. He 
 took large sums of gold with him, and Antony became his 
 friend. Hyrcanus was also there, ready to support the cause 
 of Herod ; and all was prepared to meet the envious accusa- 
 tions of the Jewish deputation, as soon as they sliould be pub- 
 licly preferred. 
 
 Antony, however, whose pleasure-loving temper was already 
 obtaining the mastery over his powerful mind, refused to hear 
 the Jews in Bithynia, and marched on slowly toward Antioch. 
 He took up his abode in the pleasant groves of Daphne, near 
 that city ; but his enjoyments were disturbed once more by 
 the application of the Jews, who sent a hundred of the prin- 
 cipal citizens to complain of Phasaelus and Herod, accusing 
 them of tyranny and injustice, and of depriving Hyrcanus of 
 all real power. Several of the Jewish orators were put for- 
 ward to plead against the two brothers ; but Antony's mind 
 was already prepossessed, and, turning to Hyrcanus, who was 
 present, he demanded of him who was best fitted to bear sway 
 in the land. Hyrcanus at once answered, Herod and his 
 brother ; and Antony, without further deliberation, bestowed 
 upon the two brothers the tetrarchy of all the Jewish terri- 
 tories, which he had already, by a decree from Ephesus, com- 
 manded the Roman governors established by Cassius in Syria 
 to restore fully and entirely to the Jews, in the same state 
 and to the same extent as they had been possessed by that 
 people before the commencement of the war between the re- 
 publicans and the triumvirate. 
 
 This decision astonished and irritated the anti-Herodian 
 faction. They broke out into loud and insolent murmurs 
 against a man round whose footstool was gathered a crowd of 
 suppliant kings and princes ; and Antony, who was only mild 
 when he was left to enjoy his luxury undisturbed, seized fifteen 
 of the embassadors, and drove away the rest with contumely. 
 The fifteen prisoners he ordered to be put to death ; but they 
 were spared at the intercession of Herod, whose young heart 
 had not yet been hardened by years of strife and suffering. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 371 
 
 If he hoped by moderation to -win the Jews to submission and 
 gratitude, he was much mistaken ; for a tumult of indignation 
 broke forth in Jerusalem, and when Antony paused for a short 
 time at Tyre, as he rushed on eagerly to the arms of Cleopa- 
 tra, a new deputation, consisting of a thousand of the Jews, 
 reached that city, in order to oppose, in a threatening manner, 
 the decree which he had pronounced. 
 
 They were met by Herod and Hyrcanus on the seashore, 
 and entreated to forbear from following a course which could 
 only bring ruin and destruction on themselves and their coun- 
 try. But argument and persuasion were equally in vain. 
 The host of embassadors became clamorous and vehement ; 
 and Antony, enraged, sent a party of soldiers to drive them 
 away from the city, slaying all on whom they could lay hands. 
 Many were killed, many were wounded, and the fifteen who 
 had been before made prisoners were now put to death. Still 
 the Jews continued in a state of tumult and confusion ; and 
 after Antony marched on into Egypt, Jerusalem and Judaea 
 were one scene of anarchy and bloodshed. 
 
 The moment of Herod's greatest danger was now approach- 
 ing. When Antony entered Asia, with eight legions and ten 
 thousand horse, it had been his intention to march against the 
 Parthians, the most dangerous enemies of the Syrian province. 
 The charms of Cleopatra, however, overcame all considera- 
 tions of ordinary prudence ; and his wise purpose was aban- 
 doned as soon as he had beheld her upon the banks of the 
 Cydnus. After his departure, and during the confusion that 
 ensued while he remained in Egypt, the danger which had 
 menaced Syria from the Parthians fell upon it. Pacorus, the 
 son of the Parthian king, entered the land at the head of a 
 large force, and speedily made himself master of a great part 
 of the country. Dividing his army into two bodies, he him- 
 self marched along the shores of the Mediterranean, while the 
 second division, under Barzapharnes, a celebrated general 
 among the Parthians, advanced through the midland parts 
 of Syria, both forces tending toward Judaea. The confusion 
 in the latter country was great, as I have shown ; and it was 
 increased by the re-appearance of Antigonus, the son of Aris- 
 tobulus, on the scene, supported by his connection, Ly^anias, 
 the son of Ptolemy, king of Chalcis, who had always espoused 
 the interests of his family. Antigonus raised his standard on 
 the side of Mount Carmel, in the immense woodland of the 
 mountain called Drumos. He was speedily joined by a large 
 body of insurgent Jews, and now negotiated with the Parthi- 
 
372 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 ans for their assistance, offering them the somewhat singulf 
 bribe of a large sum of money and fivd hundred women. Tb j 
 negotiation was conducted by Lysanias; and the Parthians 
 agreed to expel Hyrcanus, and restore the kingdom of Judaea 
 to Antigonus. - 
 
 Fortified by this treaty, the Jews of the party of Antigonus ' 
 hurried forward from Carmel to Jerusalem, gained an entrance 
 into the city, and besieged Hyrcanus in the palace. But Pha- 
 saelus and Herod both hastened to the assistance of their 
 friend ; a battle took place in the market-place ; the insur- 
 gents were defeated, and a large body of thern driven into the 
 Temple. 
 
 In this fortress they continued to hold out ; and Herod placed 
 a small body of men in the neighboring houses, to insure that 
 his enemies did not escape, while he endeavored to pacify the 
 city, and restore some degree of order. His efforts were vain, 
 however ; a number of the disaffected took arms, attacked the 
 houses in which his soldiers had been stationed, and burned 
 them, together with the men which they contained. Herod, 
 in revenge, fell upon his opponents, and slew a great number ; 
 and day after day, for several weeks, the streets of Jerusalem 
 flowed with human blood. The party of Phasaelus and Her- 
 od, however, gradually obtained an ascendency ; and Herod, 
 with his troops, garrisoned the palace and the buildings adja- 
 cent, while Phasaelus was master of the walls and principal 
 towers of the city. 
 
 Such was the state of things when the feast of Pentecost 
 arrived ; and a vast multitude of Jews from the country flocked 
 into Jerusalem. Many came to the feast armed ; and into 
 their hands the charge of the Temple was given, while a body 
 of the troops of Antigonus, which had possession of the suburb, 
 were attacked and defeated by Herod with great slaughter. 
 
 At this moment a small body of Parthians, whose treaty 
 with Antigonus, it would seem, had been kept secret, appeared 
 before Jerusalem, headed by the cup-bearer* of the Parthian 
 prince Pacorus. This officer, in secret concert with Antigo- 
 nus, offered to mediate between the contending parties in the 
 city, and requested admission for that purpose. His train con- 
 sisted only of five hundred horse ; and Hyrcanus, judging that 
 80 small a troop could not be dangerous, granted his request ; 
 but the wily Parthian did not propose to attain his object so 
 much by force as fraud. He wound himself into the confi- 
 
 * His name was also Pacorus, which has been the occasion of some 
 confusion in the history of these transactions. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT: 373 
 
 dence of Hyrcanus and Phasaelus, and persuaded them that 
 their only chance of obtaining peace and tranquilHty lay in 
 their accompanying him to negotiate with Barzapharnes, who 
 was now advancing toward Jerusalem. 
 
 Herod saw through the meditated treachery at once, and 
 eagerly besought his brother not to trust himself in the hands 
 of the barbarians, but rather to take arms with him, and ex- 
 pel them from the city, or put them to death. Phasaelus and 
 Hyrcanus, however, remained firm in their foolish confidence, 
 perhaps strengthened in their trust by the proposal of leaving 
 two hundred Parthians in the hands of Herod. 
 
 They accompanied the Parthian leader, then, with a con- 
 siderable train, among which, it would appear, were several 
 women. For a considerable distance on the way they were 
 treated with every kind of distinction ; and it was only when 
 they reached Galilee that they began to entertain doubts of 
 the good faith of their companions. The whole country was 
 in a state of insurrection and confusion ; attacks were made 
 upon them where they encamped for the night ; and at the 
 town of Ecdippon, a short distance beyond Ptolemais, they re- 
 ceived distinct information of the treaty between Antigonus 
 and the Parthians, with an intimation that the women in their 
 company were to form part of the five hundred slaves promised, 
 and that they themselves would have been seized long before, 
 had it not been the design of the Parthians to entrap Herod 
 also, by tidings of the good treatment which they received. 
 
 It would appear that Phasaelus could now have effected 
 his escape, and that one of his companions, named Ophellius, 
 who had been the first to discover the plot, earnestly entreat- 
 ed him to do so. The son of Antipater, however, nobly re- 
 fused to forsake Hyrcanus ; and going to the Parthian leader, 
 he boldly reproached him with his treachery, and offered, if 
 the Parthians would abandon the cause of Antigonus, to pay 
 them a much larger sum than that which had been promised. 
 The cup-bearer, however, declared and swore that the intelli- 
 gence which Phasaelus had received was false ; but the same 
 night he set out for the camp of his lord ; and no sooner was 
 he gone than both Phasaelus and Hyrcanus were seized by 
 the Parthian guard. They were immediately delivered by 
 the Parthians into the hands of Antigonus ; and the conduct 
 of each was in accordance with his character. 
 
 When brought into the presence of his nephew, Hyrcanus 
 fell upon his knees before him, abjectly beseeching mercy. 
 The brutal Antigonus, though he eould not resolve to put 
 
374 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 him to death, took means to prevent his ever exercising the 
 office of high-priest again, by tearing ofi" his ears with his own 
 teeth, for no mutilated man could hold the dignity. 
 
 Phasaelus was cast into prison in bonds ; but he showed no 
 fear and no depression, although he was well aware of the 
 merciless nature of his adversary. He had no sword to slay 
 himself, nor could he have used it had a weapon been left 
 him, for his hands were tightly bound ; but, resolved not to 
 endure the indignities which were hkely to be heaped upon 
 him, he deliberately dashed his head against the stone wall 
 of the dungeon ; and thus, at an early age, ended a life, in the 
 whole course of which we find no evil act recorded.* 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 The palace of the ethnarch was fortified and garrisoned 
 like a citadel. There were armed men in it sufficient for its 
 defense ; there was a fountain of clear water in the court- 
 yard ; there was abundance of provision. But Herod was 
 uneasy. Hour after hour he walked to and fro in that great 
 court, even in the heat of the day, while his men of war, with 
 their arms ready at hand, lay stretched under the porticoes 
 round. The tall, powerful form moved gracefully; every step 
 of those strong limbs was planted firmly ; but yet there was 
 anxious care upon his lofty brow ; and ever and anon he 
 muttered some indistinct words to himself Never did he 
 pass the gates of Jerusalem ; seldom did he even go out into 
 the city ; and when he did so, he was always accompanied by 
 at least a hundred chosen soldiers. He was surrounded on 
 every side by treachery and enmity ; and Herod was not a man 
 to be taken unprepared. 
 
 Ten days had passed since the departure of Hyrcanus and 
 
 * Some persons say that Phasaelus was not actually killed by the 
 blow, but that Antigonus sent a physician to him, on the pretense of 
 healing his wound, bat with orders to infuse poison into it," under the 
 influence of which Phasaelus expired. A poor woman, who was at- 
 tending upon him, according to this account, informed him, a few min- 
 utes before his death, that Herod had escaped from Jerusalem; upon 
 which ho «xclaimed, " Now I die content, for there is one left alive 
 who will avenge mo of mine enemies." ^ 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 375 
 
 Phasaelus ; and more than once letters had reached the hands 
 of Herod from Samaria and Galilee. The first told of honors 
 and kindness shown to his friends by the Parthians ; then 
 came others, telling of ambushes laid for the high-priest and 
 his companions during the night ; but yet the Parthians 
 were said to have befriended and defended them. Still Herod 
 doubted, and would not trust ; and oftentimes he repeated to 
 himself the name of his well-loved brother, and mournfully 
 shook his head. It was the tenth day ; and in the morning 
 some of the Parthian lords presented themselves to Herod, 
 and told him that there were messengers without the walls, 
 bearing letters from his brother Phasaelus of great import, 
 but that they dared not enter the town for fear of the party 
 of Antigonus. They besought Herod to go forth with them, 
 and meet these messengers ; but Herod replied, 
 
 " I will not go forth. The messengers must bring them to 
 me, if they would have me see them." 
 
 The Parthians urged and persuaded in vain. They repre- 
 sented that he had the prison-gate and the water-gate in his 
 own hands, and that he could be in no danger ; but still Herod 
 replied, " I will not go forth." 
 
 The Parthians departed murmuring ; and hardly had they 
 gone, when Alexandra, the widow of Alexander, Aristobulus's 
 son, came and joined Herod by the fountain. She was the 
 daughter of Hyrcanus, the mother of the young Mariamne, a 
 woman of great wisdom and prudence, who, among many ter- 
 rible events, had always walked wisely. 
 
 " Thou hast had Parthians with thee, my son," she said. 
 "I saw them come as I sat in the women's apartments. 
 What sought they from thee ?" 
 
 *' They would have me go forth," replied Herod, " to re- 
 ceive letters from my brother, from messengers beyond the 
 walls. They say the men are afraid to enter for fear of the 
 factions. I refused to go forth, for I know the guile of the 
 barbarians ; but now my heart smites me, lest my brother 
 should need aid, and I regret that I have not gone." 
 
 " Go not forth, my son, go not forth," replied Alexandra. 
 *' There is treachery in these men. All their looks are de- 
 ceitful ; all their words are fraud. Phasaelus is lost ; Hyr- 
 canus is lost ; if we lose thee, we have lost all." 
 
 Even while she spoke, a man was admitted- through the 
 gates of the great court, heavy and travel-worn, with torn 
 sandals and dusty garments. He made straight for Herod, 
 though Herod gazed at him as a stranger. 
 
87« DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 " Give me thine ear, oh Herod," he said, in a faint voice ; 
 and Herod withdrew with him to a little distance. " I bring 
 thee news from Ecdippon," said the man* " Thy brother 
 Phasaelus commends him to you, and says that the Parthians 
 ' are treacherous ; that they are leagued Avith Antigonus, who 
 has promised them a thousand talents and five hundred women 
 slaves if they will make him King of Judaea. They meditate 
 treachery against thee, and thy brother, and Hyrcanus ; and 
 even when I came away to Ptolemais, the report ran among 
 the people that Phasaelus and the high-priest were in bonds." 
 
 " Bringest thou no token ?" asked Herod. " Hast thou no 
 letter?" 
 
 " None," rephed the man. " I saw thy brother but for a 
 moment, for he was strictly watched of the Parthians ; and I 
 set off as soon as might be. I rod« till my horse died by the 
 way. The rest of the journey I made on foot ; but wait till 
 this time to-morrow, and thou shalt know that I have spoken 
 truly." 
 
 " Wait till to-morrow I" repeated Herod. " To-morrow 
 has its tasks as well as to-day. Come hither and speak with 
 Alexandra." 
 
 They conferred closely for many minutes, and then the man 
 was taken into the house and his wants cared for ; but there 
 was activity and bustle in the palace ; and the gates were 
 close shut, nor was any one allowed to go forth except a few, 
 especially sent by Herod, nor any to come in but men with 
 horses and some who brought chariots loaded with provisions 
 or with arras. The Parthians watched these tilings, and said 
 among themselves, 
 
 "Herod prepares against a siege. What shall we do? 
 Shall we raise the city against him, and encompass him in the 
 palace, and take him ?" 
 
 Some said that Herod was a man of great prudence and 
 great courage, and that it would be dangerous to assail him 
 in a house that was a fortress ; and some said that he was too 
 cunning ever to suffer himself to fall into their hands unawares ; 
 and some, that it would be better to set strong guards all round 
 the palace, and force him to surrender by hunger, for that, all 
 Syria being in the hands of the Parthians, and the Romans 
 in a distracted state, no help could come to him till the palacef 
 had fallen. -But their council lasted long without a decision, 
 and night fell before they had resolved what to do. 
 
 In the middle of the night, the great court of the palace 
 waa filled with people, and with horses, and with wagons. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 377 
 
 There were men in armor, veteran soldiers, who had served 
 in many a war, and there were horsemen Rightly armed, mer- 
 cenaries from different lands, but brave men and faithful, and 
 there were drivers for the chariots and the wagons, and a 
 mixed multitude, some with arms, and some without. In 
 darknesa and in silence came forth from the palace into the 
 court a long train of women and children, Cypres, the mother 
 of Herod, and Alexandra, Mariamne's mother, and Mariamne 
 herself, with many others of high and low degree. Some 
 carried infants in their arms ; some led their children by the 
 hand. All were pale and trembling ; and the only sounds 
 that were heard were those of the moving feet and of weep- 
 ing. Many of the women and the children were placed in the 
 wagons, and the rest, who were young and bold, were mounted 
 upon horses ; and then the voice of Herod was heard, asking; 
 
 " Have the soldiers from the ^ates and the walls drawn 
 down and hned the way from the palace, a§ they were or- 
 dered?" 
 
 "It is done, oh Herod," answered his chief officer ; " and 
 the city is all quiet in sleep." 
 
 " Then we will depart," answered Herod. 
 
 But the officer said, in a low voice, 
 
 " Thou hast not brought out the treasures. Thou wilt not 
 leave them for the Parthians ?" 
 
 " Fear not," answered the tetrarch. " My treasures were 
 all safe in Idumsea seven days ago ; and so are the treasures 
 of all the princes who go with me, for I foresaw what would 
 come, and provided against the evil day. There is no man 
 who goes with me who will not receive a hundred drachms 
 of silver, as soon as we pass the frontiers of Judaea. Herod 
 leaves not his treasures to the chances of war. Now mount, 
 and let us forward. Weep not, Alexandra, weep not, my 
 mother, for sorrow will but weaken you for flight ; and in 
 swift flight is our only safety. Be of good heart, and go for- 
 ward speedily with those who are given you to protect you, 
 while I and my soldiers follow close behind and stop the 
 enemy if he pursues you." 
 
 In darkness and silence the palace gates were opened, and 
 the sad procession moved out, taking its way toward the prison 
 gate of the city. Naught was to be seen but the tall houses 
 and blue twinkling sky above, and a long line of armed men 
 on either side. The gates were open ; and when the wagons 
 and light horsemen had passed, the soldiers who lined the 
 streets fell into their order and followed ; and then came Herod 
 
378 DARK SCENES OK HISTORY. 
 
 and his armed men, leaving the palace deserted. The feet of 
 the horses made no noise on the dusty road ; the clang of the 
 armor seemed to rouse no one in the city ; and onward they 
 went, down the side of the high hill, passing between the 
 tomb of Isaiah and the king's garden into the Valley of Je- 
 hoshaphat. They passed over the Brook Kedron, approaching 
 the Mount of OHves, and then turned away toward Idumeea, 
 urging their flight as fast as their numbers would permit. 
 
 For two hours all was still. There was no sound of pur- 
 suit, no appearance of their flight having been discovered ; and 
 when they had gone about eight miles, the day began to dawn 
 just as they reached the rocky country between E-ama and 
 Bethphage. It was then that a cry came from the rear, 
 " The enemy are in pursuit," and Herod gave eager orders to 
 hurry on the wagons, which were winding slowly on through 
 a narrow stony pass. The first wagon was that which con- 
 tained Cypres, the widow of Antipater, with some of her 
 grandchildren, and several Jewish women. The driver smote 
 the horses, and, starting on, they dragged the wagon over a 
 block of stone, breaking it by the shock, and casting it over on 
 its side. There rose up a loud scream ; and Herod, when he 
 looked to the south, saw his mother cast headlong on the 
 ground, and the broken wagon blocking up the way. When 
 he looked to the west, he saw the troops of Antigonus crown- 
 ing the hill, and the Parthian horsemen pouring down into 
 the valley. 
 
 For once Herod gave himself up to despair. There seemed 
 no way of escape ; and drawing his sword, he would have slain 
 himself on the spot, but a number of hands seized his arm, 
 and the voice of one of his friends exclaimed, 
 
 " What wouldst thou do ? Is it the act of a brave man to 
 geek refuge in death, and leave those who are dear to him in 
 calamity ? Stay with us, Herod, and lead us boldly to repel 
 the enemy." 
 
 The blood mounted into Herod's cheek ; and, with a look 
 of shame, he arrayed his men as best he might, raised his 
 mother from the ground, and placed her in another car ; or- 
 dered the broken wagon to be removed, and the flight of the 
 women and the helpless to be continued, while he turned to 
 encounter the Parthians and their allies. He met them in 
 full career, and drove them back with a terrible slaughter, 
 for he and his fought for life and all that was dear to them ; 
 and when he returned victorious, he found the wagons and the 
 light trooj>H already through the pass. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 379 
 
 But his dangers were not over. The Parthians hovered 
 round, the Jews followed close behind, every hour had its 
 skirmish, every mile was marked by bloodshed. The cities 
 and the villages, divided into the same factions which had 
 afflicted Jerusalem, rose in arms as he passed, and some came ' 
 "to give him aid, while others went to swell the ranks of his 
 enemies. But still in every fight Herod was victor. At 
 length, rallying in large numbers, the Jews attacked him be- 
 tween the mountains and the river, and forced him to a gen- 
 eral battle ; but he had now with him nine thousand men, 
 and, though they had many more, he defeated them utterly, 
 and forced them to fly in confusion. 
 
 This was their last great efibrt before he reached the front- 
 ier of Idumaea, where he was met at Thressa by his brother 
 Joseph, with a small body of horse. The strong-hold of Mas- 
 sada, Joseph told him, was prepared to receive him and his 
 troops, amply provided both with food and water, to with- 
 stand a long siege, if the garrison were not too large, and the 
 place itself was impregnable to any thing but famine. 
 
 Herod mused ; but his resolution was soon taken. Eight 
 hundred of his most faithful veterans he chose for the guard 
 of Massada ; and there he placed the women and the chil- 
 dren, together with every sort of stores and treasures. The 
 rest of the troops, except a small band which he kept with 
 himself, he dispersed through Idumsea, paying each man lib- 
 erally for his good services, and supplying him with means to 
 live in comfort till he called him again to his standard. 
 
 Then bidding farewell to his family, Herod, so lately the 
 leader of mighty hosts, with a train reduced to a few serv- 
 ants and soldiers, hurried away toward Petra to beg assist- 
 ance of the Arab king, on whom he himself and his family 
 had bestowed innumerable benefits, and to whose hands he 
 had intrusted no inconsiderable portion of his treasures. 
 
 Herod's first object was to redeem his brother Phasaelus 
 from the hands of the Parthians, for as yet he knew not of 
 his death ; but his hopes of assistance from Arabia were soon 
 blighted. When yet at some distance from Petra, he was met 
 by messengers from the king, commanding him to advance no 
 further, and alleging that the Parthians had enjoined him to 
 give no shelter or assistance to Herod. But the fugitive well 
 knew that it was fear lest he should demand his own, rather 
 than apprehension of the Parthians, that made the Arab king 
 forbid his approaxjh, and the chief men of the Arabs dread 
 his presence. With a bitter and indignant heart he turned 
 
y^ 
 
 380 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 away from the perfidious land, and took the road to Pelu- 
 eium to seek aid of Antony. But Antony was no longer in 
 Egypt. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 The Parthian invasion of Syria had roused Marcus Anto- 
 nius from the lethargy into which the charms of Cleopatra 
 had thrown him, and he was preparing to expel the har- 
 barians from one of the fairest portions of his allotted em- 
 pire, when news from Italy changed the destination of his 
 armament. 
 
 Long before Julius CaBsar took possession of the dictatorial 
 power, the very foundations of society had been shaken in the 
 Roman republic. Violence, wrong, lust, rapine, peculation, 
 and corruption pervaded the city and the field; and on the. 
 swords of the soldiery Julius was raised to authority, which 
 could only be retained by himself or his successors by concil- 
 iating the affections, by yielding to the impulses, and giving 
 way to the passions of the troops. 
 
 After the death of the dictator, and the unsuccessful strug- 
 gle of Brutus and Cassius to restore a republic which was 
 rotten at the heart and in all the members, three men of dif- 
 ferent characters and different powers parted the Roman em- 
 pire among them. The struggle of tho one, though neither 
 the weakest man nor the worst soldier of the three, ^milius 
 Lepidus, was to retain as much as his two comrades would 
 aUow. The desire of the second was to enjoy that which he 
 had obtained. The object of the third, Ceesar Octavius, was 
 to wrest from his fellows the whole power, and to obtain com- 
 plete possession of the Roman empire. Cautious but de- 
 termined, active though considerate, not cruel, but utterly re- 
 morseless, he had learned from Antony, in their first struggles 
 for power, the only sure method of obtaining it ; and no soon- 
 er was his great colleague lapped in the luxuries of Egypt 
 than he commenced a systematic course of tampering with 
 the legions, and showed his determination to found a new em- 
 pire upon the love of the soldiery. But Antony was much 
 loved in Italy. His military successes were not forgotten ; 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 381 
 
 his careless profusion was admired ; and hia friends in Italy, 
 while they sent him intelligence of the proceedings of the young 
 but crafty Octavius, spread among the troops an assurance 
 that Antony possessed both the means and the will of reward- 
 ing them even more largely than Cassar. 
 
 No sooner did Antony hear that Fulvia his wife, and Lu- 
 cius his brother, had fled to Praeneste, and that Perusia had 
 been taken and burned by Csesar, than all thought of the 
 Parthian war was abandoned for the time, and his efforts 
 were directed taward Italy. With two hundred ships and 
 a large army, he set sail from the shores of Egypt, visited 
 Athens, and shortly after appeared before the port of Brun- 
 disium, on the coast of Apulia. The town shut its gates 
 against him, and the siege was commenced. Caesar marched 
 to the relief of the town, and a conflict between the two ar- 
 mies was imminent. The soldiers of CaBsar's army, however, 
 had not forgotten their love for Antony, and the politic youth 
 found it necessary to negotiate. PoUio Maecenas and Nerva 
 brought about a reconciliation ; and Antony remained in Italy 
 to marry the gentle Octavia, Caesar's sister. 
 
 Such was the state of the Roman empire when Herod ar- 
 rived at Rhinocolura, and took up his abode for the night with 
 his followers in the great temple there, in order to give time 
 for a number of his attendants whom he had left behind to 
 join him. When they arrived, they brought him the sad in- 
 telligence of his brother's death ; and Herod, who, whatever 
 might be his faults, was full of strong affections, wept bitterly 
 for Phasaelus. From Rhinocolura to Pelusium, from Pelu- 
 sium to Alexandria, though not without diflliculties, he pur- 
 sued his way in safety. At Alexandria Cleopatra strove to 
 detain him, and offered him the command of her troops ; but 
 Herod had greater objects in view, and sailed away in search 
 of Antony. Driven by a storm to Rhodes, he there met with 
 friends and assistants, and, embarking in a larger ship, set 
 sail for Brundisium. 
 
 Before he reached that port, peace had been agreed upon 
 between Antony and Caesar, and the former had gone on to 
 Rome. Thither Herod followed him, and was received with 
 all the kindness he expected. He laid before the triumvir his 
 hapless fate ; he told him how his brother had been betrayed 
 and died, how he himself had been forced to fly from Jerusa- 
 lem, and how the Parthians had made Hyrcanus captive ; 
 he told him that Antigonus had made a treaty with the ene- 
 mies of Rome, had by their means obtained possession of Jeru- 
 
382 DARK SCEiNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 salem, and made himself King of Judaea, and that to obtain 
 their assistance he had promised them a thousand talents and 
 five hundred Jewish women chosen from the best families of 
 the nation. He informed. him, also, that all his nearest and 
 his dearest kindred were shut up in the fortress of Massadon, 
 in hourly danger from the enemy ; and he besought him to 
 give him speedy comfort in his distress. 
 
 Antony was much moved with the tale, remembering Her- 
 od's services and attachment ; nor was Caesar less willing to 
 show himself his friend, for he, as well as Antony, could not 
 but look upon Antigonus as a declared enemy of the Romans. 
 But short consultations were needed, for these two men had 
 the whole power of the state in their hands. 
 
 Herod, if restored to power, or invested with greater au- 
 thority than before, was likely, from his great abilities and 
 miconquerable courage, to be of vast service to the Romans 
 in the Parthian war, to carry on which Ventidius had been 
 already sent to Syria ; and the Senate having been convoked, 
 Herod was introduced, and two orators enlarged upon the 
 benefits which he had conferred upon Rome, represented An- 
 tigonus as an open enemy of the empire, and lauded the cour- 
 age and the prudence of the tetrarch. The merits of his fa- 
 ther, Antipater, were not forgotten ; and Antony gave point to 
 the insinuations of the orator by declaring that Herod should 
 be made the King of Judaea. Caesar took the same view ; 
 the Senate unanimously assented ; and the decree was regis- 
 tered in the Capitol.* Great honors were shown to Herod ; 
 when the Senate rose, he issued forth between Antony and 
 Caesar, and the same night he was feasted royally by Antony. 
 
 So rapidly were all these transactions conducted, that he is 
 said to have been only seven days in Italy. This statement 
 may possibly be correct ; but if so, the fact is a marvel, for 
 the journey from Brundisium to Rome is long, and the trans- 
 actions which he had to negotiate were important. Howbeit, 
 Herod set out on his return to Judaea as soon as possible, ac- 
 companied by several officers deputed by Mark Antony to es- 
 tablish him in the kingdom which the Romans had assigned 
 to him. Among the rest was the well-known and infamous 
 Delius, who was charged to give the new king every kind of 
 
 * JosephuB contradicts himself in this place, saying that Herod gave 
 Antony money to make him king, nnd, not many lines further on, as- 
 serting that he did not come Nvitn the hope or intention of obtaining 
 the kmgdom for himself, bat for the brother of his espoused wife, Ma- 
 riamne. » 
 
^:' 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 383 
 
 support, and to enjoin upon the Roman commanders in Syria 
 the duty of aiding him in arms, should it bo necessary. 
 
 Herod landed at Ptolemais ; but the intelligence he there 
 received might have daunted any man less bold. Massada 
 was besieged by the troops of Antigonus and his Parthian al- 
 lies. Ventidius, after having marched into Judaea, had retrod 
 his steps, on receiving bribes from Antigonus, and had left 
 Silo with a small body of troops behind him, rather for the 
 purpose of extracting further gifts from Antigonus than to 
 maintain the Roman power in the country. Silo, it was said, 
 had already been largely bribed, and was covertly in league 
 with Antigonus, so that a hostile army, two faithless allies, 
 and a distracted population were before him. 
 
 Nevertheless, Herod boldly set up his standard at Ptole- 
 mais ; and round the little force he had brought from Rome 
 he soon gathered together an army of mercenaries and volun- 
 teers, sufficient to enable him to commence the war. The 
 Galileans flocked to him in immense numbers, remembering 
 the happiness they had enjoyed under his sway ; and Delias, 
 by his exhortations, contrived to bring over both Ventidius 
 and Silo, nominally, if not heartily, to the party of Herod, 
 who soon took the field at the head of an imposing force. A 
 number of Roman legionaries strengthened his host ; and, 
 marching by the sea-side, he approached Jerusalem. 
 
 Joppa was the only town which seems to have offered re- 
 sistance ; and, notwithstanding the straits to which Massada 
 was reduced, Herod prudently resolved to leave no strong 
 place behind him in the hands of an enemy. Joppa was ac- 
 cordingly besieged and taken, and Herod then advanced by 
 rapid marches toward the Holy City. Silo then, who was at 
 the time either in Jerusalem or its neighborhood, retreated to 
 effect his junction with Herod, according to the orders he had 
 received ; but the Jews of the party of Antigonus followed 
 him in great numbers, harassed his rear, and most probably 
 would have destroyed his army, had not Herod, by a rapid 
 movement in advance, come to the assistance of the Romans, 
 and delivered Silo in his difficult and dangerous retreat. 
 
 The united forces then advanced to Massada, bringing suc- 
 cor to the garrison, which was by this time well-nigh ex- 
 hausted. For many months the place had been strictly block- 
 aded ; and although provisions were still plenty, water had 
 at one time entirely failed, from the excessive drought of the 
 summer. Every thing around was dried up, and even Joseph, 
 Herod's younger brother, who had been left in charge of the 
 
384 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 fortress, meditated flying from it with a choice troop of war- 
 riors, and leaving the rest of the garrison, and the unhappy 
 women within, to their fate. Rain, however, fell at length : 
 the little cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, swelled till it 
 canopied the whole sky, and the plentiful torrent descended, 
 filling the cisterns of the fortress. Not long after, Herod ap- 
 peared before Massada, and the siege was raised. 
 
 Vengeance and dominion seemed now before him, and he 
 turned his arms against Jerusalem, with Silo in his company ; 
 but the perfidious Roman had received the money of Antigo- 
 nus, and the siege was abandoned, from a pretended want of 
 provisions. Still Herod was not inactive. Jericho was taken ; 
 Joseph was sent into Idumsea to protect that country against 
 Antigonus ; and Herod himself, proceeding through Samaria, 
 entered Galilee, to recover the towns which had been taken 
 by the enemy. 
 
 In the whole of that district anarchy had now reached its 
 height. Not only was the country divided between two 
 factions, but enormous bands of robbers overran the land, 
 plundering all parties alike. Their principal resort was in 
 the rocky ground in the neighborhood of Arbela, hard by the 
 River Kison. In the neighboring mountains are deep valleys 
 surrounded almost entirely by precipices, apparently inacces- 
 sible. The gigantic walls of these valleys are pierced with 
 numerous deep caves, only to be reached lirom below by nar- 
 row paths, over rocks which might scare the mountain goat, 
 and surmounted by perpendicular or beetling clifis some hund- 
 reds of feet in height. These caves had been for many years 
 the resort of the tribes of robbers I have mentioned, perhaps 
 I might say for many centuries, for it is not improbable that 
 this spur of Antilibanus is the position noted for strength 
 in the Old Testament, under the name of the hills of the 
 robbers. 
 
 By this time, in the anarchy and confusion which reigned 
 in the country, the banditti had increased so greatly, and had 
 organized themselves so completely, that they ventured to 
 meet the army of Herod in its march against them, and de- 
 feated one division near the village of Arbela before he him- 
 self appeared on the field. His arrival, however, turned the 
 tide of battle. The robbers were totally routed, and fled, the 
 greater part taking their way along the Valley of Jezreel, 
 toward the Jordan, while the rest took refuge in their caves. 
 Herod pursifed the first division as far as the banks of the 
 river, and then received the submission of all Galilee, pro- 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 385 
 
 viding for the accomraodatiou of the Roman troops under Silo, 
 whom the treacherous Antigonus, after having bribed to in- 
 activity, tried to starve out of Judsea by cutting off all sup- 
 plies of provisions. To Herod, whom he had betrayed and 
 jfrustrated, Silo now came as a supphant ; and Herod, with 
 royal bounty, amply provided him with all he required, and 
 gave him quarters in the town of Alexandrium, in Samaria, 
 which he caused to be rebuilt under his brother, Pheroras. 
 
 The war against the Parthians, in Syria, was still proceed- 
 ing under Ventidius, who required aid to conclude the struggle 
 with Pacorus ; and Herod, trusting to his own courage and 
 forces, sent away Silo to the Roman general early in the 
 spring, while he himself went away to expel the bands of 
 robbers who had found refuge in the caves. The position 
 which they occupied presented what might have seemed in- 
 superable difficulties to any commander of less energy and re- 
 source than Herod. To attack them from below was impos- 
 sible, for one man could have defended the approach against 
 thousands ; but Herod contrived a means of assailing them 
 from above. 
 
 Before he had recourse, however, to the dangerous and ter- 
 rible means he employed, he descended into the valley him- 
 self, and caused a pardon to be proclaimed, by a herald, to all 
 who would submit. Many took advantage of the offer ; but 
 there were many, also, among these fierce and savage men, 
 who, trusting to the strength of their rocky fortress, set the 
 king's whole force at defiance. In order to reach them, Her- 
 od caused engines to be raised at the top of the precipices 
 above, and large chests or stages for fighting to be construct- 
 ed, and let down to the mouths of the caves by iron chains. 
 These chests or stages were filled with armed men, fnrnished 
 with darts and fire to cast into the caverns, and long iron 
 hooks to pull out the robbers from their dens, and cast them 
 down the rocks. 
 
 A terrible slaughter took place as the soldiers were moved 
 from cave to cave ; and a number of the robbers, terrified at 
 this new mode of warfare, came out and claimed the pardon 
 that was offered. One old man, however, resisted to the last. 
 In his cave he had a wile and seven children ; and Herod, 
 who was watching the operations from below, and perceived 
 the anxiety of the youths and their mother to come forth and 
 submit, touched with pity, stretched forth his hands to the old 
 robber, and besought him to yield, offering him every assur- 
 ance of safety. But the stern old man continued in the cave's 
 
 R 
 
386 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 mouth ; and one by one, as each child came forth from the 
 narrow aperture, he slew him with his own hand, railing at 
 Herod, and reproaching him with his Idumaean birth. At 
 length he slew his wife also, and, casting the dead bodies down 
 the precipice, took the same fatal plunge himself, and was 
 dashed to pieces. 
 
 An act of friendship and gratitude soon after called Herod 
 to a distant part of Syria. It would be tedious to trace even 
 briefly the career of Antony, which ended in the loss of fame, 
 fortune, and life. Suffice it, he had now jpassed over into 
 Asia, and had been for some time waging war against the 
 Parthians, who had committed aggressions upon Armenia. 
 But little success had attended his efforts ; and Antony loudly 
 called for the presence of his allies, although we find that he 
 was supported by an army of at least a hundred thousand 
 men. Nevertheless, Ventidius, after the defeat and death of 
 Pacorus, detached two legions and a body of horse to the as- 
 sistance of Herod, under a leader named Macherus, who seem- 
 ed well inclined to play the part of Silo. Herod, however, 
 resolved not to fail in his duty toward Antony ; and, leaving 
 Macherus and his own brother Joseph in command of a large 
 Roman and Jewish force, in order to keep Antigonus in check, 
 he hurried to the north of Syria with all the troops which 
 could be spared from Palestine. 
 
 Antony was at this time besieging the small town of Samos- 
 ata, situated on a bend of the Euphrates, not far from the foot 
 of Mount Taurus, and between Mount Amanus and the riv- 
 er. It had hitherto frustrated all his efforts ; and some large 
 bodies of auxiliaries, which had been collected at Antioch, 
 were deterred from joining him by the presence of large bod- 
 ies of Medes and Parthians, who occupied the narrow gorges 
 of the mountains, and slew all who attempted to pass. 
 
 To Antioch Herod hurried in the first instance ; and the 
 presence of one who had already gained so much renown in- 
 spired the auxiliaries with fresh courage. Herod at once un- 
 dertook to conduct and defend them on the way. The army 
 proceeded in two divisions, Herod remaining with the last, to 
 defend the rear in case of attack. All passed quietly, how- 
 ever, till the troops were descending from the mountains into 
 the plain of the Euphrates, but there, amid the woods which 
 covered the lower slopes of the hills, a body of Parthians had 
 been placed in ambush, who fell upon the first division of the 
 auxiliaries, routed them completely, and obtained possession 
 of all their baggage. Herod, however, was near at hand, and 
 
HBEOD THE GREAT. 387 
 
 his arrival at once turned the fortunes of the day. Attacking 
 the enemy furiously while they were engaged in plundering, 
 he gave them a total defeat, slew immense numbers, recover- 
 ed the baggage and the slaves, and rallying the fugitives of 
 his first division, pursued, with energy and success, the scat- 
 tered Parthians, so as to leave the country between Antioch 
 and Samosata completely clear of the enemy. 
 
 The news of his victory reached the camp of Antony before 
 his arrival, and he was received by the triumvir with the 
 greatest distinction and every mark of friendship. Herod aid- 
 ed greatly, we are assured, in the reduction of Samosata, and 
 the termination of the war. As soon as the city had fallen, 
 Antony, still under the influence of Cleopatra, retired to Egypt, 
 while Sosius was left to restore order in Syria ; and Herod 
 marched back, with his own forces and two Roman legions, 
 toward Judaea, where a great misfortune had befallen him 
 during his absence. 
 
 In leaving his brother Joseph with Macherus in Judaea, 
 Herod had warned him not to engage in any great enterprise, 
 as no reliance was to be placed upon his ally. Joseph, how- 
 ever, neglecting his brother's advice, marched against Jericho, 
 with the aid of some Roman troops. Getting entangled in 
 the mountains, he was attacked by the forces of Antigonus, 
 under the command of one Pappus, defeated, and slain, with 
 the greater part of his troops. His young brother Pheroras, 
 who was in Samaria at the time, offered to ransom the dead 
 body of his brother from Antigonus ; but that brutal prince 
 refused to part with it, and ordered the head to be struck off. 
 Encouraged by this defeat, the greater part of Galilee rose 
 against Herod's officers, seized his partisans wherever they 
 could find them, and drowned them in the Lake of Tiberias. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs in his kingdom when Herod 
 marched back from Samosata. Innumerable perils befell him 
 on the way ; but fortune did not desert him. He was every 
 where successful ; and his escape from imminent danger was 
 attended, on more than one occasion, by circumstances so re- 
 markable, that the imagination of an excitable people saw in 
 his preservation the special protection of God. 
 
 In one instance, a house, where he had been sumptuously 
 entertaining the commanders of his forces, fell down the mo- 
 ment after he had left it ; and in a battle which immediately 
 followed he was struck on the side by a dart, which, however, 
 did him no injury. He defeated an army of Antigonus in the 
 neighborhood of Jericho ; then turned rapidly upon Pappus, 
 
388 DARK SCENES OK HISTORY. 
 
 who was encamped at Isanas. The army of the latter, it 
 would appear, was much superior in numbers to that of Her- 
 od ; but the king attacked him without delay, defeated him 
 in battle, and drove his soldiers into the houses of the small 
 town. Thither he pursued them ; and, finding them crowd- 
 ed into the lower rooms, he caused his soldiery to scale the 
 walls, and cast down the roofs upon those below. Multitudes 
 were seen lying in heaps, thus crushed and mangled, and 
 terror and confusion spread through the party of Antigonus. 
 Pappus was found dead upon the field, and Herod caused his 
 head to be struck oft^, and sent it to his brother Pheroras ; but 
 on the very night of his victory he had once more a marvel- 
 ous escape. 
 
 Weary and heated with his exertions, Herod, while his 
 troops refreshed themselves, sought the pubUc bath, followed 
 by one servant only. Hardly was he in the water, and total- 
 ly without arms, when, from some place of concealment in the 
 baths, out rushed an armed soldier of Antigonus ; a second 
 and a third followed, with their naked swords in their hands, 
 and Herod's life was completely in their power. But such 
 was their consternation at the defeat they had received, and 
 the destruction of their companions, that their only effort was 
 to escape ; and reaching the door of the baths, they ran away 
 without doing any injury to their great enemy. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HEaOD THE GREAT. 
 
 There is an army camping under the walls of Jerusalem, 
 and Herod's men are many ; but the city boldly resists, and 
 Antigonus shows no sign of fear. On the same spot, over 
 against the Temple, where, seven-and-twenty years before, 
 Pompey raised his standard, is now the standard of Herod, 
 and Roman legions are with his host ; but where is Herod 
 himself ? 
 
 There are great rejoicings in Samaria, and the town is 
 filled with the songs of musicians, and with the merriment of 
 the revelers ; and Herod stands in his royal robes, and Mari- 
 amne in her bridal garments — he in the pride and strength 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. HI 
 
 of his maturity, and high renown and glorious deeds, and shl 
 in the brightness of her young beauty and her royal race. 
 
 Years have passed since their espousals, and now she is 
 given to him indeed ; and all rejoice, Alexandra her mother, 
 and Joseph, Herod's uncle, and Aristobulus, her young brother, 
 and Salome and Pheroras. Oh, fatal marriage ! Oh, sad re- 
 joicing ! How many, there laughing, shall soon weep ! How 
 many, looking forward to joy and dominion, shall be cast ab- 
 ject to the ground I How many, full of life and energy, shall, 
 when a few short years have passed, lie moldering in a bloody 
 grave ! The beautiful and the bright, and the strong and the 
 bold, the vdse and the virtuous, the finger of Fate is upon 
 them all, marking them out for early destruction. 
 
 Who that gazes upon the broad brow of Herod, lighted 
 up with love and satisfaction, can see there the frown of the 
 stern, remorseless tyrant, which is coming fast ? Hitherto, 
 although streams of blood may have flowed along his path, it 
 was blood shed in open and honorable warfare ; hitherto he 
 has seemed, in the eyes of all men, a man of strong affections 
 and much pity, often forgiving, often moved to tenderness, 
 loving with the whole strength of a strong spirit, fond of bat- 
 tle and of war, but abhorring all needless cruelty. The time 
 is coming, however, when all this will be changed under the 
 influence of ambitfon and success. 
 
 The rejoicings are over ; Mariamne is his ovni ; the Roman 
 troops are sweeping by on their long march from Samosata, to 
 aid him in recovering Jerusalem. His forces under the walls 
 are nearly trebled by the arrival of Sosius ; and, abandoning 
 his pleasures, Herod carries on the siege vigorously. The en- 
 gines are raised ; the battering-rams ply the fortifications ; the 
 blocks of stone are hurled ; mines are dug beneath the walls ; 
 eleven Roman legions, a large army of Jews and Syrians, and 
 many thousand horse, sweep round the city, and cut oft' its 
 supplies, while they themselves, by Herod's care and diligence, 
 revel in abundance of every thing. 
 
 Forty days have passed in incessant attacks ; and at length 
 the outer wall is taken. Twenty chosen men mount first into 
 the breach ; the centurions follow after ; and now Herod and 
 the Romans attack the second wall. But fifteen days only 
 are consumed ere that is won. The cloisters of the Temple 
 are in flames ; the outer court is won ; the lower city is in the 
 hands of Herod ; the followers of Antigonus take refuge in the 
 upper city, and in the inner court of the Temple. Still Her- 
 od shows himself mild. He beseeches his enemies to abandon 
 
390 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 a vain resistance ; he offers them mercy ; he even suffers thera 
 to bring in cattle for their sacrifices. But when he finds that 
 they only use the permission in order to recruit their powers 
 against him, the general assault is ordered, and the besieging 
 army pours in over every obstacle. Then came a terrible 
 slaughter that no voice could stop. Caught in the narrow 
 streets, crowded in the houses and the Temple, the Jews fell 
 in thousands. Massacre and plunder reigned through the 
 whole city. Neither age, nor sex, nor station was spared by 
 the Roman soldiery ; and Herod in vain attempts to bridle 
 their fury, till at length, turning to Sosius, he exclaims, 
 
 " Wilt thou leave me king of a desert ] I tell thee, to be 
 monarch of the whole habitable earth would be no compensa- 
 tion for the murder of so many innocent citizens." 
 
 Sosius answered, coldly, that the city was taken by assault, 
 and that the plunder was but a fit reward for his soldiers. 
 
 " Well, then, let me redeem the city," exclaimed Herod. 
 " Call back your troops, let them cease the destruction, and 
 firom my own treasures, which affe ample, I will give each 
 man his reward." 
 
 But who is this clad in royal robes, but with dust upon his 
 head, who comes and falls at Sosius's feet, petitioning for life 
 with tears ? It is Antigonus ; but the proud Roman beholds 
 him with a look of scorn, and calls him by a woman's name, 
 Antigone. He hands him over to the soldiery to be bound, 
 and carried as a captive to adorn a triumph. 
 
 The Roman troops are at length recalled. Herod has pur- 
 chased forbearance ; and he is left undisputed master of the 
 city. 
 
 But now the tiger seized upon him. A remorseless spirit 
 never departed from him, casting its black shadow over all 
 the future acts of life, the bright as well as the dark, till his 
 name stands as a curse upon the page of history. 
 
 Antigonus was carried to Antony, the last king of the Asa- 
 monean family, but Herod remembered that he might yet live 
 to shake his throne ; and he purchased his death at the hands 
 of the triumvir. He was belieaded as a public criminal in 
 Antioch ; but this was not sufficient. The party of Antig- 
 onus, too, was to be destroyed. Forty-five of the principal 
 men of Jerusalem were put to death, and many others at 
 different times shared their fate. 
 
 The Romans were greedy of gold. Antony required con- 
 tinual supplies ; and the immense wealth accumulated in 
 Jerusalem wa6 seized upon by Herod, to keep himself well 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 391 
 
 with the Romans. Still he fqund not peace or security, for 
 Cleopatra governed Antony, and she desired the kingdom of 
 Judaea ibr herself. Her daily encroachments were a source of 
 anger and alarm to Herod ; but others rose up in his own 
 household which shook his mighty and vehement spirit still 
 more. 
 
 Great was the beauty of Mariamne, and great was the 
 beauty of Aristobulus her brother ; and Herod loved them both 
 right well. But Aristobulus was of the blood royal of Judaea, 
 the grandson of Hyrcanus, the son of Alexander, the nephew 
 of Antigonus ; and Alexandra, his mother, was an ambitious 
 and an artful woman. Much had she befriended Herod ; and 
 much had Herod done for her. He had listened to her coun- 
 sels too ; and now his devoted passion for Mariamne seemed 
 to promise her all the power that she could desire ; but a 
 cause of dissension soon arose. 
 
 Hyrcanus was persuaded to come back from among the 
 Parthians, and was treated with reverence and tenderness by 
 Herod ; but the king could not restore to him the high-priest- 
 hood, for the mutilation he had sufiered rendered him incapa- 
 ble of holding the office. Aristobulus was very young, but 
 sixteen years of age, and therefore ill-fitted for so great a charge ; 
 but there was a priest among the trans-Euphratian Jews, of 
 the high-priestly family, named Ananelus, for whom Herod 
 had had a friendship in days of old. To him the king now 
 sent, and, on his arrival in Jerusalem, raised him to the high- 
 priesthood. Alexandra was troubled at this. She coveted 
 the high-priesthood for her son ; perhaps she looked upon the 
 altar as but a step to the throne. Mariamne's power over 
 Herod was immense, and Alexandra's power over her daugh- 
 ter unbounded ; but Alexandra was an intriguing and crooked- 
 spirited woman, and she sought not the open course of re- 
 monstrance and entreaty. She dealt secretly with Cleopatra, 
 and through her with Antony. She even risked the degrada- 
 iiion and profanation of her own children. She sent their 
 portraits to the lawless and luxurious triumvir ; but Herod 
 frustrated her schemes, and for the time overlooked her crime. 
 At last Mariamne's influence was used to elevate her brother, 
 and Herod, partly in comphance with her entreaties, partly 
 with the political view of binding Aristobulus forever to 
 Judaea, deposed Ananelus and raised Aristobulus to the high- 
 priesthood. 
 
 At all points of history we are met by dark and unfathomable 
 chasms ; for who can look into the minds of men, discover 
 
39S DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 the secret motives of their actions, or trace in the hidden 
 chambers of the heart the first germs of those designs which 
 bear fruit long after ? Aristobulus was high-priest, although, 
 by the custom of the Jews, no one was elevated to that sta- 
 tion till he had reached twenty years of age. Nevertheless, 
 he officiated in the robes and ornaments of his station ; and 
 the movable people shouted their admiration of his grace and 
 dignity. Still Herod, perhaps, might have spared him ; and 
 no one can truly say that he yet thought of putting the youth 
 to death ; but he had marked and knew all the proceedings 
 of Alexandra ; he saw her ambitious spirit ; he was learned 
 in her intricate intrigues. He had publicly reproached her 
 with her dealings with Antony. She had humbled herself 
 before him, and he had received her into apparent favor ; 
 but she was surrounded in the palace by guards and attend- 
 ants of his -choosing, and all her acts were strictly watched. 
 
 The restraint was troublesome to her ; again she dealt with 
 Cleopatra, and, by the advice of the cruel Egyptian harlot, 
 she laid a cunning scheme for escaping with her son to Mark 
 Antony. Two coffins were prepared and brought into the 
 palace, as if to carry out the dead bodies of some inferior per- 
 sons, A ship was ready on the sea-coast, and, placing her- 
 self in the one sarcophagus and her sou in the other, she or- 
 dered those in whom she had confidence to convey them out 
 of Jerusalem in the night. 
 
 The scheme, however, reached Herod's ears by accident ; 
 he suflered it to proceed to execution, then stopped the cof- 
 fins ; and Alexandra was exposed in the act. He seemed to 
 forgive the offense ; but it is probable that the attempt sealed 
 the fate of Aristobulus ; for Herod knew right well that his 
 escape to Egypt would liave been the signal of his own down- 
 fall. 
 
 Months passed ; and Herod, Alexandra, and Aristobulus 
 were friends. The Feast of the Tabernacle was over, and 
 Alexandra and her son entertained the king and his court a^ 
 Jericho. High was the feasting and revelry, and gay were 
 the sports and pastimes ; and in merry mood, as it seemed, 
 Herod and his servants went out into the gardens of the house 
 to amuse themselves as the day declined. Beautiful were the 
 gardens of Jericho, with their balm-bearing palm-trees ; beau- 
 tiful the clear pools, filled with silvery fish. Intensely hot, 
 however, was the weather ; and as they gave themselves up 
 to wild and childlike games, the ambitious youth, the great 
 warrior, and the slaves and servants of the king, some one 
 
HBRob THE GREAT. 393 
 
 proposed to bathe in the tanks just when the sun went 
 down. 
 
 The attendants obtained permission, stripped and plunged 
 in, while Herod and Aristobulus lay upon the bank and saw 
 their sports in the clear water. At length Aristobulus was 
 seized with the spirit likewise, and he also plunged into the 
 pool. TwiHght was coming on ; the sport ran high ; one of 
 Herod's servants playfully seized the prince as he swam and 
 dipped him beneath the waters ; another came, and another. 
 They dipped him down, they held him down ; sometimes he 
 struggled free, but was soon caught again. It seemed all in 
 sport ; but before the darkness was complete the beautiful 
 Aristobulus was drawn out with affected care and laid a 
 corpse upon the bank. Herod stood and gazed upon the face 
 of the dead ; and as he looked upon that fair countenance with 
 the eyes forever closed in death, his heart smote him and he 
 wept bitterly. 
 
 A costly funeral, a magnificent sepulcher, spices and orna- 
 ments were^avished on the corpse ; but the people of Judsea 
 remained convinced that the death of Aristobulus was the 
 work of Herod ; and those who judged most favorably said 
 it was a hard necessity. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 Antony the triumvir sat in Laodicea by the side of Cleo- 
 patra, and the tongue of the siren was busy against Herod. 
 
 " He will not come," she said ; " he has slain the princely 
 boy Aristobulus, and he dare not present himself before An- 
 tony." 
 
 Antony smiled upon her, but he believed her not, and still 
 answered that Herod would come. And Herod did come ; 
 not only bringing with him his own eloquence for his defense, 
 but a large sum of money as a gift far more eloquent than 
 the tongue of any orator. His audience was most favorable. 
 No one could prove that he had taken part in the murder , 
 no one could prove that there had been any murder at all. 
 The voic^ of Cleopatra herself was of no effect ag^ainst him, 
 
 R2 
 
394 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 and Antony reveled with him at the banquet and placed him 
 on the same tribunal with himself. 
 
 The letters of Herod were full of joy and satisfaction, and 
 with a cheerful countenance he set out again for Jerusalem, 
 thinking of love, and rule, and success. But the drop of pois- 
 on had been prepared for the cup of his peace during his ab- 
 sence, and it was the hand of his own sister that was to ad- 
 minister it. 
 
 The news spread through the palace that Herod was within 
 a day's journey ; but his household was all in confusion. Ma- 
 riamne smiled gladly ; but there was bitterness in her smile, 
 for she said, " Now I shall be no longer under subjection to 
 my husband's sister and his mother." Bitter words passed 
 between her and Salome, and Mariamne held her head proud- 
 ly, and taunted Herod's sister with her Idumaian birth. Sa- 
 lome pondered her purposes in her own heart, and was silent. 
 
 Herod returned, and he soon found that there* had been 
 dissension among the women. His mother. Cypres, was 
 grave and silent, and when they were alone she told him 
 that false intelligence had come during his absence of Anto- 
 ny having put him to the torture and doomed him to death. 
 Therefore, she said, Alexandra and Mariamne had proposed 
 to his uncle Joseph, whom he had left procurator in Judaea, 
 to fly to Julius, the commander of the Roman legion which 
 lay about Jerusalem. 
 
 Here her tale ended, and it was true. Salome gave him 
 the same history, but she added to it. She told him that the 
 widow of Alexander and the queen had calculated that if 
 Marcus Antonius had once set eyes on the beauty of Mari- 
 amne, he would become her slave, as he had become the slave 
 of Cleopatra ; and she ended with a sigh, and the words, 
 "Alas, my brother I" 
 
 Her eyes were cast down as she spoke, and she fell into 
 thought. 
 
 " What more ?" demanded Herod, sternly. 
 
 " Nay, why should I take away thy peace ?" said Salome. 
 
 " Speak !" cried Herod ; " thou hast more to tell." 
 « " Art thou not too confident of Joseph ?" asked his sister ; 
 *' he was often with thy Mariamne — nay, too often. He was 
 with her day by day in the inner chamber ; and none had 
 admission in those secret hours. She is wonderfully beauti- 
 ful, and Joseph is not hard-hearted to fair women." 
 
 Oh how Herod writhed under the torture of his heart ; but 
 he turned away without a word, and sought the chamber 
 
HEROD- T^E GREAT. 39S 
 
 of his wife ; and there he stood and gazed on her with eyes 
 full of love and jealousy. He would fain have killed her ; 
 but love was too strong for rage, and she looked calm and 
 beautiful. 
 
 " What ails my husband ?" asked Mariamne ; "he seems 
 greatly moved." 
 
 " Art thou false to me, Mariamne ?" asked Herod, with a 
 frown ; and she started on her feet with a look of terror and ' 
 surprise. 
 
 " False to thee !" she exclaimed, with the blood burning 
 in her cheek. "No, so help me the God of my fathers. 
 Who has poisoned thine ear against me, and done this great 
 wickedness to take away thy favor from me by a lie ?" 
 
 " Why, then, was Joseph with thee so often in the inner 
 chamber ?" asked Herod ; " and why were all other people 
 kept out, while he was admitted ?" 
 
 " Didst thou not leave him procurator in thy place ?" asked 
 Mariamne ; " and was it not needful that he should speak 
 with me when the people were turbulent, and false tidings 
 came that thou wert dead ? Thrice, and thrice only, did he 
 come to me ; first, to tell me thou hadst arrived at Laodicea ; 
 next, to take counsel with me when men said that Antony 
 had put thee to death ; and, lastly, to comfort me by showing 
 that the news was false. Moreover, know, oh Herod, that 
 when men said thou wert dead, there was great confusion of 
 counsel in the place. Some advised one thing, and some an- 
 other ; and some would have me fly to the Romans for aid 
 against the mutinous people of the city. Nay, further still, 
 I as a weak woman might have done as they would have had 
 me, for I thought of saving my own life ; but I sent to Jo- 
 seph to come to me ; and he showed me that to go to the 
 Romans, who had put thee to death, would be to seek thine 
 enemies ; and therefore I refrained. What has Mariamne 
 done, that any thing should be concealed ?" 
 
 The face of Herod brightened ; and he held out his arms 
 to her, saying, " Thou hast told me the truth, Mariamne, for 
 this evil counsel I knew before ; yet had it been wise of thee 
 to have had thy maidens with thee while taking counsel with 
 Joseph." 
 
 " Then would they have told our words to every one," re- 
 plied Mariamne; " and in such matters, I have heard, secrecy 
 is wise. Nevertheless, they were never altogether absent ; 
 for, though he spoke with me in the inner chamber, yet still 
 were they in the outer room ; nor was the curtain ever drawn 
 
396 D A R K S C E N E S OF HISTORY. 
 
 between them and me. But Herod loves not Mariamne if he 
 beheves so lightly the false tongue of a slanderer against her ;" 
 and she wept. 
 
 But Herod took her in his arms, and weeping also, told her 
 that he loved her but too well, and with many an oath and 
 many a caress assured her of his affection. Embraces and 
 kind words followed ; but yet Mariamne's eyes were tearful ; 
 and at length she said, " I beUeve thou lovest me, Herod. 
 Yet was not that command thou gavest, that if any harm 
 came to thee from Antony, I, who had been no occasion of it, 
 should perish with thee, a sign of thy love for me." 
 
 No sooner had she spoken than Herod cast her from his 
 arms, and, starting up Uke a madman, tore his hair and beat 
 his breast, exclaiming, "It is too clear, it is too clear I" 
 Twice he put his hand to his sword as if he would have slain 
 her • but then rushing out, he sought a private apartment of 
 the palace, and casting himself down upon the bed, groaned 
 heavily. Still, in his heart, he said to himself, " He has told 
 her the deepest secret that was between us. It must have 
 been told in hours of passion, when the heart is unlocked by 
 love." 
 
 For hours all seemed darkness to him ; but then came a 
 Httle ray of light, and rising, he pondered thoughtfully and 
 more calmly. "He may have told her," he thought, " in the 
 pleadings of passion, to make her hate me and love him. He 
 is criminal ; yet she may be blameless. He shall die ;" and 
 calling an officer to him, he whispered a word in his ear. 
 
 The man departed, and ere the sun went down Joseph 
 was no longer found upon the earth. Alexandra, whose in- 
 trigues had produced such evil fruit, was placed in strict con- 
 finement ; but love saved Mariamne for the time. 
 
 Suspicion, however, had fallen upon Herod's mind, wither- 
 ing his heart and his happiness, changing his nature, and ren- 
 dering him, who was ever fierce and vehement, but generous, 
 affectionate, and merciful, cruel, sanguinary, and relentless. 
 The very strife between the bitter and worse parts of his 
 character increased his impatience and irascibility ; and 
 doubts, suspicions, and experience of the baseness of mankind 
 degraded the keeimess of his intellect to cunning and artifice, 
 though still from time to time a more generous spirit would 
 break forth, and Herod would reappear for a moment in his 
 native greatnesB. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 3^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 With pomp and pageantry, and every luxurious appliance 
 of the East, came the beautiful, the depraved, the sanguinary 
 Cleopatra into Judasa on her way back to Egypt. Although 
 she had deprived Herod of a great and important part of the 
 land which had been bestowed upon him, and had obtained 
 from Mark Antony the whole coast of Syria, from the mouth 
 of the Eleutherus down to Rhinocolura, with the exception of 
 the towns of Tyre and Sidon, Herod met her with honor and 
 distinction on her onward journey from Damascus. Nor did 
 she treat him with less marks of favor. It is said that she 
 attempted to entangle him in the same chains as Antony. It 
 is said that he consulted whether he should put her to death 
 as the best service he could render to the triumvir ; but it is 
 certain he escaped her wiles and suffered her to proceed un- 
 injured. 
 
 In the mean time she had raised up difficulties and dan- 
 gers against him. Coveting both Judsea and Arabia, she 
 sought cause of quarrel with the Arabian king, and induced 
 Antony to charge Herod with the execution of her vengeance, 
 for she calculated upon destroying the one king by the other, 
 and gaining whichever was the victor. But the sun of An- 
 tony was now in the decline ; and Ceesar Octavius was pre- 
 paring diligently for the struggle which was to confer on him 
 the dominion of the world. Herod saw the threatening storm, 
 and, faithful to his friendship for Antony, made ready with 
 energy and skill to aid a benefactor who was casting away, by 
 his own vices, the imperial crown which fortune seemed to 
 place within his grasp. Cleopatra dissolved an inestimable 
 pearl in wine and drank it, and the rich jewel of imperial 
 power was dissolved by Antony in the wine-cup of his pleas- 
 ures. 
 
 Already the battle of Actium was imminent, and the suc- 
 cor of every brave man and skillful general seemed needful 
 to Antony. Herod, moved by zeal, and fresh from some years 
 of tranquillity, marched forward to the assistance of his friend 
 with a large army ; but the influence of Antony's evil spirit 
 
398 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 prevailed ; and, by the advice of Cleopatra, messengers were 
 sent to Herod, telling him that his aid was not wanted at 
 Actium, and requiring him to lead his troops against the Ara- 
 bians. 
 
 Though mortified, he obeyed, and, marching upon Diospo- 
 lis,* defeated the enemy in a general battle ; but the Arab 
 hordes soon renewed their forces and gathered together an im- 
 mense multitude on Kanah or Kanatha, beyond Libanus, to- 
 ward Sidon. Herod pursued them thither ; but finding his 
 troops not sufficient to attack them in their position, he order- 
 ed his officers to form an intrenched camp while he proceed- 
 ed to bring up re-enforcements to his army. 
 
 The Jews, however, elated with their late victory, and 
 knowing that Athenion, one of Cleopatra's generals, was in 
 Kanah with a considerable force, ready, as they believed, to 
 give them support, attacked the Arabs vigorously, and at the 
 first onset put them to flight. t The treacherous Athenion, 
 however, whether by a preconcerted arrangement with the 
 Arabs or from mere enmity to Herod is uncertain, fell upon 
 the rear of the victorious Jews and threw them into confu- 
 sion. The Arabs rallied, and a terrible slaughter of Herod's 
 troops took place. The camp was taken, with all that it con- 
 tained, and the hopes of the Jews were terribly depressed. 
 
 Further misfortunes happened, and, seeing no prospect of 
 carrying on the war successfully against the enemy, Herod 
 sent embassadors to treat for peace ; but nearly at the same 
 time the fatal defeat at Actium cast down the whole fabric 
 of Antony's greatness ; and a terrible earthquake, such as had 
 never been known before in Judaea, ruined the cities and dev- 
 astated the land. Rumor magnified these disasters in convey- 
 ing this intelligence to the Arabians. Herod's embassadors 
 were slain, and his enemies prepared to cross the Jordan and 
 ravage the whole land of Palestine. But Herod now roused 
 
 * It is difficalt to discover which of the many cities called by this 
 name is meant by the historians. It is hardly possible to believe that 
 the battle t(X)k place either at Diospolis in Bithynia, or in either of the 
 two places of the same name in Egypt. A greater probability exists 
 of its having been fought in Samaria ; but if that were the case, the 
 Arabs must have themselves begun the war, and crossed an immense 
 tract of country under the rule of Herod, of which we have no record, 
 
 t The account given by Josephus, in his History of the Wars, appears 
 to be different from that given in his Antiquities, as far as I understand 
 the text. In the one it would seem that Herod was not present at the 
 battle, but came up afterward when all was lost. In the other it is 
 specially stated that Herod was present, though not engaged till it was 
 too late to render his officers any assistance. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 399 
 
 the courage of the Jews again, recruited his army, and once 
 more led them to battle. 
 
 After an animating speech to the assembled host, he march- 
 ed at once into the enemy's country to attack them before 
 they were fully prepared, forced them to an engagement on 
 the outside of their camp, and defeated them with the slaughter 
 of five thousand men. A large body fled for safety to their 
 intrenched camp, in which they were besieged by Herod. All 
 supplies were cut off'; water was not to be had ; and, after 
 enduring the horrors of thirst for some time, the Arab com- 
 mander sent an envoy to the king to make terms for their 
 surrender. Herod sternly refused to grant any conditions to 
 men who had slaughtered his embassadors. Four thousand 
 men surrendered at discretion. The rest issued forth, driven 
 to seek death in the field by their intolerable thirst. Seven 
 thousand were thus slain ; and the rest of the people, yield- 
 ing to Herod, proclaimed him their monarch and their leader. 
 
 Notwithstanding this success, great perils surrounded the 
 Idumsean king. The fortunes of Antony were utterly lost ; 
 factions were rising up in Judaea ; the enmity of Csesar and 
 the fall of Herod were foreseen both by his friends and his 
 enemies ; and Hyrcanus, at the instigation of Alexandra, was 
 negotiating with the Arabians. Herod, however, had now 
 learned not to spare : he convicted Hyrcanus of his negotiations 
 with the enemy, and remorselessly ordered the man who had 
 so frequently befriended him to be put to death. His fourscore 
 years, his hoary hair, his royal blood, his mild, inactive nature, 
 his many benefits, his ancient friendship, his near alliance, 
 afforded no plea for mercy in the eyes of Herod ; and he died 
 under the orders of his grandchild's husband. 
 
 Herod still loved Mariamne ; but Mariamne learned to hate 
 Herod. He had slaughtered all her kindred but her mother ; 
 and she seemed to see that her own fate was impending, and 
 to court rather than avoid it. Her contempt and abhorrence 
 of the viper Salome was undisguised. Nor did she conceal 
 her scorn and disgust for Cypros the Idumaean, widow of An- 
 tipater. Her proud and lofty spirit inflicted a thousand mor- 
 tifications upon them ; and often to her husband himself she 
 suffered to appear feelings that it would have been wise to 
 hide. But of a bold, frank, and fearless nature, she could not 
 vail her thoughts, even at the fear of death. 
 
 The fall of Antony's fortunes, however, called Herod away 
 from the scene of domestic discord ; and, resolved to separate 
 those whose dissensions had caused him so much pain, he sent 
 
400 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 his mother and sister to Massada, placed Mariamne and Alex- 
 andra in the strong fortress of Alexandrium, under the charge 
 of his friend Sohemus, left the government of the kingdom 
 to his brother Pheroras, and set out to meet Caesar and turn 
 away his wrath. His fate was entirely in the hands of Octa- 
 vius, for Antony's star was sunk never to rise again ; and 
 Caesar was rarely moved by any consideration of pity. Her- 
 od's boldness, however, saved him ; and this was one of those 
 occasions on which the light once more broke out. 
 
 Proceeding with a large train to the north, he embarked 
 for Rhodes, to which city Csesar had now come ; and laying 
 aside his diadem, he presented himself before him whom we 
 may now call the monarch of Rome. Although he had put 
 off the emblems of royalty, yet his demeanor was most kingly. 
 No hesitation, no confusion was in his manner or speech. He 
 made no vain excuses ; he sought by no falsehood' or prevari- 
 cation to avert the wrath of the victor ; and his words, as 
 they are set down for us, so I repeat them : 
 
 " As I was made king by Antony, O Caesar," he said, " so 
 have I used my royal authority in the best manner for his 
 advantage. I did all that I could, that he might attain the 
 supreme government ; and although I was not in the army 
 with him when he fought against thee, yet I most certainly 
 should have been so, and his companion to the last, had not 
 the Arabian war detained me. Nevertheless, I sent him 
 money, com, and as many auxiliaries as I could spare. Nor 
 did I desert him after the reverse he met with at Actium, but 
 gave him my best advice when I could no longer assist him 
 in the war. I told him that there was but one way of recov- 
 ering his fortunes, which was to kill Cleopatra ; and I prom- 
 ised him, if she were dead, to furnish him with money, to re- 
 ceive him into my walled cities, and to support him with nay 
 forces and my hand in his war against thee. But his own 
 rash peission for Cleopatra stopped his ears, and the will of 
 God hath bestowed the government on thee. I acknowledge 
 myself conquered together with him ; and with the end of his 
 fortunes I have laid aside my diadem, and have come hither 
 to thee, trusting for my safety to thy virtue. I will not deny 
 any thing that I have done for Antony ; nor am I ashamed 
 to own pubhcly that I had a true friendship for him. If, 
 therefore, thou regardest my case in reference to thy wrath at 
 Antony, and my zeal to serve him, I have no power to help 
 myself; but if thou wilt not consider him, but only how I have 
 acted toward my benefactor, thou rnayest judge of what will 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 401 
 
 be my conduct toward thee. All I can desire is that thou 
 wilt consider how faithful a friend, and not whose friend, I 
 have been." 
 
 His words moved Csesar greatly ; and the memory of Her- 
 od's great actions, nay, even the firmness of his friendship for 
 Antony, served him even more than his eloquence. With his 
 own hands Augustus replaced the crown upon his head, say- 
 ing, " Thou shalt not only be in safety, but also enjoy thy king- 
 dom, and that more firmly than ever, for thou art worthy to 
 reign over many subjects, on account of the steadfastness of 
 thy friendship. Be thou equally constant toward me as thou 
 hast been to Antony. I feel sure that thou wilt be so, from 
 the generosity of thy nature ; and Antony hath done well in 
 preferring Cleopatra to thee, for thus have I gained thee by 
 her madness. Moreover, I will confirm thy kingdom to thee 
 by a decree, and even add to it hereafter, that thou mayest 
 not suffer by the loss of Antony." 
 
 Honors and success thus attended the King of Judssa ; but 
 domestic peace was lost. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 In pageantry, and pomp, and military display, and in the 
 activity and excitement of more serious things, Herod might 
 find some relief from oppressive thought. He hastened from 
 Rhodes to Ptolemais, and there entertained Csesar with royal 
 hospitality. In one day he feasted an emperor and a whole 
 Roman army ; but he rendered services as well as honors to 
 CsBsar. On the burning march to Pelusium, his armies want- 
 ed neither necessaries nor luxuries, by the care of Herod ; and 
 in the midst of the desert, water, the most precious of all 
 things, was as plenty as on the banks of the Tiber. Nor were 
 the expressions of Caesar's gratitude confined to words. All 
 that Cleopatra had taken from the kingdom of Judaea was 
 restored ; and hardly a year passed from that time forward 
 without some large addition to the dominions of Herod, the 
 friend of Rome. From Hermon to the sea, and Libanus to 
 the desert, all was his ; and a deputed power was bestowed 
 
402 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 upon him throughout the Syrian province. But while he was 
 arrayed in royal robes, misery was at his heart ; while he gov- 
 erned a great country, discord, and sorrow, and death were in 
 his dwelling. 
 
 Let us return to Alexandrium. Mariamne and Alexandra 
 were kept close within its walls. They were told that their 
 own safety required it ; that during Herod's absence each day 
 might bring forth events as perilous to themselves as to him. 
 They would not believe it; they felt themselves prisoners; 
 and the spirit of the Jewish princess revolted against the jeal- 
 ousy of her husband. 
 
 " He loves me not. He doubts me without cause," she 
 said. " What have I done, to be so treated by this man ?" 
 
 She resolved to use all a woman's arts upon Soheraus, to 
 discover what were the injunctions which Herod had laid upon 
 him ; and those arts were successful. Sohemus, after much 
 resistance, told her all; and again she found that if. Herod 
 were slain she was to be put to death. Oh, fatal curiosity ! 
 It proved her destruction. " Barbarous, hateful, selfish man," 
 she thought. " Am I ever to live in this state of peril from 
 one who pretends to love me I Better to die at once than thus 
 to dwell with the sword ever hanging over my head. Oh, 
 may Caesar slay him, and end the life of one who has mur- 
 dered all ray race, and now seeks to destroy me also. Does 
 he expect that I can do aught but hate him ? If he do, he 
 shall be made to feel what his conduct of me has produced, and 
 learn that love can only be retained by love and tenderness." 
 
 The news came that Herod was returning in greater power 
 than ever ; but it brought no joy to Mariamne, for she hated 
 him from the very depth of her heart. To her he flew, the 
 moment of his arrival, with all the eagerness of love ; for, not- 
 withstanding his deeds, and his doubts, and his jealousy, he 
 loved her with all the intense vehemence of his nature. She 
 received him with a cold and disappointed look. When he 
 told her of his success and the honors he had received, she 
 turned from him with a groan. She took no part in his joy ; 
 she rejoiced not at his safety. She concealed none of her feel- 
 ings ; die seemed resolved to provoke him to give her the de- 
 liverance of death. But she was so beautiful, and he loved 
 her so devotedly, he could not destroy that fair temple of a 
 proud, indignant spirit ; ho could not bring upon himself the 
 agony of her loss. He was troubled and uncertain, hesitating 
 and fitful. Now he resolved to slay her ; now the thought 
 filled him with horror. 
 
HEROD THK GREAT. 403 
 
 But there were friends by his side who irritated the worse 
 and crushed the better passion. Salome and Cypres hated 
 Mariamne, and they filled the ear of Herod with tales against 
 her. Nor was the indignity with which she treated them 
 pleasing to the brother and the son. Still he could not take 
 his resolution, and months passed on without aught being de- 
 cided ; but during a second visit to Ceesar, on his return from 
 Egypt, the plot was laid which was successful. When he 
 returned, Mariamne was more cold than ever. She rejected 
 his caresses ; she resolved to live separate from him ; she told 
 him that he had caused her kindred and her brother to be 
 slain. The rage of Herod knew no bounds ; and as soon as 
 she had left him, his cup-bearer entered, and told him that 
 Mariamne had given him presents to administer to Herod a 
 love potion which she had compounded. What the effect 
 might be he did not know, the cup-bearer said ; and therefore 
 he had resolved to reveal the matter to the king, lest harm 
 should come of it. 
 
 The tale was a falsehood, suggested by Salome ; but Her- 
 od, in the act of which his wife was accused, saw a design of 
 poisoning him ; and sending instantly for the chief eunuch of 
 Mariamne's household, without whose knowledge he believed 
 no such transaction could take place, he ordered the man to 
 be put to the torture in his presence. Agony the most terri- 
 ble could wring from the poor wretch nothing concerning the 
 love potion. Again and again he declared that he had heard 
 nothing of it ; but he acknowledged that Mariamne hated 
 Herod, and that her hatred was caused by something which 
 Sohemus had told her. 
 
 Once more Herod found his secret had been betrayed by 
 him he most trusted ; once more rage and jealousy took pos- 
 session of his mind, and Sohemus was instantly put to death. 
 Had there been no Salome, Mariamne might still have been 
 spared ; but, imder her instigations, Herod called together a 
 council for the trial of his wife, and vehemently and wildly 
 he accused her of adultery and attempt to murder. It Avas 
 to his own creatures he appealed, and they condemned her. 
 Ere the sentence was pronounced, love spoke once more in his 
 heart, and one of her repentant judges advised that she should 
 not be hastily put to death. " Let her rather be strictly con- 
 fined in a fortress," he said, "till the king's passion is sub- 
 dued." 
 
 But Salome was at hand ; and she whispered in the king's 
 ear that if Mariamne were suffered to live under condemna- 
 
tH DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 tion, the people would rise for the deliverance of a daughter 
 of their ancient monarchs. 
 
 The fatal words were spoken, and Mariamne turned to be 
 led to execution. Alexandra stood trembling by, fearing thai 
 her own fate was near ; and, to save her own wretched hfe 
 she added another drop of bitterness to the cup of her daugh 
 ter's fate. She rose and reproached her for the very conduc 
 which she herself had instigated. She tore her hair, and de 
 dared that Marianne's punishment was just, and called Her 
 od their common benefactor. 
 
 All present saw her hypocrisy and despised her ; and Ma 
 riamne, turning without a word, gave her a look of pity and 
 contempt. The beautiful queen pleaded not for life, nor show- 
 ed for one instant a fear of death. With royal dignity and 
 tranquil grace she moved to the place of execution, and with 
 a tearless eye and a cheek in which the color never faded, re- 
 ceived the blow which ended her sorrows and her wrongs. 
 
 Mariamne died ; but it was Herod who was punished. No 
 sooner was the act committed, than love, and remorse, and 
 despair seized upon his heart. He wept, and lamented, and 
 rent his garments, and called aloud for Mariamne. But her 
 voice was still ; her radiant form was in the dust. His mind 
 wandered ; he could not believe that she was dead ; he would 
 rise and seek her ; he would bid his servants bring her to his 
 presence ; he would not believe them when they told him he 
 had slain her. Then he sought in wild revelry, in shows and 
 sports, to drown the terrible memory ; but it was all in vain. 
 
 A pestilence arose in the land, sweeping down multitudes 
 in the city and in the palace. His best friends and nearest 
 associates were taken away ; and men whispered that it was 
 the judgment of God upon his head for the death of Mariam- 
 ne. Perhaps he judged it so himself; for he fled into distant 
 places to make war upon wild beasts, and to mourn and af- 
 flict himself for what he had done. Madness followed ; a 
 burning pain seized upon his brain, and often he raved wildly 
 and strangely, and over his ravings were about Mariamne. 
 In vain the physicians strove to give him relief They could 
 not ease the distemper of the heart ; they could not blot out 
 Mariamne from his memory ; they could not call her back 
 from the bloody grave in which he had laid her. 
 
 Many there were who mourned for Herod while he re- 
 mained sick in body and in mind at Samaria ; but the base 
 and pitiful Alexandra, who was in Jerusalem, rejoiced, and 
 thought to corrupt the officers of the king, and to get the cita- 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 406 
 
 dels of Jerusalem and the Temple under her power. His of- 
 ficer€, however, were faithful, and sent to inform Herod of 
 Alexandra's attempt. The reply was speedy and decisive, to 
 put her to death ; and the worker of so much mischief wtie 
 slain. 
 
 Slowly and with difficulty Herod regained health and in- 
 tellect, but he was never the same man that he was before. 
 Ever vehement and passionate, his rage now, when once ex- 
 cited, knew no bounds, and blood marked his footsteps whith- 
 ersoever he went. It was dangerous even to be a friend of 
 Herod ; for his dearest associates were often the first to fall. 
 
 Those who read his history aright see in all his actions, 
 from the day of Mariamne's death, the taint of insanity, the 
 struggling of a strong spirit to throw off the burden of a pain- 
 ful memory, the remorseless cruelty of a heart that has no 
 peace within itself The slaughter of every one doubted or 
 suspected, the building of palaces, temples, and cities, the 
 celebration of games and festivals, the display of pageants, the 
 abandonment of all ancient habits and customs, were but the 
 symbols of the one great reality ever present to his mind, 
 despair. 
 
 When his malady was abated, Herod's first desire was to 
 occupy his thoughts ; and, as war no longer called for the ex- 
 ertion of his powers, he attempted to enjoy himself But 
 Herod had forgotten the customs of his fathers, and totally 
 forgot the laws and prejudices of the Jews. He built a great 
 theater iii Jerusalem ; he created an amphitheater in the plain ; 
 he covered the walls with inscriptions to CsBsar ; he erected 
 trophies of pure gold and silver to the honor of the emperor. 
 He appointed solemn games to be celebrated every fifth year. 
 Wrestlers, and gladiators, and musicians, were called from all 
 the countries around, and magnificent prizes were offered for 
 those who contended successfully in the arena and for the 
 competitors in the chariot-race. Wild beasts were procured 
 from every country to fight with each other, or with criminals ; 
 and the whole world was invited to the games, and treated 
 sumptuously by the king. 
 
 But the feelings of the Jews were outraged by such heathen- 
 ish practices, and brave and zealous men conspired to put Her- 
 od to death. This plot was discovered ; they were caught in 
 the theater, and, boldly avowing their intention, died under 
 tortures with the constancy of martyrs. Tumults and execu- 
 tions followed, and the indignation of the king and the rage 
 of the people were equal. Herod, however, took means to 
 
406 DARK SOBNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 guard himself against the wrath he had aroused, and to bridle 
 the angry nation whom he governed. He fortified the town 
 of Samaria, a day's journey from Jerusalem, and changed its 
 name to Sebaste ; he adorned it with a temple and rich build- 
 ings ; he endowed it with many privileges, and filled it with 
 a people devoted to himself, among whom he allotted the 
 rich lands in the neighborhood. Strabo's Tower he enlarged 
 to a fortified city, and called it Csesarea ; and he built detach- 
 ed fortresses in the plains, and filled them with horsemen, 
 watching continually to suppress the first signs of insurrection. 
 His passion for building, indeed, grew upon him as he advanced 
 in life, and the magnificence of all his ideas required incessant 
 supplies of money, which were with difficulty wrung from the 
 Jewish people ; so that murmurs and complaints were loud, 
 especially in the more remote parts of his extensive kingdom. 
 
 An opportunity, however, occurred, in the thirteenth year 
 of his reign,* of regaining the afiection of his subjects, and of 
 showing that the original generosity of his nature had not 
 been wholly extinguished. A sore famine afflicted not only 
 Judaea, but aU the neighboring provinces of Asia. Perpetual 
 droughts had rendered the ground luifruitful. A new pestilence 
 swept the land, for which no resource was found in the power 
 of medicine. Fields remained untilled, vineyards uncultiva- 
 ted, and those upon which the labors of man were expended 
 gave but little or no return. 
 
 The king was sincerely afflicted with the miseries of his 
 people ; but his active and energetic nature did not remain 
 satisfied with passive sorrow. The vast treasures which he 
 had extracted from the Jewish nation had been expended in 
 magnificent works and costly decorations ; but Herod thought 
 no sacrifice too great to feed the people. Every thing valu- 
 able that he had was given up for this purpose. All his rich 
 plate of gold and silver was melted ; jewels were sold ; and a 
 sufficient sum was raised to import vast quantities of com. 
 Where to find supplies, however, was the question ; but Egypt 
 and Sicily were the granaries of the world, and Petronius, 
 prefect of .the former country, permitted its inhabitants to ex- 
 port their com to Judeea. Herod bought up all that could 
 be procured. With prudence, skill, and the kindest charity, 
 he distributed among the people the supplies he obtained ; 
 and, extending his benevolence to the neighboring provinces 
 also, he gave seed to the Syrians for the cultivation of their 
 
 * That is to say, from the death of Antigonus, not from the donatioa 
 of the kingdom by the Roman Senate. 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 407 
 
 fields ; and, on the approach of harvest, aided the people by 
 hired laborers to secure the crop. 
 
 Thus was prosperity restored to the country ; and, as the 
 king's proceedings during the famine were open to the eyes 
 of all, a complete change was effected in the feelings of the 
 multitude toward him. They saw him implacable in his re- 
 sentments, merciless towards all who resisted or offended him, 
 but kind, generous, and considerate to all who were submis- 
 sive and obedient ; and their fear and their admiration went 
 together to repress the turbulent spirit of the Jews. Their 
 old customs, indeed, and their religious feelings, he offended 
 against in many respects. His games and feasts were an 
 abomination to them ; but in Judsea itself he refrained in a 
 great degree from the encouragement of idolatry, although in 
 the pagan parts of his dominions he built temples to strange 
 gods, greatly to the scandal of the Hebrews. He excused 
 himself, indeed, to the Jews, on the plea of subordination to 
 the Roman emperor ; and it is probable that the faith of the 
 Idumsean king was by no means so pure as that of the Jews. 
 Ambition was his god, and policy his religion. He had ac- 
 quired, and he ruled a kingdom by the assistance of the Ro- 
 mans, and to cultivate their friendship was his first object. 
 His two sons by Mariamne, Alexander and Aristobulus, were 
 sent to Rome to be educated under the eye of Caesar ; and, 
 although there were many intrigues against Herod at the 
 court of the emperor, and many complaints of his oppression 
 and severity were made to Augustus himself when he visited 
 Syria in the seventeenth year of Herod's reign, yet the imperial 
 favor was continued to him undiminished ; and, instead of 
 listening to his enemies, Augustus bestowed on him still more 
 extended territories, and, at his request, gave a tetrarchy, or 
 the fourth part of a kingdom, to his brother Pheroras. 
 
 We know not whether it was at the suggestion of Caesar, 
 or merely from the impulse of his own mind, that about the 
 same time Herod remitted to his people a third part of the 
 taxes he had imposed. This also tended to conciliate regard ; 
 and, in order to efface in some degree the impression produced 
 by his encouragement of idolatry, he affected great zeal for 
 the Jewish religion, and commenced the greatest of his works, 
 the rebuilding and beautifying the Temple at Jerusalem. An 
 account of that splendid building is not within the scope of 
 this work, and we must turn again to the dark scenes of 
 Herod's history, which only ended with his life. 
 
408 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 I 
 
 The death of Mariamne and Alexandra did not terminate 
 the dissensions in Herod's house and family, for the enmity of 
 the fiend Salome survived the death of the beautiful Jewish 
 princess, and was extended to her children. Pheroras, too, 
 was induced to enter into the criminal designs of his sister ; 
 and a conspiracy was formed for the purpose of destroying Al- 
 exander and Aristobulus, by exciting the jealousy of their fa- 
 ther against them. So long as they remained in Rome this 
 purpose could not be effected ; but, toward the middle of his 
 reign, Herod visited Caesar in Italy, and returned, bringing 
 the two princes with him. Inheriting the beauty of their 
 mother, and skilled, like their father, in all warlike exercises, 
 they soon attracted the attention of the people of Judaea ; and 
 the popularity they acquired only excited more hatred in the 
 breast of Salome, while it afforded her the better opportunity 
 of prosecuting her designs against them. Whether Herod 
 perceived the enmity of his sister toward his sons or not, he 
 seems to have been but little moved at first by her insinua- 
 tions; and he bestowed her daughter, Bernice, upon Aris- 
 tobulus, perhaps with a politic view of binding his sister to 
 the interests of his children. At the same time, he obtained 
 for Alexander the hand of Glaphyra, the daughter of his 
 friend Archelaus, king of Cappadocia. 
 
 No effect was produced upon Salome by the marriage of 
 her daughter to Aristobulus. She followed her designs with 
 bitter perseverance, and caused it to be rumored among the 
 attendants and friends of Herod that the sons of Marianme 
 ceased not to lament, with bitter indignation, the death of 
 their mother, and openly called their father the murderer of 
 Mariamne. Perhaps the boldness and rashness of youth af- 
 forded this wicked woman occasion for calumny ; for we are 
 told that they were indiscreet in their discourse, and unspar- 
 ing of reproaches against both Salome and Pheroras. Day 
 by day, however, rumors reached Herod of designs against 
 him on the part of his sons ; and with less than his ordinary 
 prudence he introduced fresh elements of dissension into his 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 409 «; 
 
 court, in order to keep in check the daring spirit of Alexander 
 and his brother. 
 
 Previous to his marriage with Mariamne, he had maiTied 
 an Idumsean lady, by whom he had a son named Antipater. 
 Both wife and son had been greatly neglected for many years ; 
 but Herod now called Antipater to Jerusalem, and distin- 
 guished him by great favor. He was a shrewd and cunning 
 Edomite, ambitious, remorseless, and designing. No truce 
 was sufficiently strong to bind him, no crime too horrible to 
 be attempted for the attainment of his purposes. No sooner 
 did he find himself stand high in his father's regard, than, 
 siding with Salome and Pheroras, he aided in the accomplish- 
 ment of their designs, but with even greater shrewdness and 
 dexterity. He never appeared as the accuser of his brethren, 
 but rather affected to pity and to love them, taking care that 
 the offensive words and rash actions he attributed to them 
 should be reported to Herod by his agents, and that the mind 
 of the king should be kept in a continual state of irritation 
 against Alexander and Aristobulus. Continually at the ear 
 of Herod, devoting his whole time and thoughts to cultivate 
 his affection, he day by day acquired greater power over the 
 king's mind, while the discontent of his brethren at his eleva- 
 tion only served to aggravate their father's anger. His moth- 
 er was recalled to the court and treated with distinction, al' 
 though the many wives who already thronged the palace 
 might not, perhaps, view her return with great satisfaction. 
 
 When Agrippa, after a long sojourn in Asia, was about to 
 return to Rome, Herod paid him a visit of honor ere his de- 
 parture ; but he took none of his children with him except 
 Antipater, whom he placed under Agrippa's care, and sent, 
 with commendations, to Caesar. Salome and Pheroras, how- 
 ever, were not idle. Nor did Antipater, though absent, aban- 
 don his designs. Whatever tales he could obtain of the con- 
 duct of Mariamne's sons, which might tend to irritate their 
 father, he sent diligently from Rome, while, at the same time, 
 the agents of Salome filled the king's ears with confirmatory 
 reports, till, moved by anger, Herod determined to accuse his 
 two sons before Caesar, and leave that monarch to decide 
 their fate. 
 
 Taking Alexander and Aristobulus with him in a sort of 
 honorable imprisonment, he set out for Italy, and publicly ac- 
 cused them before Augustus, declaring that they meditated 
 his death. His speech was vehement, confused, and indig- 
 nant, but he produced no proofs of his charge ; and the worst 
 
 S 
 
410 DARK SCEiNES OF HISTORY. 
 
 that he could allege against tliem was supported by nothing 
 but rumor. 
 
 The two brothers were deeply affected ; but Alexander, 
 the elder, who was endued with great eloquence, replied in a 
 powerful and beautiful speech, avoiding all imputation upon 
 his father, but showing the groundless nature of his accusa- 
 tion, and clearly pointing out the source of those calumnies 
 which had moved their father's mind against them. Every 
 one in Caesar's court was affected by the young man's de- 
 fense ; and Augustus, judging more sanely than Herod, pro- 
 nounced the two youths innocent of the charge brought against 
 them. In order to soften his decision against Herod, he blamed 
 them lightly for imprudence, without which, he said, their fa- 
 ther could not have entertained such suspicions, and then rec- 
 onciled Herod to his sons, at least for the time. 
 
 On the return of the whole family to Judaea, however, the 
 dissensions in Herod's court broke out anew. The intrigues 
 of Antipater ceased not for a moment. Salome busied her- 
 self as much as ever ; and Pheroras, the king's brother, though 
 at enmity with Herod, leagued with Antipater, and assisted 
 in kU his designs. Pheroras, indeed, was detected in endeav- 
 oring to poison the mind of Alexander against Herod, and^ 
 when indignantly charged by the king with the calumnies he 
 had uttered, declared that he had heard. them from Salome. 
 Had Herod used the great powers of mind with which he was 
 endowed to discover the truth upon this occasion, the intrigues 
 against the sons of Mariamne must have been brought to 
 light ; but he contented himself with banishing both Pheroras 
 and Salome from his court for a time, but still believed every 
 tale they caused to be circulated against Alexander and Aris- 
 tobulus. 
 
 Day by day the frightful suspicions which always haunt 
 the tyrant increased upon the King of Judaea. His palace 
 became a slaughter-house ; one domestic accused another, and 
 procured his death, to show a zeal for the king ; the accuser 
 was then charged in turn, and likewise slain ; his best friends 
 and counselors were expelled from Herod's court ; and who- 
 ever showed the slightest attachment for his sons were tor- 
 tured, to make them confess imaginary crimes. Still Antip- 
 ater reigned supreme over the mind of his father, and at 
 length succeeded in inducing him to cast Alexander into 
 bonds. 
 
 Once more the dissension between Herod and Alexander 
 was appeased by the wis^lom and skill of Archclaus, king of 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 411 
 
 Cappadocia. He induced Pheroras, too, to acknowledge his 
 crimes, and then obtained mercy for him from his merciless 
 brother. Feasting and revelry succeeded to this reconcilia- 
 tion ; but peace was not of long duration. Antipater was 
 not yet detected ; and it would appear that he corrupted a 
 cunning and unprincipled Lacedaemonian, named Eurycles, to 
 accuse the two sons of Mariamne to Herod of a design to take 
 away his life while hunting. A forged letter was also pro- 
 duced, purporting to be in Alexander's writing, and confirma- 
 tory of the charge ; but, although many persons were put to 
 the torture, no evidence of the young men's guilt could be ob- 
 tained, except the mere report of Eurycles, who had convey- 
 ed himself away as soon as he had spread the calumny. 
 
 Alexander and Aristobulus were placed in solitary confine- 
 ment, and once more a charge was laid against them before 
 CaBsar. The emperor left the decision of the case to Herod 
 himself, but counseled him to bring them to public trial. The 
 mockery of a trial was indeed instituted at Berytus. The 
 enemies of the young men sat in judgment upon them ; they 
 were not permitted to hear or refute the accusation, nor were 
 brought personally before the court. In their absence, and 
 undefended, they were condemned, and carried as prisoners 
 from town to town in the train of Herod, while some remains 
 of human feeling struggled in his bosom against the insane 
 rage which inflamed him toward his sons. The malice of 
 the young men's enemies, however, and the imprudence of 
 their friends, combined to accelerate the final act of the trage- 
 dy. Salome and Antipater were incessant in urging their 
 death ; and Tero, a veteran soldier and faithful servant of the 
 king, enraged him to madness by boldly reproaching him with 
 his folly and his cruelty. Tero and his son were stoned to 
 death by Herod's order, and Alexander and Aristobulus were 
 sent to Sebaste, and there strangled in prison. The bodies 
 were brought to Alexandrium by night, and buried by the 
 side of Aristobulus their uncle, one of the first victims of 
 Herod's cruelty. 
 
 % 
 
4ia DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HEROD THE GREAT. 
 
 The clouds gathered thickly over the tyrant and the mur- 
 derers. The wicked are only faithful to one another so long 
 as they have a common object. Salome, Antipater, and 
 Pheroras were soon at enmity ; and the king's sister separated 
 herself entirely from the faction to which she had united her- 
 self for the sole purpose of gratifying her malice against the 
 children of Mariamne. Antipater and Pheroras now felt it 
 needful to league against her ; but she was too cunning for 
 them ; and, although not without doubts and suspicions of 
 her conduct, Herod yielded to her influence to the last day of 
 his Ufe. In his palace the most fearful corruption prevailed, 
 and the most horrible and disgusting crimes were perpetrated. 
 But a small part of the vail has been withdrawn by historians 
 from the orgies of Pheroras, Antipater, and their wives and 
 brethren ; but vices of the most frightful character are ap- 
 parent, and Herod himself does not escape without suspi- 
 cion. 
 
 In the midst of revelry and debauchery, dark schemes were 
 concocted between Pheroras and Antipater ; but both were 
 hated by the whole Jewish people, and watched incessantly 
 by the keen eyes of Salome. Their secret meetings were de- 
 tected, and their hidden vices exposed ; and the daring inso- 
 lence of Pheroras' s wife and Antipater' s mother, Doris, was 
 urged upon Herod, and drove him to fury. So great was the 
 wrath and indignation of the Jews at Antipater, that he en- 
 tertained fears for his personal safety, and obtained leave to 
 visit Rome. Pheroras, too, seeing that he should be com- 
 pelled by his brother to separate himself from the intriguing 
 woman who ruled him if he remained in Judaja, abandoned 
 his brother's court and betook himself to his tetrarchy of Perea, 
 vowing that he would never return so long as Herod was 
 alive. Doris, it would seem, went with him ; and before he 
 and Antipater parted a dark compact was entered into be- 
 tween them aflecting the life of the king. 
 
 The will of Herod, appointing Antipater his immediate suc- 
 cessor, was carried by his sou to Rome. But Antipater was 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 413 
 
 eager to enjoy power, and complained that his own hair was 
 getting gray, while Herod still continued to reign. He feared 
 also the caprices of the tyrant, with whose jealous and suspi- 
 cious nature he was but too well acquainted, and he re- 
 solved to hasten his own accession ; nor did he find Pheroras 
 an unwilling instrument. 
 
 Herod fell sick, and was supposed to be at the point of 
 death. His son Antipater was afar, and dangers menaced 
 his kingdom should he expire with none but his younger 
 children around him. In his extremity he sent for his broth- 
 er Pheroras, for strong fraternal love was one of the finest in- 
 consistencies of Herod's character. Pheroras, however, re- 
 fused to come, and Herod unexpectedly recovered. Not long 
 after, however, Pheroras himself was seized with a fatal dis- 
 ease, and, forgetting all his anger, Herod hastened Jo Perea to 
 comfort his brother in his sickness. He found him at the 
 point of death ; and, seated by his bedside,* wept and bemoan- 
 ed him with all his ancient love revived in full force. Tears, 
 however, were of no avail ; Pheroras died, and Herod brought 
 his body with great pomp to Jerusalem. 
 
 In the mean time, a rumor arose that Pheroras had been 
 poisoned ; and two of his freedmen, high in his confidence, ac- 
 cused his wile before Herod of having caused his death. The 
 charge was improbable, for the woman, whom Pheroras had 
 raised to his bed from the rank of a servant, owed all to him, 
 and lost all when he died. Nevertheless, the freedmen urged 
 Herod strongly to examine into the case, bringing forward 
 some proof that a subtle poison had been introduced into the 
 palace of their master a short time before his death. Over 
 ready to employ the torture, Herod seized upon some of the 
 women slaves of Pheroras's wife, together with some of the 
 free women by whom his brother had been ever surrounded. 
 None, even in their agony, brought any charge against the 
 wife of the tetrarch ; but one of them, in the extreme of pain, 
 exclaimed, " May God, who governs earth and heaven, punish 
 Antipater's mother, the author of all our miseries." 
 
 These words excited curiosity and suspicion. The torture 
 was applied still more severely, and the dark tale of Antip- 
 ater's plots against his father was revealed. His disobedience, 
 his discontent, his betrayal of his father's secrets were all 
 made manifest, and the complicity of his mother Doris was 
 clearly proved. Still there was more to be discovered ; the 
 steward of Antipater was apprehended and put to the torture ; 
 and now the story of the poison was told. It appeared that 
 
414 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 Herod's son had «ent a companion of his, named Antiphylus, 
 into Egypt, to his mother's brother, a physician named Then- 
 dion, to procure a poison to be administered to the king. It 
 was readily obtained, and Antiphylus brought it back from 
 Egypt to Pheroras, who was to use it against Herod during 
 Antipater's absence in Rome. Pheroras committed it to the 
 charge of his wife till an opportunity occurred for administer- 
 ing it to the king ; but death seized upon him ere the crime 
 was accomplished. 
 
 Such was the tale of the steward under the torture ; and 
 the widow of Pheroras was then brought into the presence of 
 Herod. She did not deny the fact, and the king commanded 
 her immediately to bring the box of poison which had been 
 intrusted to her. 
 
 She went away to fetch it ; but fear of the tortures to which 
 Herod might subject her came upon her as she went, and she 
 cast herself down from the top of the buildmg, with the in- 
 tention of destroying herself It was not the will of Heaven, 
 however, that there should be any more concealment, and 
 she was taken up senseless, but not seriously injured. When 
 she recovered, Herod swore to her that, if she would confess 
 the whole truth, he would forgive her every thing and treat 
 her with favor, but that if she concealed any thing he would 
 tear her to pieces. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, she exclaimed, " Now that 
 Pheroras is dead, why should I conceal the truth in order to 
 save Antipater, who is all our destruction. Hear, O king, 
 and be God himself, who can not be deceived, a witness to 
 the truth of what I tell thee. When thou didst sit weeping by 
 Pheroras, on his death-bed, he called to me and said, ' I have 
 been greatly deceived as to my brother's conduct toward me. 
 I have hated him that loves me, I have contrived to kill him 
 who thus grieves for me even before I am dead ; as for myself, 
 I receive the due recompense of my wickedness ; but do thou 
 bring the poison that was given to us by Antipater, and cast 
 it into the fire immediately in my sight.' I brought the poison 
 as he bade me, and cast the greater part of it into the fire ; 
 but I reserved a little to take myself, in case of need, out of 
 fear of thee." 
 
 The box, with the remainder of the poison, was then pro- 
 duced, and the brother and mother of Antiphylus, having 
 been put to the torture, acknowledged that he had brought 
 it out of Egypt by Antipater's orders. Antiphylus himself 
 had returned to Egypt ; but it was fated that no proof should 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 415 
 
 be wanting of the intended parricide, and the most conclusive 
 evidence was soon procured. 
 
 The roads were strictly guarded to prevent any intelligence 
 of the discoveries which had been made from reaching Antip- 
 ater in Rome ; and, indeed, so hateful was he to the whole 
 Jewish people, that few but his own near relations would risk 
 any thing to serve him. Ignorant of all that was taking 
 place, and still full of his detestable designs, he dispatched a 
 freedman named Bathyllus from Rome, addressing him to 
 his mother Doris, and to Pheroras. This man was imme- 
 diately apprehended, and upon him M'-as found another box of 
 poison for the destruction of Herod, lest the first should fail 
 in its effect. Upon this man, also, were found letters from 
 Antipater, and various persons whom he had suborned in 
 Rome, calumniating the two younger sons of the king, Arche- 
 laus and Philip ; and Herod, doubtless, traced in them the 
 same machinations which had destroyed Alexander and Aris- 
 tobulus. 
 
 Dissembling his wrath, however, in order to get Antipater 
 once more into his power, he wrote to him to return to Ju- 
 daea, with many expressions of interest in his welfare. He 
 alluded, too, to the disgrace which had fallen upon Doris, 
 lest rumor should have carried some of the facts to liis son^fe 
 ears ; but he treated the matter lightly, and held out to Antip- 
 ater the expectation of her restoration to favor on her son's 
 return. 
 
 Antipater was already on his way back when these letters 
 reached him with the news of Pheroras's death. Though 
 somewhat troubled and suspicious, he sailed on, persuaded by 
 some of his friends that his presence would prove all-powerful 
 with Herod ; but when he arrived at Caesarea, the coldness 
 of his reception struck him with terror. No one came to meet 
 or do him honor ; no acclamations greeted his return ; but the 
 people cursed him openly as the murderer of his brothers, 
 and he speedily perceived that the tide of fortune had turned 
 against him. 
 
 It was too late now to turn back, however ; and, proceed- 
 ing to Jerusalem, he presented himself in the purple garments 
 of royalty at the gates of his father's palace. The door-keep- 
 ers gave him admission, but shut the gates in the face of his 
 train ; and when he presented himself before Herod, he was 
 spurned from his father's presence, and called the murderer 
 of his brethren and the plotter of his father's destruction. His 
 trial was appointed to take place the next day, before Quin- 
 
416 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 tilius Varus, the president of Syria, who was in Jerusalem at 
 the time. He was suffered, however, to see his wife and his 
 mother, and from them learned the whole extent and nature 
 of the accusation against him. His cunning and his daring 
 did not desert him, and he prepared for his defense. 
 
 The trial afforded him was far more fair and equitable 
 than that which had been granted to his unfortunate breth- 
 ren. He was brought into the court, and face to face with 
 the witnesses against him. He heard the accusation, and 
 had every opportunity given him of refuting it. Herod stated 
 his own case till he was stopped by tears, when an orator 
 proceeded to support and conclude that which he had begun. 
 
 Then Antipater was allowed to defend himself, and in a 
 labored and ingenious speech he endeavored to show, first, 
 that it was improbable, if not impossible, that he should be 
 guilty of the crimes with which he was charged, laying great 
 stress upon the many proofs which he pretended to have given 
 of his affection for Herod, and alluding to the destruction of 
 his brethren as evidences of his love for his father, thus mak- 
 ing his very crimes subservient to his defense. He, secondly, 
 urged the doubtful nature of all evidence procured by torture, 
 but at the same time demanded to be tortured himself, to 
 aiiow that no confession could be extracted from him ; and, 
 with tears and imprecations, endeavored, not without success, 
 to move the feelings of his judges. 
 
 Nicolaus of Damascus, Herod's advocate, then replied, and 
 soon effaced the effect produced by Antipater's evidence, and 
 brought forward the various witnesses, commenting upon their 
 evidence. All those who had been tortured were brought 
 into court ; but many others now came forward whose testi- 
 mony was unimpeachable, either to state new facts or to cor- 
 roborate those already adduced. A scene of villainy and wick- 
 edness never, perhaps, paralleled was exposed to the eyes of 
 the world ; and Antipater, utterly confounded, fell upon his 
 face, appealing to God to give some testimony of his innocence. 
 
 As the last proof, the box of poison which had been found 
 was brought into the court, and a condemned criminal was 
 found to swallow it. The man died immediately ; and Quin- 
 tilius Varus, rising without pronouncing a sentence, left the 
 fate of Antipater in the hand of Herod. 
 
 Antipater was now cast into chains, and remained for many 
 months a prisoner. While in this state his guilty contrivan- 
 ces were further displayed by the apprehension of a slave sent 
 to him by Antiphylus, who bore forged letters, purporting to 
 
HEROD TH-E GREAT. 417 
 
 be from Salome to the wife of Csesar, accusing Herod of great 
 crimes. Secret papers were found sealed up in the man's coat, 
 showing that these letters had been manufactured by Antip- 
 ater himself at Rome and copied by a slave of the empress, 
 whom he had corrupted in order to destroy Salome. The 
 discovery of such practices showed Herod but too plainly the 
 means which had been employed for the ruin of Alexander 
 and Aristobulus, and bitter was the sorrow he endured. 
 
 From this time the insane fury of Herod knew no bounds. 
 His merciless cruelty increased, and a heavy distemper which 
 fell upon him rendered him but the more fierce and intracta- 
 ble. He clung to life and he clung to power, although his 
 days were evidently drawing to a close. A large golden ea- 
 gle, which he had erected over the gate of the temple, and 
 which was looked upon as an idolatrous symbol by all the 
 more religious and virtuous of the Jewish people, was pulled 
 down in a tumultuous manner ; but Herod's vengeance was 
 not slow. An immense multitude of those concerned in the 
 deed were caught ; some were burned to death, and some 
 slaughtered by a less cruel process. 
 
 About this time, too, must have taken place the massacre 
 of the children of Bethlehem, an act in complete accordance 
 with Herod's temper and conduct at the time.=^ Nothing 
 was too brutal, too bloody, or too cruel for the jealous and 
 suffering tyrant. He seemed to seek for objects on which to 
 revenge the pangs which sickness inflicted upon him ; and the 
 fantastic dreams of wholesale and unprovoked butchery which 
 flitted across his mind in his dying moments plainly indicated 
 the taints of insanity which had affected his brain ever since 
 the death of Mariamne. Terrible were his sufferings, mental 
 and bodily, and the hand of God seemed visible in retribution 
 for his impiety and injustice. A burning heat consumed him ; 
 dropsy affected his Hmbs and invaded his chest. The breath 
 of life was drawn with labor and pain ; putrefaction seized 
 
 * There is some doubt and confusiou as to the chronology of this 
 event ; nor does Josephus mention the horrible deed recorded by St. 
 Matthew. This omission, however, on the part of Josephus would by 
 no means justify a doubt of the fact, even in the mind of one who did 
 not admit the divine inspiration of the evangelist, for St. Matthew is 
 undoubtedly as sincere a historian as Josephus. I am not ignorant that 
 an eclipse of the moon which took place a short time before Herod's 
 death has been brought forward to show that he had ceased to exist 
 before the coming of the Messiah. But are the exact periods of oar 
 Savior's birth and Herod's death ascertained beyond all doubt? 1 
 think not ; and often historical difficulties will disappear in a moment 
 when precise information is obtained upon points previously obscure, 
 
 ^2 
 
418 DARK SCENES OF HISTORY. 
 
 upon him living; and worms were generated in his flesh. 
 Peace and rest he had none ; his breath was poisonous. Even 
 his sycophants could hardly bear the pestiferous atmosphere 
 around him. 
 
 Yet hfe and the hope of life were prolonged for many days. 
 He had himself carried to the healing waters ; he was bathed 
 in warm oil. At times he seemed to revive, and rose up re- 
 freshed ; but it was only to struggle with fresh torments. 
 The strong man resisted the angel of death, but suffered fear- 
 fully in the fatal conflict. For some months he continued 
 with the worms of the grave preying upon his living body, 
 unprepared for death, unchastised by repentance, unwilUng to 
 lay his head in the quiet tomb, hopeless of peace beyond the 
 sepulcher, and without an effort to avert the retribution of 
 another world. 
 
 Herod's last acts were worthy of those which preceded 
 them. Once, in the agony he suffered, the thought of death 
 seemed comfortable to him, and he tried to stab himself with 
 a knife that was in his hand. He was prevented, however, 
 and a loud cry and lamentation ran through his house at 
 Jericho, where he then lay. Many thought the king dead, 
 and the sounds reached the wretched Antipater in his dun- 
 geon. He fancied that the hour of his triumph was come ; 
 he besought the jailer to set him free at once. He promised 
 him great things. He felt himself already King of Judaea. 
 But the jailer knew better. He carried the tale to Herod, 
 and an order was instantly given for Antipater's death. It 
 was executed without remorse, for those even who hated the 
 father did not pity the son. 
 
 Herod by this time felt that he was dying, and knew that 
 in his wide dominions no lip prayed for his safety — no eye 
 would drop a tear upon his grave. Hated of all men, he was 
 going down to the tomb ; but he resolved that there should 
 be mourning at his funeral, that all the men of Judaea should 
 weep, if they wept not for Herod. He sent for the heads of 
 families and the principal persons of all the cities, command- 
 ing them, under pain of death, to come to him at Jericho, as 
 if he had gome important afikir which required counsel from 
 the nation. They flocked to the city from all parts, and 
 when they were come he shut them up in the hippodrome. 
 Then sending for his sister Salome, whom he knew to be re- 
 morseless like himself, and for her husband, who was his mere 
 creature, and telling them that he was resolved that there 
 should be mourning for his death, he bound them by oath, as 
 
HEROD THE GREAT. 419 
 
 soon as his spirit was departed, and before his decease was 
 known, to bring his soldiery round the hippodrome and slay 
 all whom it contained. Their promises seemed to have satis- 
 fied the last bloody thirst of his heart, and he died on the fifth 
 day after he had put Antipater to death. 
 
 His barbarous injunction was not obeyed. The heads of 
 the Jewish families were suffered to retire in peace, and the 
 funeral of the mighty miscreant occupied his surviving family. 
 
 Carried on a golden bier covered with precious stones, 
 shrouded with purple, a diadem upon his head, a scepter in 
 his hand, surrounded by the relations he had left hving, and 
 followed by an army, the body of Herod was carried from Jer- 
 icho to Herodium, and there placed in its pompous sepulcher. 
 
 But he died unwept by any, detested by all. A feigned 
 mourning of eight days succeeded ; and feasting and revelry, 
 the liberation of prisoners, and the remission t)f taxes an- 
 nounced to the world that Herod's sons and the Jewish peo- 
 ple rejoiced over a great deliverance. 
 
 
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