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* ...”
ABASSA, . . . . . .
Cornelia Adricomia, . . .
Mary de Agreda, . . . .
Agrippina, . . . . . .
Agrippina, the Younger, .
Jane d'Albert, . . . . .
Amalasenta, . . . . . .
Brittany, . . . . . .
Laura Battiferri Ammannati
Isabella Andreina, . . .
Anne of Austria, . . . .
Anne of Beajeu, . . . .
Anne of Bretagne, . . . . .
Antonia, . . . . . . .
Joan d'Arc, . . . . . .
Aretaphila, . . . . . .
Arete, . . . . . . . . .
Polla Argentaria, . . . .
Lady Mary Armyne, . . .
Marie Angelique Arnauld, .
Catherine Agnes Arnauld,
Angelique Arnauld, . . .
: ºrriſ º § . § § § # # * * §
misia, Queen of Caria,
Aldrude, Countess of Bertinoro,
Frances d’Amboise, Dutchess of
ºr ºº . º
. c. 6 & & wº
C Ll
39
. . 46
ibid.
50
61
65
% #
*
| Madeline de PAubespin ź . . . .
45
48 || |
Agnes Sorrel, .
Arnaud de Rocas
74
by
Blanche, RK. Arundel, .
Margaret Ascham, . . .
Anne Askew, . . . . .
Aspasia, . . . . . . .
Mary Astell, . . . . .
Athenias, . . . . .
§:3:
Maria Catherina le Jum 3.
neuille, Countess d’Aulnoi, . .
Lady Bacon, . . . . . . . . it
Mary Anne Barbier, . . . .
Aloysia Sigea of Toledo, . . . 131.
Margaret of Anjou, . . . . .
Isabella of Arragon,
Joan of Arragon, . . .
Tullia of Arragon, . . . .
Artemisia Gentileschi, , , ,
Aspasia or Milto, . . . . .
Isabella of Bavaria, . . . . .
Frances Bertaut, . . . . . .
Elizabeth Frederica, of Bohemia
Henrietta of Bourbon, . . .
Mary Bruneau des Loges
Leonora Baroni, . . .
78
92
95
ibid.
96
ibid.
Basine, or Baszin, º ;: º
*





















































contents.
Mary Beale, . - Page 174 Antoinette Bourignon, . . Page 226
Joan Beaufort, . . . . . . . 177 Countess de Bregy, . . . . . 234
Margaret Beaufort, . . . . . 180 | Marchioness de Chatelet, . . . 236
Claude de Bectoz, . . . . . 186 Anne Broadstreet, . . . . . . 238
Aphara Behn, . . . . . . . 187 Lady Mildred Burleigh, . . . ibid.
Bridget Bendish, . . . . . . 196 | Elizabeth Burmet, . . . . . . 240
Berenice, . . . . . . . . . 197 | Elizabeth Bury, . . . . . . . . 245
Catherine Bernard, . . . . . 198 || Calphurnia, . . . . . . . . .247
Juliana Berners, or Barnes, . . 199 || Calpurnia, . . . . . . . . 249
Blanche of Castile, . . . . . . 201 || Bianca Capello, . . . . . . . 251
Elizabeth Bland, . . . . . . 209 || Carolina, Wife to George II. . . 287
* Boadicea, . . . . . . . . . 210 Catherine of Arragon, . . . . 290
Anne Boleyn, . . . . . . . 214 || Catherine of Medicis, . . . . .300
Madame Bontems, . . . . . . 223 Catherine I. Empress of Russia, 332
Catherine Bovey, . . . Catherine II. Empress of Russia, 341
Clemence de Bourges, ** * . . º
%







MEMOIRs
OF
DISTINGUISHED woMEN
. º ABBASSA. … ?
ABBAssa was the sister of Aaron Raschid, fifth calif of
the race of the Abassides, a great and magnificent prince, the
friend and ally of Charlemagne. During the reign of Aaron,
who patronised the arts, algebra is said to have been inver
by the Arabians. The glory of the reign of Aaron is, by histo-
rians, in a great degree attributed to the prudence and ability
of his visier and favourite, Giaffer the Barmecide, or son of
The calif, willing to reward the services of Giaffer, de-
termined, on certain conditions, to bestow upon him in
marriage his beloved sister Abbassa, the most beautiful and
accomplished princess of the east. “Were not Abbassa my .
sister,’ said he, announcing to his favourite the purpose which
he had formed, ‘marriage should unite us: but, since the
loveliest and the most amiable of the oriental women cannot
be the wife of Aaron, no other has a right to possess her; nor
can I suffer the blood of Ali to be contaminated by a fore
mixture. The nephews of your brothers must not be mine.
give to you the hand of my sister, it is true, as a recompen
for your services, and that I may have the pleasure of be
ing in my presence, at the same time, two persons wh
sincerely love; but I require your secred promise, th
will be to Abassa only as I am—a friend and a brother! Q


























2 ABBAssa.
this condition, and this only, I consent to the union. Death to
yourself and to your race, will be the penalty of the violation
of your oath. -
Giaffer assented to the severe condition imposed upon
him, and received the hand of the princess. The mandates of
a capricious tyrant failed to stifle the voice of nature: love,
fruitful in expedients, enabled the enamoured pair to baffle the
vigilance of their guards: the oath was violated, and a son, the
fruit of their disobedience, was privately conveyed from the
seraglio to Mecca. -
The theft of love was at length discovered, and the calif in-
formed of the temerity of his visier. Giaffer was, in conse-
quence, immediately disgraced, deprived of his offices, and
confined within a dungeon; while the merciless tyrant gave or-
ders for the extirpation of his innocent race. Forty persons, of
the family of the Barmecides, suffered death on this occasion.
But the slave charged with the murder of Giaffer, the idol of a
grateful people, was solicitous to save him. “I will go,' said he,
‘to the calif, and announce thy death: should he ask me no
questions, I will return and procure thy escape; but if he re-
quire to see thy head, thou must submit to thy sentence.’ The
head was demanded, and the savage gratified. º
Of the fate of Abassa there are various accounts: by some
writers it is affirmed, that she died with grief: by others,
that she was driven with ignominy from the palace, exposed to
indigence and severe distress, from which, many years after-
wards, she was relieved by the kindness of a female friend.
Giaffer, surnamed the Generous, forhis benevolent admini-
strat n, was long regretted by the nation. Aaron, offended
y the lamentations of the people, and perhaps touched by
º remorse, if a sentiment of humanity can indeed exist with des-
potism, forbade, under pain of death, the name of the visier
to be mentioned. An aged man, however, braving the edict,
ecide. When brought into the presence of the sultan for
§ w e, h ~
uired sternly the motives of his presump-
lied the prisoner; ‘Giaffer was my bene-
ared struck, and virtue, for a moment,
. . I will,’ said he, “henceforth be thy
e my name for that of the visier.” Having
* a
bstitut
























CORNELIA ADRICOMIA. 3
thus said, he presented to the old man a superb cup of pure
gold. “Oh Giaffer, exclaimed the man, “it is still to thee I am
indebted, even for this; though thou art now no more, I yet
receive thy benefactions; how shall I be made to forget thee!”
In the divan, entitled Juba, Abassa, to whom a genius for
poetry is attributed, is mentioned: a specimen of her compo-
sitions, in six Arabic lines, addressed to Giaffer, her husband,
whose converse she was restricted by her brother from enjoy-
ing, is to be found in a book written by Ben Abou Hayelah.
The following is a translation of the lines of Abbassa: §
“I had resolved to keep my love concealed in my heart;
but, in spite of me, it escapes, and declares itself. If you do
not yield at this declaration, my modesty will be lost with my
secret: but if you reject me, you will save my life by your re-
fusal. Whatever happens, at least, I shall not die unrevenged,
for my death will sufficiently declare who has been my
assassin.”
Aaron Raschid died in 809.
General Biographical Dictionary—Les Femmes Célébrées—Histo-
rical Notes to Madame de Genlis' Knights of the Swan, &c.
CORNELIA ADRICOMIA.
CoRNELIA ADR Icom IA, a descendant of the noble family
of Adrichem, and a nun of the order of Saint Augustine, in
the 16th century, was celebrated for her poetical genius. She
published a poetical version of the Psalms of David, with
several other religious poems. Her excellent understanding
and erudition is commended by Father Stapulensis. She was
in habits of friendship and correspondence with Corn. Musius.
She composed for herself the following epitaph: º
Corpus humo, animam superis Cornelia mando;
Pulve rulenta caro vermibus esca datur. .
Non lacrymas, non singultus, tristesque querelas,
Sed Christo oblatus nunc precor umbra preces.
Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Biographium Farmineum—The
Female worthies, &c. * ... .





MARY DE AGREDA.
MARY DE AGREDA, a religious enthusiast of the 17th
century, is celebrated as the author of a work which was con-
demned by the Sorbonne. Francis Coronel, the father, and
Catherine d’Arena, the mother of Mary, induced, as it is
said, by a particular revelation, founded a convent in their
house at Agreda, a town of Spain, on the 19th of January,
1619. Mary, with her mother and sister, assumed the nun's
habit, on the 2d of February, 1620. -:
In 1627 she was elected superior of the convent; and,
during the first ten years of her superiority, she pretended that,
she was repeatedly commanded by God and the Virgin Mary,
to compose a life of the latter. She resisted these orders till
the year 1637, when she at length began to write. Having
finished her work, she afterwards destroyed it, together with
several other compositions on various subjects, in compliance
with the advice of a priest, who directed her conscience in the
absence of him to whom she usually confessed herself. By her
º s, and her first confessor, she was severely reprimand-
life. This command was also again said to be repeated by
God and the holy virgin. On the 8th of December, 1655, she
accordingly recommenced her task. The work was divided
into three parts, contained in eight books, which were printed
at Lisbon, at Madrid, at Perpignan, and at Antwerp. The
first was translated into French, from the Spanish edition at
In this curious piece of inspired biography, the reader
is informed, “That when the virgin was born, angels were
ordered by the Almighty to carry the lovely child into the
empyreal heaven, which order was several times performed.
Also, that nine hundred angels, an hundred out of each of the
ne choirs, were commanded to serve her. That she was to
be attended by twelve others in a visible and corporeal form;
ld also that eighteen more, of the highest rank, those who
escended on Jacob's ladder, were to be appointed to carry
bassies from the queen to the great king. That at the head











MARY DE AGREDA. s
of this invincible squadron was to be placed Michael, captain
of the celestial militia. To this it is added, that if the virgin
did not speak immediately on her birth, her silence was not
necessary but voluntary. Likewise, that before she was three
years of age, she swept, with the assistance of the angels, her
father's house.” A most dignified employment, it must be con-
ºfessed, for so great a personage. -
Notwithstanding these and similar extravagances, this per-
formance was deemed so fascinating and dangerous by the
theological faculty at Paris, that it was judged proper to cen-
sure it. One of the propositions of this singular production
was—That God gave to the holy virgin all that he would, ind
would give her all that he could, and could give her all that was
not of the essence of God. A violent opposition was made to the
censure by some of the doctors of the Sorbonne, which, on
this important occasion, divided into parties fierce and irrecon-
cileable. To one of these parties the name of Agredians was
given, a name which they long retained. The business was
terminated on the 17th of September, with so great a noise
that the hall of the assembly resembled a market-place. C
the next day, Messrs. du Flos and du Mas, formerly counsel-
lors in the parliament of Paris, protested against the validity
of the censure, and caused their protests to be notified to the
dean and syndic of the faculty. Another censure was after-
wards procured, and, to remove the objections of the profes-
sors, with alterations and omissions. … a º
Numbers of persons were however offended with this
censure, notwithstanding the revision it had undergone. To
relieve their apprehensions, and to divert the scandal it might
cause, it was thought proper solemnly to declare, that by this
censure it was not designed to diminish any thing of the law-
ful worship paid to the holy virgin by the Catholic church, &c.
While the philosopher regards with contempt this solemn
trifling, let it not be forgotten, that to the subtilties of theolo-
gical controversy the human mind owes much of its acuteness:
in the wrangling and dissensions of the schools, a foundation
was laid for that critical sagacity, discrimination, and research,
to which we are indebted for the overthrow of authority in
matters of speculation, and for the emancipation of our re
soning powers. By the extravagance and vehemence of po










6 AGRIPPINA.
mic combatants, the curious, whom they supplied with arms,
were led to philosophise respecting the origin of their dis-
putes. # . .
The father of Mary de Agreda became a monk in a monas-
tery of the order of St. Francis, into which two of his sons had
already entered. In this retreat he is said to have lived an ex-
emplary life, and to have died a saint. Great interest was
made at Rome to procure the canonization of
Mary, notwithstanding the divines of Paris had met to con-
demn her work.
Journal of the Learned, Nov. 1696–Bayle's Historical Dictionary.
AGRIPPINA.
DAUGHTER of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, and of Julia, and
grand-daughter to Augustus, Agrippina was among the most
illustrious ladies of Rome. She was given in marriage, in early
youth, to Germanicus, son of Drusus and Antonia, a prince of
great merit, whose civil and military virtues rendered him the
idol and hope of the nation.
The courage, the ambition and spirit of Agrippina, fitted
her to be the wife of a hero: superior to the fears and weak-
nesses of her sex, she accompanied her husband into Germany
and Syria, shared his toils and his dangers, and attached her-
self to him with the most perfect and entire affection. Des-
pising female occupations, she mingled in the camp, appeared
at the head of the troops, appeasing tumults, encouraging and
rewarding valour, and fulfilling the functions of an able gene-
ral. It was in the midst of camps and of warlike preparations,
that the wife of Germanicus gave birth to children, destined
to emulate the heroism of their parents.
Her virtues and her faults assumed alike a masculine cha-
racter: proud, aspiring, inflexible, and abhorring dissimula-
tion, by her unbending temper, her austere integrity, and her
unblemished fame, she provoked the malignity and excited the
usy of Livia, the mother of the emperor Tiberius.
ended by the popularity of Germanicus, Tiberius enter-
to the views of Livia, and joined in the machinations













AGRIPPINA THE YouNGER. z
against the husband of Agrippina. Germanicus became the
victim of treachery: poison was administered to him, of which
he died in Syria, in the prime of manhood, and in the meri-
dian of glory. The tears and the tenderness of his widow gave
place to a thirst for vengeance: she attacked Piso, whom she
suspected to be the murderer, and compelled him to take shel-
ter from her fury in death. - ? .
gathered the ashes of her husband, and enclosed
them in an urn, she returned to Rome in mournful pomp. The
city went out to meet her: the remains of their hero were con-
secrated by their tears, and the remembrance of his virtues
embalmed in their hearts. Agrippina in vain implored justice
from the throne; her complaints and her remonstrances were
equally disregarded. The empress openly protected the wife
of Piso, who was accused of having been privy to the guilt of
her husband. .
The reputation of Agrippina became obnoxious to Tiberius;
her example reflected dishonour upon a licentious court; from
which she was at length banished to the island of Pandataire.
In the midst of misfortune and unmerited disgrace, she yet
dared to reproach the tyrant with his cruelties and vices: his
cowardly soul, incapable of reformation and impatient of re-
proof, was roused by this boldness to outrage and revenge. A
centurion, by his order, inflicted blows on the unhappy prin-
cess; and thus disgraced her in her own eyes. Incensed by this
indignity, hopeless of redress, and driven to despair, she at
length determined to end her sorrows with her life. Resolute-
ly refusing all sustenance, she perished in consequence, in the
fifth year of her exile. Her death appeased not the fury of Ti-
berius, who continued to persecute her children. He also or-
dered the day which gave birth to Agrippina to be placed in
the catalogue of those that were accounted unfortunate . ſº
. Les Femmes célébrées—Lives of the Roman Empresses.
AGRIPPINA THE YoUNGER.
#
An example of the disquietude and misery which arises
of the perversion of great talents, can be neither uninstru
nor useless. Agrippina, daughter of Germanicus and Agr p-










a, and great grand-daughter of Augustus, entered life un-
he most favourable auspices. She received her birth in
the city of Abii; from this circumstance called Colonia Agrip-
- pina. In this young princess, every advantage of nature and
fortune seemed to unite; illustrious in birth, distinguished in
beauty, her talents, her spirit, her activity, the vigour of her.
mind, appeared to promise her a boundless prosperity. The
daughter, the sister, the niece, the wife, the mother of empe-
rors, her station, her misfortunes, her qualities, and her crimes,
bore a character of greatness. Checked by no impedi-
in her career of ambition, absolute in power, and magna-
us in defeat, we are compelled to mingle admiration with
abhorrence of her guilt, and a portion of respect with our
sº detestation.
The earlier periods of the life of Agrippina,
her grand-mother Antonia: happy had it been fo
! she inherited the virtues of this respectable Roman ma
Antonia sought by precept and example to direct the ar-
mind of her pupil in the paths of honour and rectitude,
render her worthy of her illustrious descent. Agrippina
1, while yet a child, the ashes of her father, the pride and
". his country, brought in mournful pomp to the capital,
and consecrated by the tears of the citizens. In the despair of
ther, the sorrow of her family, and the regret of the
he learned the worth of the parent she had lost, and
irreparable misfortune. Amidst all these incitements
, contagion stole into her heart, and the promise of her
prematurely blasted. Antonia discovered with hor-
lers of her grand-children, which she found her-
r able to restrain. Crimes from which nature
ent, stained their blooming years: Caligula cor-
ocence of his sisters, and sullied the honour of
es of the children, of who
ess. a, as she





























AGRIPPINA THE YOUNGER. 9
Nero was the fruit of an union thus unpropitious, of whom
Agrippina was delivered at Antium. Caligula, who had suc-
ceeded Tiberius in the imperial throne, gave to the child in
mockery the name of Claudius:* the mother, incensed at this
insult, rejected the emperor's interference, and caused the in-
fant to be called, after his father, Domitius.
Her unfortunate marriage, the example from the throne,
with the dissolute manners of the court, completed the cor-
ruption of Agrippina. Accused of a criminal intercourse with
Lepidus, her cousin, the adulterer suffered death, his ambition
having provoked the jealousy of Caligula, who seized this oc-
casion of exterminating a rival. Agrippina was also con-
demned to the humiliation of a public penance, and afterwards
banished, with her sisters, to the island of Pontia, on a pre-
tence of having conspired against the state, and projected the
assassination of the emperor. Caligula, having loaded the prin-
cesses with invective and reproach, produced, or forged, let-
ters in proof of their guilt; while he pretended to consecrate
to Jupiter the Avenger the daggers which, he asserted, they
had provided for the occasion.
On the death of Caligula, and the accession of Claudius,
the uncle of the princesses, the sentence against them was re-
pealed: they were restored to their dignities and honours, and
possession given to Agrippina of the estates of her husband,
bequeathed to her at his death, and on her exile seized by Ca-
ligula. The aspiring temper of Agrippina, on this reverse of
fortune, revived with vigour: in the accomplishment of her
daring plans, pressing forward, regardless of the means, she
stifled in her heart every sentiment of humanity, while she
trampled decency and honour under foot. The throne was the
object of her ambition: practising on the weakness of her un-
cle, she availed herself of her attractions, and, by artifice and
a display of her charms, endeavoured to captivate his affec-
tions. In the failure of this project, she meditated to unite
herself with a man whose courage and ambition might assist
her views; whom she might prompt to effect the death of the
emperor, to seize the reins of government, and to share with
her the sovereign power. Galba, whose birth was noble, and
%. * A prince of that name was the derision of the court.
VoI. I. B

10 AGRIPPINA THE YOUNGER.
whose interest was extensive, first engaged her attention; but,
finding her overtures were coldly received, she turned her
views towards Crispus Passienus, a man advanced in life,
a popular orator, possessed of talents and resources, immense
riches, and great influence at court, and who had twice filled
the consular dignity. Passienus, flattered by her attentions,
was caught in the snare: he married the princess, secured to
her his inheritance, and soon after expired (but not without
dark suspicions), leaving his fair widow uncontrolled mis-
tress of his possessions. To the sanguine mind of Agrippina
these treasures appeared to be inexhaustible: giddy with suc-
cess, in the certain path, as she believed, to the attainment of
her desires, she placed no bounds to her magnificence ; till,
awakening the jealousy of the empress, she was compelled to
dissemble, and to use her advantages with a show of greater
moderation -
The fate of Messalina, the wife of Claudius, who fell a
victim to her vices, removed the most formidable obstacle to
the advancement of Agrippina: she had already gained to her
interest Pallas, a freedman, who, with Calistus and Narcissus,
governed the emperor. The weakness and indolence of Clau-
dius subjected him wholly to the power of these favourites,
under whose extortions the people groaned, and who were am-
bitious to choose a wife for the emperor. Through their ma-
chinations, Agrippina, attaining the summit of her wishes, was
raised to empire. The scruples proposed by Claudius respect-
ing their consanguinity, were removed by an appeal to the
senate. Princes, it was alleged by this corrupt assembly, were
not bound by common laws; reasons of state might supersede
ordinary rules; the senate were the interpreters of law, and
from their judgment there was no appeal. Thus was a venal
aristocracy induced without difficulty to sanction the wishes of
the sovereign, and to enact the decree that gave the throne to
; : Agrippina, and placed in her hands an absolute power.
She commenced her reign with a popular act, by recalling
from exile the philosopher Seneca, whom Claudius had banish-
ed, and appointing him to be the preceptor of her son Domi-
tius. The people were gratified by this measure, and by seeing
the prince under the direction of a man, from whom they fondly
believed he could not fail of imbibing sentiments of virtue.






AGRIPPIN A THE YOUNGER. 1 i
Agrippina maintained, in the station to which she had ad-
vanced herself, a despotic sway: jealous of her authority, and
careless of the measures by which it was supported, she
availed herself alternately, for the security of her ascendancy,
of her talents, her artifices, and her charms. To the weak em-
peror she left only the shadow of power; through her hands
every preferment, every favour was conferred; while, regard-
less of birth or merit, she bestowed on her flatterers and parti-
sans the first offices of the state. The senate was disgraced by
men who owed their elevation to their facility or their crimes;
while its ancient members, despoiled of their honours, were
driven with ignominy from the legislature. All ranks and or-
ders became confounded; the distinction of patrician and ple-
bian seemed no longer to exist; -nor was it honourably super- .
seded by that of talents and virtue: the first dignities of the
empire were possessed by enfranchised slaves, whom treachery
and defamation, murder and crime, conducted to their stations.
The voice of the nation was extinct in the senate; its members,
hirelings of the throne, but echoed the imperial mandates,
crouching beneath the yoke which crushed the remaining
spirit and liberties of Rome. A woman governed the empire,
whose vices were subservient to her ambition, and who was
great alike in talent and in guilt. sº
It is recorded by historians, that, bent on the elevation of
her son to the throne of the Caesars, Agrippina, in the spirit
of the times, consulted a Chaldean diviner, who predicted that

Domitius would indeed be emperor, but was fated to embrue
his hands in the blood of her who should advance him to the
throne. “Content,” replied his infatuated and intrepid mother;
“provided he reigns, let me be the victim.” : ... .3:’
Watchful of rivals, who, by supplanting her in the empe-
ror's affections, might snatch the reigns of government from
her hand, she sacrificed to her jealousy more than one of the
most illustrious Roman ladies, whose charms threatened her
with a competition: the wealthy also became victims to her
rapacity. Statilius Taurus (whose father had twice filled the
consulate, and who, in the reign of Augustus, had erected a
magnificent theatre at an immense expense) possessed gar-
dens of singular beauty, which attracted the attention of the
empress. Having disregarded the intimation of her wishes,
#
12 AGRIPPINA THE YouNGER.
the ruin of Statilius was determined. Tarquinius Priscus, an
officer who served as lieutenant to Taurus (while, with the
title of proconsul, he governed Africa), was suborned on this
occasion to accuse his master of extortion and magic. Con-
scious of the malignity of the charge, indignant at the treache-
ry practised against him, aware of the power of his adversary
and despairing of justice, Taurus, to escape their malice
rushed upon his fate by a voluntary death. The glaring ab-
surdity of the accusation, with its melancholy consequences,
roused the public indignation: the accuser was driven with
ignominy from the senate, and, soon after, being convicted of
extortion (the crime which he had charged on the unfortunate
proconsul), suffered, amidst the execrations of the people, the
recompense due to his crimes. .
Success, on a different occasion, consoled Agrippina for the
fate of her emissary. Vitellius, her favourite and chief minis-
ter, was charged before the emperor, by Junius Lupus, with
treason against the state, and a design of usurping the sove-
reign power. Induced by his fears, the feeble Claudius listened
to the danger which seemed to menace him, and suffered him-
self to be persuaded to take measures for his safety. The em-
press, alarmed for the fate of Vitellius, omitted no means for
his preservation; by persuasion, remonstrance, and menace,
she at length prevailed over the terrors of the emperor, and
compelled him to relinquish his purpose. Vitellius was pro-
nounced innocent of the charge laid against him, and his ac-
cuser sent into exile. - .
Encouraged by the facility with which her purposes were
effected, Agrippina resumed her darling plan, for the accom-
plishment of which she collected all her powers. Claudius was,
by her influence, induced to adopt Domitius, to the prejudice
of Britannicus, his son, a prince of distinguished merit. Do-
mitius on this occasion received the name of Nero, and was
associated with the emperor in the government, under pretence
of relieving him from the fatigues of business. The people.
were deluded to authorise the injustice, and to dignify the em-
press with the title of Augusta. Intoxicated with success, in-
satiable of honours, and desirous to be adored as a divinity,
rippina usurped the privilege, till then held sacred, of as-
cending the capitol in a magnificent chariot. In the temples,



AGRIPPINA. THE YOUNGER. 18
in the assemblies, in the streets of Rome, she appeared in royal
robes, covered with gold and jewels, seated in a splendid
equipage, and commanding the homage of all who approached
her. Thirsting for distinction, she sent out a colony, who gave
her name to the city of the Ubii. Placed on a scaffold, erected
between the Roman eagles, she received the submission
Caractacus, general of the forces of Britain, who, wit
family, came to Rome to do homage for his freedom.
Thus elevated, and grasping the substance of power, the
shadow of which was insufficient to satisfy her, she opposed
the judgment of the emperor, who favoured the Samaritans,
and took the part of king Agrippa and the Jews, for whom she
finally prevailed. Her ascendancy over her husband subjected
to her the empire: the nobles, the people, the governors of
provinces, courted her protection by presents and submission.
Indolently acquiescing in her projects, the incapacity of Clau-
dius opposed no limits to her power. She procured for her
son, while yet immature, the toga virilis; and also, when in
his twentieth year, the privilege of demanding the consulate,
and of exercising the proconsular authority. She caused
bounties to be distributed in his name among the people and
the army, and had him declared prince of the Roman youth,
Nero appeared, in the circus and at the games, richly habited
in a triumphal robe; while Britannicus, the rightful heir, was
yet in the garment of the pretexta.” The forfeit of their posts
was the punishment of those who shewed disgust or compas-
sion for the humiliation of their prince, while their offices were
conferred on the partisans of the empress. Geta and Crispi-
nus, captains of the guard, were the first who incurred this pe-
nalty; while Burrhus, an officer, who had attached himself to
the cause which favoured his interest, received their incorpo-
rated companies. * - ×
A scarcity at Rome afforded to Agrippina an opportunity
of courting popularity for her son, of which she eagerly avail-
ed herself. A tumult was purposely raised by her emissaries
to intimidate the emperor, who, weak in body and weaker in
mind, was incapable of relieving the exigences of the state.
The people, flocking round the palace, cried aloud for bread:
* Worn by the sons of senators before the age of seventeen, when they
assumed the toga virilis, or habit of a man. . . ;






AGRIPPINA THE YouNGER.
Claudius, without fortitude or resource, and alarmed by the
commotion, was, with little difficulty, induced by Agrippina to
publish an edict, transferring upon Nero the burthen of go-
vernment, beneath which his pusillanimous spirit shrunk.
Nero, tutored on this occasion by his mother, caused a quan-
tity of corn, reserved for the purpose, to be distributed among
the populace; he afterwards, attended by the senate, ascended
the capitol, to offer prayers for the recovery of the emperor,
who was reported to be labouring under a dangerous sickness.
Narcissus, a freedman of Claudius, who, by ridding him of
the late empress, Messalina, had acquired his confidence, saw
through the policy and the arts of Agrippina, and, from time
to time, advised his master (whom he served as secretary) of
her designs. Aware of his purpose, and convinced of his in-
tractability, the empress meditated how she might rid herself
of his interference. But, afraid of acting precipitately, she
contented herself for a time with endeavours to undermine
him in the confidence of Claudius, while she waited an oppor-
tunity to effect his ruin; for which an occasion, at length,
seemed to present itself.
A mock sea-fight was ordered upon the Lacus Fucinus,
for the entertainment of the emperor, for which an hundred
galleys were equipped. The banks of the lake, and the ad-
jacent mountains, were covered with people, who crowded to
the spectacle. The emperor, clothed in armour, was seated
on a throne, erected on an eminence; near him, on another,
appeared Agrippina magnificently attired. The combat was
performed without disorder, to the satisfaction of the specta-
tors. The representation of an engagement by land was next
ordered by Claudius, for which bridges were thrown over the
lake. Near its mouth, where the water was used to discharge
itself, a splendid repast was provided for the court. A bank
had been cut for the purpose of letting the water pass into a
canal made to receive it; when, rushing suddenly, with an
ex, ected force, every thing was carried before the tide.
An universal consternation took place on this disaster; when,
in endeavouring to escape, some were drowned, and others
trampled to death: while all was disorder, terror, and confu-
sion, Agrippina seized the advantage, which the dismay of
the emperor afforded her, to ruin Narcissus, by whom the












AGRIPPINA
ſº
spectacle had been prepared. She accused him of having ne-
glected the means of security, for the purpose of appropriating
to himself the sums allotted by Claudius for the show; while
to this she added a heavy charge of peculation and fraud, un-
der which, she declared, the provinces groaned. Narcissus
defended himself with spirit, retorting on the empress the
charge of ambition and pride: he sought also to convince the
emperor of her views in the destruction of his servant, whose
fidelity to his master (against whose family she meditated, in
behalf of her son, the most criminal designs) he affirmed to
have been his only fault. He declared among his friends,
that whether Britannicus or Nero succeeded to the throne, his
ruin was equally certain; since the former would avenge upon
him the death of his mother, whose licentiousness had dis-
honoured the emperor and the empire; nor would the latter
fail to espouse the cause of Agrippina, whose interest requir-
ed his destruction. Still, while he survived, duty to his mas-
ter, he protested, would constrain him to point out the snares
that were spread in his path. -
Wavering between the contending parties, and wanting
fortitude to check the irregularities of the empress, of which
he was but too well aware, the weak Claudius was incapable
of decision. Wine at length, by its temporary effects, gave
him courage to avow his consciousness of the deceptions
practised upon him, and to menace their author with future
retribution. Agrippina, informed of the threat, which, in his
intoxication, the emperor had let fall, determined to forestall
the blow, and avert from herself the fate of Messalina; but,
previous to the completion of this design, she was solicitous
to remove a rival, whose pretensions she had for some time
impatiently endured. .
Domitia Lepida, the aunt of Nero, wealthy, high-born,
beautiful, haughty, and licentious, had presumed to oppose
her attractions to those of the empress, and to di
her the homage of the court. Her indulgence and libera
towards her nephew, had attracted him to her with tender af.
fection, while the austerity of his mother made him shun her
presence. An accusation of magic, of disaffection to the
state, of an attempt to destroy the empress by unlawful prac-
tices, was preferred against Domitia, by the emissaries of










16 AGRIPPINA
Agrippina; and, notwithstanding the efforts of Narcissus,
who openly espoused her cause, she fell a sacrifice to these
ridiculous pretences.
The emperor, conscious of the injustice to which Domitia
had been a victim, yet too pusillanimous to interpose for her
preservation, revolved in his thoughts the consequences of
these proceedings. The warnings of Narcissus forcibly recur-
red to his remembrance: appalled and undetermined, with a
view of diverting his anxiety, he made a tour to Sinuessa,
celebrated for its baths, and for the salubrity of its air. Agrip-
pina embraced this opportunity, when, absent from the court,
she could more easily surround him with those devoted to her
service, of perpetrating the crime she had long meditated. A
poison was accordingly prepared by Locusta (celebrated for
her skill in this pernicious art), and administered to the em-
peror in his favourite dish.* The drug working slowly and
causing a vomiting, it was feared by the empress that its ef-
fects might fail; when Zenophon, a physician devoted to her
service, introduced, under pretence of relieving the emperor,
a feather into his throat, dipped in a subtle and mortal venom.
A few moments terminated the tragedy: Claudius expired, a
victim to his own weakness, and the turpitude of a woman
whom he had raised to the throne.
His death was concealed for a time, the better to dispose
the nation in favour of Nero. The senate and consuls were
lered to offer up vows for the recovery of the emperor,
those body was carefully covered: comedians were also sent
for, the better to carry on the deception, under pretence of
diverting him in his sickness. Agrippina, in the mean time,
tained in a distant apartment Britannicus and his sister. The
rt of the death of Claudius, notwithstanding these pre-
º, accompanied by Burrhus, the captain of the guards,
j heir, was held back by Agrippina, while her son, who had,
is promises, gained the hearts of the soldiers, was pro-
* Aragoo of mushrooms. . .
feigned endearments and professions of sympathy, de-
tions, spreading through the city, it was judged expedient
**** . # . . . ; #
present himself to the legions. Britannicus, the right-
wed emperor. The precipitate decree received from the













*
GRIPPINA THE YOUNGER
senate, prepared for the occasion, an immediate confirmation.
The deceased emperor was placed among the gods. Nero,
alluding in sport to this circumstance, afterwards gave to a
ragoo of mushrooms, the dish in which the poison had been
prepared for his predecessor, the title of food for the gods.
Agrippina, having thus reached the goal to which her
views had been directed, determined, in the wantonness of
success, to avenge herself on those who had opposed her.
Junius Silanus, surnamed by Caligula, the golden sheep, from
the sweetness and benevolence of his temper, great-grandson -
to Augustus, and pro-consul of Asia, was the first victim to
her vindictive temper. His birth and amiable qualities had en-
deared him to the Romans, who, dissatisfied with the youth
and inexperience of Nero, and disgusted with the means by
which he had ascended the throne, openly talked of bestow-
ing the empire on Silanus. To rid herself of this formidable
competitor, the empress again had recourse to poison. -
Fidelity to his master had thrown Narcissus into prison,
where, languishing in misery, he voluntarily laid down a life
become odious and burthensome. His fate was not wholly un-
merited: enriched by the miseries of the people, oppression
and rapine had left him but few friends. Other victims, mark-
ed for vengeance, were saved by the interposition of Burrhus
and Seneca (the governors of Nero), who laboured to form
their pupil to virtue, and to curb the ambition of his mother.
Pallas, the favourite of Agrippina, left no means unessayed
to usurp over the mind of the young emperor the influence
had exercised over that of his predecessor; but his arrogant
and severe manners were but little suited to the temper of
Nero, who, supported by his governors, repelled with firmness
his assumption. -
Seneca and Burrhus, differing in character, yet actin
concert, aspired to direct the councils of the state, to sup
Pallas, and humble his protectress, an occasion for w
quickly occu - ſº
rival at Roi º * * *
business of national importance. A day was accordingly
pointed for the conference, when Nero, seated on at
prepared to receive them in form. Agrippina, to who
son was indebted for his elevation, claimed a right of
#.
:
. . .



























with him the empire, and of taking her seat by his side on the
present occasion. But Nero, whom his governors had taught
to consider such a measure as an innovation, and as degrading
to the Roman dignity, determined to oppose her purpose. As
the empress, with a majestic air, silently advanced towards her
place, Seneca whispered to the prince to evade her intention.
Nero took the hint, and coming down from the throne, as if
to receive his mother, contrived, by compliments and affected
civilities, to protract the time, till a frivolous pretence was in-
vented to defer the audience.
The preceptors of the emperor, in counteracting the influ-
ence of the empress, were not always scrupulous respecting
the means they adopted. Their pupil having conceived a pas-
sion for a slave named Acte, they encouraged his infatuation,
with a view of opposing to the ascendancy of his mother the
blandishments of a mistress. Disorders, which might have
been foreseen, followed a policy so imprudent and pernicious:
, the emperor, whose passions were impetuous, and whose ex-
travagance knew no bounds, determined, to the degradation of
his rank, and the subversion of the laws of the empire, to raise
Acte to the throne. Incensed and humiliated by a competitor
so ignoble, Agrippina remonstrated with bitterness, and ha-
rassed her son by censures and complaints. Opposition pro-
. ing its usual effects, the passion of Nero was inflamed, and
reproofs of his mother became intolerable: to rid himself
of her persecutions, he talked of abdicating the throne; while,
in t heir mutual upbraidings, truths escaped, which deprived
1 of the public esteem. The city made sport of their dis-
ions, and the court became a scene of confusion.
* ro began at length to perceive the impolicy of this in-
mperate conduct, and to dread the dangers which might en-
m the irritation of a spirit like that of Agrippina's.
\g his sentiments, he affected to become indifferent
ress, and to court a reconciliation with his mother.
:ceiving that he was not the dupe of her preten-
hat he distrusted the motive of her caresses, resent-
uspicions: their mutual disgusts were renewed and ag-
i, and hostilities recommenced. & : 3:3: 3: ... ???














AGRIPPINA THE YOUNGE
This showed itself openly, when the emperor, having sent
to his mother a present of jewels and rich clothing, she
haughtily commissioned the messenger to tell his master, that
she acknowledged no obligation in receiving back from herson
a part of the whole, which she had bestowed upon him. Nero,
enraged at this contempt and defiance, avenged himself of the
empress by dismissing from his service Pallas, her favourite,
on whom he had bestowed the office of high-treasurer. The
indignation of Agrippina on this insult knew no bounds: she
threatened, in her wrath, to raise Britannicus to the throne, to
conduct him herself to the armies, to point him out to the le-
gions as the son and rightful heir of Claudius, and to expose
to the nation the criminal means by which Nero had usurped
his inheritance. To menaces she added reproaches the most
bitter; it is even said, that, abandoning herself to an excessive
rage, she forbore not to add blows to invective and reproach.
Nero was not unmoved by the vehemence he had pro-
voked: Britannicus had arrived at an age to feel the injustice
he suffered, and to render himself formidable to the oppressor:
respecting the means by which he had been supplanted, he had,
on the following occasion, recently betrayed his sentiments.
A king being elected in sport, at an assembly, to rule the
amusements of the evening, the lot had fallen upon Nero, who,
for the purpose of insulting the prince, had commanded him
to sing. Britannicus complied with the mandate, and made
the subject of his song, the treachery by which he had been
supplanted in the throne of his ancestors. The audience ap-
peared moved; the tyrant was confounded; and from that mo-
ment determined on the destruction of so dangerous a rival.
Another cause of jealousy, less important and more ridicul
has been also attributed to Nero: desirous of being admired
for his excellence in vocal music, he could not pardon Britar.
nicus for possessing a more melodious voice,
It was not long before, by the ready means of poison, to
which he had again recourse, he contrived to remove his ri
led only by her grief; no suspicion could fall upon her; her
interest in the preservation of the prince, through whom al

















nobles and officers of the state; her credit and power daily
diminished. From neglect and coldness, Nero proceeded to
humiliation and outrage: dismissing the guards which, as the
wife and mother of an emperor, had been appointed to attend
her, he at length compelled her to quit the palace, and to aban-
don the city; allotting for her residence a mean-house in the
suburbs, where wretches were commissioned to insult and
distress her. ; ; ; ; & 3%
The friends and flatterers of her prosperity, with few ex-
ceptions, vanished in her adverse fortunes: deserted, cast out,
contemned, without sympathy or support, the wretched Agrip-
pina sunk at once from the elevation to which she had waded
through a sea of blood. Not a vestige of her former greatness
remained; the incense of courts, the homage of nations, were
exchanged for indignities the most vile and gross; those on
whom she had lavished favours, who owed to her their for-
tunes, joined in the cry against her; or, by affected condolance,
sought to ensnare her to her ruin. In this wreck of her pros-
perity she remained unappalled, sustained by her native courage.
At this crisis, she found her most implacable enemy in Si-
lana, a Roman lady, distinguished by her birth, by her riches,
and by her beauty. Silana had cultivated the friendship of the
empress, who had, on her part, though not without interested
views, been lavish in complacent returns. Sextus Africanus, a
Roman knight, became enamoured of the charms, and sought
the hand of Silama; till Agrippina, with a view of securing in
reversion the estates of her friend, threw impediments in the
way of their union: she suggested to the knight the dispropor-
*tween his own years and those of his mistress, whose
she hinted, were somewhat on the wane: while, with
nity to forbear to crush the vanquished. Agents
oyed by her to suborn Paris, a comedian, to act the
against the empress.
companions, was roused from an
of a conspiracy again —r
conspiracy against his life and
*




































AGRIPPINA THE YouNgER.
dignity, projected by his mother, and prepared for execution.
Agrippina had, it was pretended, by the promise of her hand,
and of sharing with him the empire, engaged in her designs
Rubellius Plautus, great-grandson to Augustus, the lustre of
whose birth was to conciliate the people, and to procure to
their cause a powerful party. . # º
The first purpose of Nero on this intelligence, was the im:
mediate destruction of the persons accused; but Burrhus,
more calm and collected, restrained his fury. He represented
to him, in forcible terms, the right of every criminal to be
heard in his own defence; the improbability of the charge al-
leged; and the character of the accuser, a single witness, alone
and unsupported, his testimony corroborated by no facts. To
these arguments he added, the reproach of the world, which
would not fail to pursue measures of a nature so desperate,
precipitately taken, without time for reflection, and in the
midst of a debauch. Far from being the advocate of the em-
press, or from feeling any solicitude respecting her justifica-
tion, he declared himself zealous but for the honour of his
master, which, if once secured by proofs of the crime, he was
himself prepared, not merely to act the part of a judge on the
occasion, but even to inflict the sentence, which should follow
conviction. .
The tyrant, appeased by reflections so reasonable, agreed to
suspend his vengeance, and to commission Burrhus and Seneca,
with a deputation of freemen, to investigate in the morning the
grounds of the charge. - -->
Burrhus, on his admittance to the empress, assuming a se-
vere accent and a menacing air, interrogated her respecting
accusation brought forward against her. To this cha.
Agrippina replied with a lofty and dauntless mien, m
with an air of resentment and scorn, that it was little surpris-
ing, that the feelings of a mother towards her offspring should
not be comprehended by Silana. “A tender mother,” ad
she, “forgets not her children with the facility with w
harlot changes her lovers. The agent employed by my
mies to effect their purpose, converts their malignity int
lesque. To an accuser like this, contempt rather than cred
due. The malice of adversaries may be safely defied, w
*upport of their ridiculous allegations, have failed to p















22
one reputable witness. It would be easy for me to demonstrate,
that the design imputed to my charge is incompatible with my
interest. From the generosity of Britannicus, had I been in-
strumental in restoring to him his rights, I might indeed have
flattered myself of protection; but, should the sovereign au-
thority fall into other hands, my enemies, I am but too well
aware, might bring charges against me which a son only could
pardon in a mother. 3 * : ; * *
Observing her audience impressed by the frankness and
spirit with which she defended herself, she boldly demanded
admittance to the emperor; of whom, without even deigning
to justify herself, or to reproach him with the rank which he
owed solely to her, she implored vengeance upon her accusers,
and a recompense for the friends who yet adhered to her.
Her peremptory and dignified manner, with the confidence of
her appeal, combined to assure her success. Nero, surprised
and moved, could refuse nothing to a mother, who, availing
herself of the sudden revulsion of sentiment produced by the
occasion, effected, in the heart of a tyrant, the triumph of na-
ture over ambition and fear. Silana was exiled, and her agents
suffered death; while on the adherents of the empress, offices
of honour and trust were conferred. .
Agrippina thus, by the malice of her enemies, reinstated in
her power, was little scrupulous of the means of maintaining it:
in opposing her interest to that of Sabina Poppaea, of whom
Nero was now become enamoured, a conduct is attributed to
her by historians, from the recital of which it is impossible not
to shrink with disgust. But her blandishments and fascinations
failed to supplant a rival whose influence over the emperor
ly increased, and who availed herself of her charms, to ag-
.#
length determined to rid himself of a competitor
lieted his mind, interfered with his pleasures, disturb-
: claims, and awakened his dread. Over a heart cor-
1 by power, and by the facility of indulging its passions,
re and gratitude have but a feeble sway. The emperor
his anxiety for the security of his privileges, that, for -














AGRIPPINATHE YOUNGER. 23
the rank to which he owed them, he was indebted to her whose
death was now become familiar to his thoughts. .2
To avoid the odium of parricide, he had recourse to secret
and treacherous measures: various attempts were made to ad-
minister poison to the empress, but aware of the perils of her
situation, she contrived, by precaution or antidotes, to baffle
the design. Seneca has been accused of a concurrence, or at
least of a passive acquiescence, in the criminal views of his
pupil. With a curious casuistry, some persons have supposed,
that the philosopher forbore to oppose a crime which, by filling
up the measure of the tyrant's offences, might draw down
upon him the slumbering vengeance of the gods.
Among various stratagems planned for the destruction of
Agrippina, it was proposed, that a flooring should be so con-
trived as to fall, as if by accident, in the middle of the night,
and thus to crush her to death. But a scheme, projected by
Anicetus, commander of the galleys, who in the childhood of
Nero had held the office of his governor, was at length preferred
as more practicable and ingenious. Anicetus, who had con-
ceived against the empress, whom he believed to be his enemy,
a mortal hatred, eagerly seized this opportunity of at once
paying court to his master, and accomplishing his own re-
venge. A galley was constructed under his direction, the deck
of which, on moving a spring should give way, and the hold di-
vide, by which means the persons beneath must be inevitably de-
stroyed, while the event might appear entirely casual. The em-
peror, on receiving the news of the success of the plan, was to
exonerate himself from suspicion, by an appearance of surprise
and concern; while, by paying honours to the memory of a
mother whom he equally hated and feared, he purposed to con-
ciliate popular esteem. The celebration of the approaching fes-
tival of M inerva, at Baiae, a seaport in Campania, resorted to 'or
its hot-springs and delicious gardens, appeared a fit opportunity
for the accomplishment of the design.
* Nero, accordingly, with professions of respectful affection
and concern for the past, proposed to his mother to accon jº
him to Baiae, for which they embarked in the galley prept
by Anicetus, and magnificently adorned for the occasion.
Touching at Antium, the emperor there left Agrippina,
Proceeded alone to Baie, whence he addressed to her an aſ











24
fectionate letter, in which he pressed her to join him, and to
pass, with the court, the remainder of the holidays. Agrippina,
flattered by these attentions, sailed immediately from Antium,
and put in at Bauli (i. e. Bagola), a pleasure-house, between
Misenum and Baiae: she was here met by Nero, who came to
receive her. Having conducted her to the castle, where re-
freshments were provided for her, he there left her, and re-
turned to Baiae. However secretly the measures of the empe-
ror had been concerted, Agrippina received at Bauli an ob-
scure intimation of some impending danger: perplexed with
conjectures respecting the purport of this warning, in which
nothing was distinctly specified, she determined to proceed by
land to Baiae. She was met on her arrival, by her son, with all
possible demonstrations of regard; while, to lull her suspicions,
he insidiously confided to her secrets of apparent importance.
He also appeared busied in devising spectacles for her amuse-
ment; and in public affected to yield to her the precedence, a
distinction yet more flattering to her pride. Deluded by these
extravagant testimonies of respect, Agrippina persuaded her-
self of their sincerity; her penetration was the dupe of her
wishes, while her distrust hourly lessened. On her return to
Bauli, whither she was desirous of being conveyed, the empe-
ror conducted her to the sea-side, caressing her on the way
with an appearance of the tenderest affection. The vessel in
which she was about to embark having, by a secret order from
fety of his mother, and pressed her to remove to the galley
»f Anicetus, whom, with detestable duplicity, he appointed to
e her guard. . . . . . . . . 3. x
e elements, as though they refused to be propitious to a
it thus execrable, were serene and calm. Two persons
companied the empress: Creperius Gallus, who placed
f near the rudder; and Aceronia Polla, a Roman lady,
seated at the feet of her mistress, congratulated her on
haviour of her son. The galley had scarcely cleared the
, on a signal from Anicetus, the flooring of the cabin,
ad for the purpose, suddenly gave way, and sunk
h the empress. Creperius, thrown from the rudder by
, was killed by the blow, while the partitions not
elding, the floor still remained suspended. A confu-












AGRIPPINA THE YoUNGER 25
sion ensued among the seamen; the springs, by which the hold
was to be separated, failed at the critical moment, through the
exertions made by those of the ship's company to whom the
secret had not been entrusted. In this dilemma, there appear-
ed no other way of destroying the vessel than by causing it to
be overset; a purpose rendered of tedious execution by the dif-
ferent manoeuvres of the crew. In the midst of this perplexity,
Agrippina, with the lady attending her, fell gently into the sea,
whence the latter, unconscious qf the occasion of their dis-
tress, shrieked aloud for aid; calling upon the seamen, in the
name of the empress, to snatch her from impending destruc-
tion. Deceived by her cries, and mistaking her for their vic-
tim, the creatures of Anicetus struck her on the head with
their poles and oars, when, stunned by the blows, she immedi-
ately sunk. In the mean time, Agrippina, in silence, intrepidly
struggled with the waves, contriving to keep her head above
water, till barks from the shore, alarmed by the noise, came to
the relief of the wreck. The empress being taken up, was con-
veyed by the boatmen in safety to the land. Having received
no other injury than a blow on the shoulder, and what arose
from her fears, Agrippina revolved in her thoughts all the cir-
cumstances of the previous disaster, the source of which she
was not long at a loss to discover. But too politic to suffer her
suspicions to appear, she commissioned her freedman, Ageri-
nus, to inform the emperor, who was not far off, of her danger
and escape: she directed her messenger to add, that she would
at present dispense with the attendance of her son, since she
greatly needed repose. Though in a situation thus abounding
with perils, the empress forgot not her interest, but caused a
diligent search to be made for the will of the lady who perish-
ed as her substitute, and a seal to be placed upon her effects.
Nero received with rage and mortification, intelligence of
the failure of his project; he perceived that the contrivance,
with all its atrocity, was exposed to his mother; nor could he
doubt her endeavours to rouse in her defence the senate and
People. In this agitation of spirits, he implored he counsel of
Burrhus and Seneca, who listened to him in silence, and
some moments’ pause, deliberated apart. On their
the emperor, they confessed their inability to afford
sistance: Burrhus declared that the praetorian band w
VoI. I. :. D . . . . . .





28 AGRIPPINATHE YouNGER
embrue their hands in the blood of the Caesars, nor offer out-
rage to the family of Germanicus, whose memory they held in
the highest veneration: to this he added, an intimation that
Anicetus, who had charged himself with the affair, was the fit-
test person to complete his engagement. Nero, eagerly avail-
ing himself of this insinuation, renewed his solicitations to the
commander of the galleys, who yielded without difficulty to his
wishes. The tyrant, embracing him on his acquiescence, in a
transport of savage joy, assured him, that from that moment he
considered the empire as his gift, and should hold it as the fruit
of his zeal.
Agerinus, deputed by Agrippina to the emperor, now de-
manded to be admitted to his presence: as he delivered his
commission, a dagger, by the command of Nero, was secretly
dropped at his feet, as if, concealed for treacherous purposes,
it had slipped from beneath his garment. This paltry strata-
gem affording a pretence, Agerinus was seized and conveyed
to prison, for the purpose of reflecting an odium upon his mis-
tress, and preparing the public mind for what was to follow.
During these machinations at Baiae, the report of the ship-
wreck, which was believed to be accidental, and the danger of
the empress, spread through the country. The people flock-
ed from all quarters to express their solicitude on the occasion,
to assure themselves of the safety of the empress, and to con-
gratulate her on her escape. But these public demonstrations
ś of sympathy failed to allay her disquietude: Agerinus had not
returned; no tidings had arrived from her son; dreadful fore-
bodings haunted her mind. º
At this crisis, Anicetus, at the head of some troops, sud-
appeared, and besetting the house in which Agrippina
|ged, secured all her domestics. Consternation spread
the place, while Anicetus forced his way to the cham-
his victim, who, attended only by one of her women,
s reposing on her couch. The attendant fled at the approach
the assassins: “Alas!” exclaimed the empress in a pa-
e, as she perceived herself abandoned, and her fate
near, “will you also leave me?” The rufian, followed by
naval officers, approached the couch on which Agrippina
Rallying her spirits, she received them with firm-
§









JANE D’ALBERT. . 27
ness. “If,” said she, “you come, commissioned by your mas-
ter, to inquire after my health, tell him I am recovering; but,
if you harbour designs against my life, you are not the agents
of my son; he is incapable of parricide.” The sanguinary
band, surrounding the couch, shewed no relenting symptoms.
As the empress yet spoke, she received on her head a blow
with a truncheon, while a centurion, drawing his sword, pre-
pared to conclude the tragedy. No longer affecting to doubt
the criminality of her son, Agrippina presented her body to the
murderers:—“Strike here,” said she ; “level your rage against
the womb which gave birth to a monster.” Thus, great alike in
guilt and in misfortune, perished this magnanimous princess,
pierced with repeated wounds, under the hands of assassins.
Nero, whose heart knew not to relent, treated with indig-
nity the remains of a mother, who, solicitous for his aggran-
dizement, had corrupted his principles, and stifled in his mind
the sentiments of virtue. Remorse, it is said, at length seized
him, and, in the spirit of a tyrant, awakened its tortures. “The
vengeance of the gods,” says the historian “seemed to follow
him, while, haunted by the phantoms of a disturbed imagina-
tion, he sunk into the terrors of a pusillanimous superstition.”
Tacitus, Suetonius, &c.—Lives of the Roman Empresses, Con-
sºs to the first twelve Caesars of Rome—Dictionaire des
Femmes célébrées, sº
JANE D’ALBERT. §
JANE, or Joan, D’ALBERT, daughter of the illustrious Mar- ...;
garet, queen of Navarre, ranks high among women distinguish-
ed for their great qualities. This princess, while yet in her
childhood, having scarcely completed her eleventh year, was
given in marriage, by her uncle Francis I. to the duke of
Cleves. The nuptials were celebrated at Chattelleraud (
15, 1500), with extraordinary magnificence and expense, w
feasts and tournaments, as in the days of chivalry.
Francis, according to some historians," had caused his
niece to be educated at Plessis de Tours, where he detained
her strictly guarded, lest she should, by her father, the king of
Navarre, be given in marriage to Philip, the son of the
. º * Olhagarny, Hist, of Foix, Bearn, and Navarre.















28 JANE DALBERT.
emperor. Jane, it is added, impatient of this restraint, aban-
doned herself to sorrow and repining, till her uncle, touched
with her grief, determined to liberate her from her confinement,
by uniting her, without the consent of her parents, to the duke
of Cleves. This marriage, however, appears not to have been
agreeable to the young princess, who protested in form against
it, in the presence of John, sieur d'Abere: the nuptials were
never completed, and were afterwards, through the interces-
sion of the king of Navarre, and by the authority of the pope,
entirely set aside; when both parties were allowed the liberty
of contracting a new alliance. The duke speedily availed him-
self of his freedom, by marrying the daughter of Ferdinand,
king of the Romans, and brother to the emperor. . 3.
An anecdote is related by Brantome to prove, that Marga-
ret, the mother of Jane, notwithstanding her disapprobation of
the connexion, was present at the nuptial ceremony of her
daughter with the duke of Cleves. “The bride,” says he,
“being led to the church, covered with gold and jewels, sunk
inder the weight of her robes. Francis, observing her unable
to proceed, commanded the constable of Montmorenci to bear
her in his arms: this order, deemed unworthy the rank and
dignity of the person to whom it was delegated, excited the
surprise of the court; to the queen of Navarre only it appear-
ed to give satisfaction, who openly expressed a degree of
triumph in the humiliation of the man who had sought to ruin
her with her brother.” Montmorenci, mortified and offended,
º foresaw in this incident his disgrace; nor was he mistaken;
on the same day he was dismissed by the king from all his
ployments.
In October, 1548, Jane was a second time married, at
lins, to Anthony de Bourbon, duke of Vendome, to whom
ore two sons, who, by singular accidents, perished in
eir infancy. The first through the excessive and ill-judged
nderness of his governess, was suffocated with heat. The
cond was a victim to the indiscretion of his nurse, who,
le throwing the child, in sport, backward and forward to a
eman who was playing with it, carelessly let it fall to the
ld, from the effect of which it never recovered.
Jane, being in Picardy in 1553, with her husband, gove
nor of that province, and commander of the army against
* .


















JANE D’ALBERT. 29
Charles V. became a third time pregnant; when Henry d’Al-
bert, her father, informed of her situation, and anxious for the
event, earnestly besought her to return home. In compliance
with this request, she departed from Compiegne, November
13th, and arrived at Pau, December 4th. The 15th of the
same month, she was delivered of a son, afterwards Henry IV.
of France. The king of Navarre, from some whimsical asso-
ciation of ideas, which respected the future character of the
child, had promised his daughter to put into her hands his
will, which she was curious to inspect, upon condition, that,
during the pangs of childbirth, she should sing a Bearnoise
song. To this proposition Jane acceded, and, in despite of
nature, had the fortitude to perform her engagement; as her
father entered her chamber, she sang, in the language of
Bearn, a song which thus began: Notre-Dame du bout du pont,
aidez-moi en cette heure.* The king, after her delivery, pre-
sented to her a golden box, in which the will was enclosed,
and, at the same time, threw around her neck a chain of gold:
* These are for you, my daughter,’ said he, “but this is mine,’
taking the infant in his arms as he spoke, and, without waiting
till it was dressed, covering it with his gown, and conveying
it to his chamber.
On the death of her father, May 25th, 1555, Jane became
queen of Navarre. Having imbibed the spirit of her mother,
she shewed herself, on this occasion, the indulgent protectress
of the reformed religion, of which, it is believed, she would,
with her husband, have made a public profession, but for the
menaces of the French king, and the intimations she received,
through cardinal d’Armagnac, of the indignation and vengeance
of the pope. The king and queen of Navarre, apprehensive
of the dangers which threatened them, were compelled to make
a visit to the court of France; when, passing on their way
through Rochelle, a curious incident occurred.
A company of comedians having arrived in the city, a re-
presentation was announced, for the entertainment of the royal
pair, who, accompanied by their retinue, and a numerous
ence, attended the theatre on the evening of the performance
woman, apparently dying, was brought upon the stage, who,
• Our Lady at the end of the bridge, assist me at this ho








30 JANE D’ALBERT.
with sighs and groans, demanded to be confessed. The curate
of the parish being summoned, acted over in vain his forms
and mummery, the penitent still declaring she had experienced
no relief. Other priests followed, with the monks of their
various orders, bearing an apparatus of relics, crucifixes, and
indulgences, and muttering over their sacred incantations. At
length, the sinner, as a last resource, was wrapped in the gar-
ment of St. Francis. Still her spirit was not appeased: with
bitter lamentations, she declared the inefficacy of all that had
been done. At this critical moment a friend enters, who,
looking on all sides, as fearful of being overheard, informs the
sufferer, in a low voice, that there was a person whose skill
could restore her to health and peace, but who dared not ven-
ture out, except under the covert of night and darkness. The
despairing wretch, impatient of relief, implored that he might
be brought to her without delay. After a short time, this
vaunted physician for soul and body, makes his appearance,
clad in an ordinary habit. Approaching the bed of the dying
woman, he held with her a conversation in whispers, during
which her countenance and gestures expressed great satisfac-
tion. Presently he drew from his pocket a small book, which,
having placed in her hand, he declared aloud that it contained
infallible recipes for the disorder under which she laboured;
recipes, by the observance of which, she would, in a few days,
find her health renewed.
The stranger then departed. The woman, springi
full vigour, now came forward, and, after pacing the stage for
a few moments, turned to the spectators, and informed them,
that this person had effected what had before been found im-
practicable. That the book indeed contained admirable direc-
tions, of which her recovery afforded a convincing proof; and,
that such as might be afflicted by similar diseases, would do
well to have recourse to the same remedies, which she was
ready cheerfully to impart. But she warned those who were
inclined to avail themselves of her offer, that the medicines
wo ld be found hot to the touch, with an unpleasant savour,
resembling that of faggots. Respecting the title of this book,
her own name, she must, she added, be silent; as these
igmas, the solution of which was left to the sagacity of
ºnce.













JANE DALBERT. 31
The king and queen of Navarre, with their court, and
many of the spectators, expressed their satisfaction with this
comedy, the mystical sense of which it was easy to discover.
By the diseased person Truth was allegorically signified, whom
the monks and priests failed to satisfy; the unknown was a re-
former, compelled by the spirit of the times to conceal himself;
the book, the New Testament, forbidden to the laity under the
penalty of the stake, to which the scent of faggots alluded.
The ecclesiastics and catholics, conceiving themselves in-
sulted by this farce, complained to the king, and appealed to
the civil magistrates, who threatening, on their application, to
proceed against the comedians, they judged it proper to de-
camp. Their retreat, it is probable, would have been scarcely
effected in safety, had it not appeared, that they belonged to
the suit of the royal visitors. During the stay of the king and
queen of Navarre, who were magnificently entertained in
Rochelle, their inclination towards the Reformation was mani-
fested on more than one occasion. & º
About this period it was observed, that Jane displayed less,
zeal in the cause of the reformers than did her husband, who
had particularly patronised David, a monk: this man came into
Guienne with the mareschal de St. Andre, in 1555, and follow-
ed the court of Navarre in their progress to Paris. David was,
by his patron, incited to preach in Rochelle and in the towns
through which they passed: his sermons roused the attention
of many persons, who began secretly to assemble themselves.
Having been opposed by the bishop of Agen, he departed to
the city of Nerac, where he was permitted by the king and
queen, his patrons, to preach in the great hall of the castle:
hence, it is said, the doctrines of the Reformation took root,
spread themselves, and were never afterwards eradicated.
The king of Navarre even carried David to Fontainbleau, by
which he gave offence to Henry II. Jane, young, gay, lovely,
and fond of elegant amusements, appeared at times weary of
preaching and praying, and remonstrated with her husband
respecting the consequences of his zeal, which might probably
prove the ruin of his estates; she reminded him, that the
kingdom of Navarre had, by her predecessors, been forfeited
through their departure from the established forms, and fra
ly confessed that she felt not inclined to incur a similar I










32 § JANE DALBERT.
alty. But, in the revolution of human affairs and human opi-
nions, the scene at length was reversed: Jane became the
protectress of calvinism, which her husband not merely re-
nounced, but actually persecuted. A brief account of the
progress of the protestant religion, at Bearn, under the auspices
of this princess, may not be here unacceptable. . .
In 1557, the sieur de St. Martin went to Geneva, to pro-
cure a minister for the king of Navarre, to instruct his court
and household in the principles of the Reformation. The
court of France, on this occasion, threatened war against
Navarre; and Boisnermund, the minister, was therefore
obliged to retire: in one of the most ancient families of Bearn
attached to the protestant cause, he found an assylum. The
king and queen of Navarre, in 1558, going into France, as
has already been related, carried in their train Peter David,
whom they permitted to preach to them, without a surplice, in
a priest's habit. The king, having visited Henry II. at Fon-
tainbleau, returned to Paris, and mingled in the assemblies of
... he reformed: two of their ministers were even surprised in
his chamber, one of whom, by bribing the serjeants, effected
his escape: the other was seized, and imprisoned in the
Châtelet, whence his patron, claiming him as one of his house-
hold, released him on the following day. The king also as-
sisted at the public field assemblies of the pre aux cleres, where
the psalms of David were sung. On the promise of a valuable
benefice from the cardinals Bourbon and Lorrain, Peter Da-
vid betrayed his cause, and undertook to restore his patrons
to the church of Rome. But the king, on the discovery of his
duplicity, justly disgusted with his unprincipled venality, dis-
missed him from his service with indignation. -
On leaving Bearn, the royal pair had placed their son un-
der the joint care of Susanne de Bourbon, wife to John d’Al-
bert, and Lewis d’Albert, bishop of Lescar. The regents,
though catholics, protected the reformed, who, countenanced
by their governors, began to hold considerable assemblies.
The foundation of the Reformation, it was said, was laid in
Bearn, by means of a woman, a bishop, and a child. The
king of Navarre, on hearing this intelligence, affected con-
* for what he had secretly countenanced; while, in proof
%


















JANE D’ALBERT. 33
of his sincerity, he allowed George, cardinal d’Armagnac, with
the title of lieutenant-general, to repair to Bearn. The lieutenant
commenced the exercise of his authority by imprisoning Henl
de Barran, a protestant minister, formerly a dominican, wh
was detained, without other injury, to be presented to th
king, who, on his return, dismissed him with an exhortation t
persevere in the exercise of the mission given him by God.
The king of Navarre had left France in disgust, complain-
ing that his interest had been neglected at the treaty of Cateau.
After the decease of Henry, he again repaired to Paris, but
was unable to maintain his privilege as first prince of the blood.
During the minority of Francis I. he is accused of having for-
feited the authority and influence which his rank might have
given him, in which he would have been supported by the
principal forces of the kingdom, and which he had engaged to
exercise for the protection of the reformed. To this accusation
was added, that of suffering himself to be governed by two per-
sons, who had obtained his confidence, the sieur d’Escars and
the bishop of Mande, who were in collusion with his enemies.
After tamely submitting to a thousand indignities, and
assisting at the coronation of Francis, he was sent back, with
a commission to conduct the sister of the king to her hus-
band, the king of Spain. Having performed this office, he re-
tired to Bearn, and, affecting contempt for the French court, ,
openly countenanced the protestants. On being recalled to
France with his brother, the prince of Condé, they were put
under restraint, through the influence of the Guises: the prince
was tried, and condemned to lose his head; while schemes
were in agitation for destroying the king of Navarre, by poison
or assassination. The death of Francis, at this juncture, saved
, the princes, and defeated the malice of their enemies. Th
king, publicly protesting against the house of Guise, fou
himselfjoined by the reformed, for whose religion he prete
ed to be zealous. For some time he held a strict union w
the huguenot leaders, and having, by their means, obta
the post of º lieutenant-general, by which he represente
a year, he would º
d cause t
N. . ld cause the pure gospel
out France. Under his protection, heresy trium
within the precincts of the court; till, gained ov
§




















by the stratagems of Catherine de Medicis, by chimerical
hopes of the kingdom of Sardinia, and by advantages propo-
*sed to him by Philip II. and the court of Rome, he deserted
his cause, leagued with the catholics, and became an enemy
to the protestants, whom he sought to constrain his queen to
abandon: but, resisting his instances, and resenting his ill
treatment, Jane retired from France.
This weak and versatile prince, despised by the party he
espoused, abhorred by that he had betrayed, and contemned
by the honest and upright of both, perished a short time after,
in consequence of a wound received at the siege of Rouen,
November 17, 1562. Ambition and its illusive projects fading
at the approach of death, scruples agitated the mind of the
royal penitent, and former associations revived in his mind:
solemnly recanting his errors, he declared his resolution,
should longer life permit him, to espouse more zealously than
before the cause of the Reformation.
The queen, informed of this catastrophe, sought consola-
tion in the offices of religion, and, on the following Christmas-
day, made a public confession of her faith. At the same time,
with heroic firmness, she fortified Bearn, and prepared against
the approach of the Spaniards, who, it was reported, were plot-
ting to surprise the city. Having established protestantism.
throughout her dominions, she abolished popery, seized the
effects of the ecclesiastics, and applied them to the support of
the ministers and schools. She had not only resisted, with
~. . . . . stancy, the injurious treatment of her husband, on his apos-
º, but the solicitations of the queen regent of France, Ca-
erine of Medicis, while she every where afforded protection
to the huguenots. Motives of policy or of passion enter too
. nto the majority of religious disputes, to expect from
artisans moderation or consistency: each party ex-
tims against the persecution, which each in its turn adopts.
he offices of the catholic church were prohibited throughout
l, its altars overthrown, its images destroyed, and its
sions forbidden. Twenty ministers were recalled to the
m, at a great expense, to instruct the people in their own
demies were established; and the affairs of the .
civil and ecclesiastical, were regulated by the queen,
d her senechal to hold assizes throughout the nation,
the grand jours in France. . .



















JANE D’ALBERT.
While Jane was at the French court, in June, 1566, an
assembly of protestants was held in Bearn, from which Mi-
chael Vignaux, minister of Pau, was deputed to the queen, to
entreat the entire abolition of the ceremonies of the Romish
religion, and a regulation of the country agreeable to the laws
of the gospel, &c. The deputy was graciously received, and
his remonstrances submitted to the council: letters patent
were granted in July, allowing privileges to the protestants,
and the exercise of their religion; forbidding profanation and
immoralities, processions, interments in churches, &c. Also,
enjoining the ecclesiastical senate, established by the queen,
to collect children, and maintain them at the college, at the
public expense, that they might be rendered useful to the state,
with other regulations. Likewise, taking from ecclesiastics the
power of conferring benefices, and giving to the patron the pri-
vilege of presentation, provided the person chosen was of the
reformed religion, for the ministers of which a pension was
assigned. . .
The publication of this patent being suspended, from the
apprehension of disorder, the queen, in despite of the opposi-
tion of the catholics, caused it on her return, to be fully exe-
cuted. The states of Bearn, having assembled at Pau, peti-
tioned for a revocation of these letters, or at least for limita-
tions and restrictions. This was refused to them, and an am-
nesty only granted for the rebels of Oberon, who were already
in the hands of the executioner. r
In 1563 Jane had been cited to Rome by the pope, who
caused the citation to be fixed on the gates of St. Peter: the
Inquisition declared, in case of her non-appearance, her lands
and lordships to be confiscated, and her person subjected to the
penalties appointed for heresy. But the court of France re-
voked the citation, conceiving it militated against the liberties
of the Gallican church. By the frequent insurrections of her
catholic subjects, the queen was kept in perpetual alarm: it was
even reported, that a conspiracy was formed by them, for the
delivery of Jane and her children into the hands of the king
of Spain, by whom they were to be given up to the Inquisition.
But, holding the reins of government with a vigorous hand,
these projects were rendered abortive by Jane, who yielded
not any of the regal prerogatives. º
º,



In 1568 she quitted her dominions, to join the chiefs of the
protestant party. At Cognac, she held a conference with the
prince of Condé, her brother-in-law, to whom she presented
her son, the young Henry, prince of Navarre, who was devo-
ted from his birth to the cause of the reformers. She offered
at the same time, her rings and jewels, which were afterwards
mortgaged, to raise money for the charges of the troops.
From Cognac, Jane retired to Rochelle, carrying with her the
prince of Navarre, where she harangued the troops, who formed
a circle round her. She thence addressed letters to the foreign
princes, and particularly to the queen of England, to whom
she described in strong colours, the miseries and desolations
of France: having entreated her pity and assistance for a peo-
ple unjustly oppressed, she exhorted her to believe, that neces-
sity only had compelled her to have recourse to arms. This
letter was sent, Oct. 15, 1568, by the sieur de Chastelier.
In the mean time, the catholics of Bearn, assisted by suc-
cours from Charles IX. and taking advantage of the absence of
the queen, seized on the greater part of the country, of which
they were again dispossessed by the Count de Montgomery,
who had received his commission from Jane; and who, after
restoring the regal authority, violated the articles of capitula-
tion, by causing several of the catholic leaders to be put to
death. This breach of honour and humanity, how frequent
soever in those turbulent periods, admits of no excuse. But,
whatever may be thought of her moderation, the courage of
Jane in abolishing mass, and in enforcing the regulations
inst popery, is worthy of admiration: surrounded by a peo-
e under the direction of their priests, whose interests she
had invaded, whose altars she had overthrown, and to whom
the assassination of princes was no novel doctrine; opposed by
two powerful monarchs, animated with savage zeal against the
sectaries of the new faith, and urged on by the papal power,
he yet remained serene and unappalled. But treachery,
inst which this magnanimous princess was not prepared,
ed, where force had proved ineffectual. • * *
in alliance was proposed, by the court of France, between
nce of Navarre and Margaret of Valois, the sister of
IX. to which, by specious offers and pretences, Jane
*d to lend an ear: having taken a journey to Paris













JANE D’ALBERT.
for the preparation of these inauspicious nuptials, she was
there seized with a sudden illness, and, not without suspicions
of poison,” expired soon after, June 10, 1572, in the forty->
fourth year of her age. By this premature fate she escaped the
horrors of the night of St. Bartholomew, when, by the orders
of Charles IX. and of Catherine of Medicis, the protestants
were barbarously massacred; a catastrophe to which the death
of Jane had been a prelude, and to which, by falling into the
snares of the French court, she had in some measure been in-
nocently accessary. The cruel perfidy of Catherine, and the
profound dissimulation of the king, her son, must have been
utterly inconceivable to minds less atrocious and depraved
than their own, since the prudent admiral Coligny escaped not
their wiles.
The queen of Navarre, not less illustrious for her virtues
than for her courage, had expressed, in a letter to her son, an
ardent desire to rescue Margaret, his future wife, from the
dissolute court of France. “She is beautiful and discreet,”
says she, “and of a good mien, but trained in the midst of vo-
luptuousness and corruption. I would not for the world, that
you should make any stay here, for which reason & ..
for your marriage, and for the removal of your wife from those
scenes of licentiousness, by which every character is tainted.
I believed it great, but I find it exceeding my belief, &c.”
Jane possessed a strong and vigorous understanding, a cul-
tivated mind, and an acquaintance with the languages. She
left several compositions both in prose and verse. The follow.
ing extemporary stanza was made by her, on visiting th
printing press of Robert Stephens, May 21, 1566:
“Art singulier, d'icy aux derniers ans,
Representez aux enfans dema race,
Que j’ai suivi de craignans Dieula trace,
Afin qu'ils soient les mesmes pas suivans.” :::::::::::
* The huguenot physicians and surgeons, who opened the body of the
queen of Navarre, found no appearances in proof of the truth of this surmise.
Jane had through life been subject to violent pains in her head, attended with
an itching, and had expressly requested, that, after her decease, the cause of
this complaint might, if possible, be ascertained by the physicians, for the
benefit of her children, should they inherit the disorder. This desire
°omplied with, some small vessels, full of water, were discovere
the brain and the membrane by which it is enclosed, and pronoun
º men to have been the occasion of the malady which t










JANE DALBERT.
The generosity of her spirit, her prudence and zeal for the
Reformation, were manifested by her last will. It is recorded
by Peter Matthieu, to the honour of this queen, that she pre-
ferred rectitude of mind before grandeur or life; and was ac-
customed to say to her party, “that arms ought never to be
laid down, but upon one of three conditions—a safe peace, a
complete victory, or an honourable death.”
The courage, the capacity, the chastity, and the munifi-
e of Jane, are celebrated by Domilla, who adds, “She
would have been worthy of immortal praise, if she had not
presumed to explore, without sufficient learning, the profound-
est mysteries of divinity; and had she not pertinaciously ad-
hered to the errors of Calvin.” % .
D’A ºné, speaking of the queen of Navarre, says, “She
SSºº manly mind, an elevated capacity, a magnanimity
and fortitude of soul, proof against all the storms of adversity.”
De Thou concurs in these eulogiums on her talents and great-
ness of mind. He also informs us, that she ordered her body to
be interred without pomp, in the tomb of her father; that she
exhorted her son to perseverance in the doctrines of the Re-
formation, to love the princes of Condé and Conti as his bro-
thers, and to maintain a strict union between them and Coligni.
A son and a daughter survived her; the former, the cele-
brated Henry IV. was the most amiable and illustrious of the
rench monarchs. The latter, Catherine of Navarre, emulated
the example of her mother, and preserved a prudent and ex-
implary conduct, in the midst of a corrupt court. Henry, who
nderly esteemed his sister, and who, submitting to the neces-
y of the times, and solicitous to heal the wounds of his bleed-
g country, had abjured the doctrines of the reformers, in
in besought Catherine to imitate his example, and to con-
tract a splendid alliance. Determined to adhere to her faith,
she resolutely rejected every offer, of which her apostacy was
to be the price. After refusing an union with several princes,
she at length gave her hand to the duke of Bar, eldest son to
the duke of Lorraine, in 1599. This negociation was not ac-
plished without difficulty, on the account of the religion of
ride, and her averseness to quit France. 3
O
e
S
g the splendid alliances proposed to this princess had
º it of the king of Scotland, in which the queen of Eng-


















ALDRUDE.
land appeared warmly to interest herself, assuring Catherine, .
that on her compliance, she would secure to her the succession
of the English crown. Catherine experienced but little satis-
faction in her nuptials; her husband was a bigoted Catholic,
while she herself was but little less tenacious of her opinions.
Religious scruples at length triumphed over conjugal obliga-
tions: six months after their union, the duke, taking the op-
portunity of a jubilee, went to Rome to solicit a dispensation
for his marriage; which was granted, but upon condition, that,
should his wife refuse to become a Catholic, he should sepa-
rate himself from her. Catherine, in consequence of this de-
cision, remained a married widow, and died in the beginning
of the year 1604. .
On her death bed, she was exhorted by her hus
his father to think of her salvation, and to be rec
bosom of the true church. To which she repli
stancy, “As she had lived, so she was resolved to die.” Inflexi-
ble in her principles, she had resisted alike importunity, temp-
tation, and menace. She is said to have been a princess of
high spirit, sense, and learning; she was familiar with the
Latin language, and a votary of the muses, whom she courted
at an early age. Salmonius Macrinus was her preceptor.
Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Dictionaire Historique—Les Fem-
Thes Célébrées—Wraxall’s History of the House of Valois—His-
tory of France, &c. &c. . . :
ALDRUDE,
; : countess of BERTINoro. º
ALDRUDE, countess of Bertinoro, in Romagne, of the illu
trious house of Frangipani, is celebrated, by the writers of he
time, for her beauty, her magnificence, her courtesy, and her
. generosity. Italian history has been la ish in panegyric or the
courage and conduct displayed by this princess, in conjunction
with William degli Adelardi, a noble and powerful citizen of
Ferrara,in compelling the troops of the Venetians, and of theem-
peror Frederic I. to retire before Ancona, to which they had laid
seige, and of which transaction the following account is given.
Ancona, situated on the Adriatic sea, anciently made a pa
of the dutchy of Spolete, and had since alternately belonged to
the domains of the church, and to those of the Italian




















Towards the middle of the twelfth century, it appeared in-
dependent of either, under the form of a free government, pro-
tected by the Greek emperors, who appointed a commissary to
reside in the city. Ancona being a maritime place, which gave
entrance to Italy, its inhabitants navigated the Adriatic sea,
and interrupted the trade of the Venetians. - .
The emperor, Frederic I. beheld with jealousy and chagrin
the influence of the Greeks at Ancona, and the intrigues of
$...? Somnene with the Roman pontiff, Alexander III.
Urged by political motives, and the dangers which appeared
to menace him, he laid siege to Ancona, in July, 1167. The
citizens, animated by the Greeks, having their port free, and
confiding in the strength of their fortifications, defended them-
selves against the emperor with spirit and enthusiasm. His
tro fore the city, which continued to resist their most
vigorous attacks. At length, despairing of success, and hav-
ing stipulated with the Anconians for the delivery of a certain
sum of money, Frederic determined to raise the siege, and to
repair to Rome, whither his affairs called him.
This accommodation was of no long duration: the Greek
residents in Ancona continued to afford to the emperor fresh
subjects of annoyance, while Venice was irritated by the pira-
cies of the citizens. In April, 1172, the Venetians agreed with
the emperor to unite against Ancona their naval and land for-
ces, under the conduct of Christian, archbishop of Mayence,
ch-chancellor to the empire, and lieutenant-general of all
aly, and to avenge their mutual grievances. .
The Venetians, with a large galleon and forty gall
blocked up the port of Ancona, while the troops of their ally
learly surrounded the city. The inhabitants suffered less from
enemies, whose assaults they bravely repelled, than from
e, by which they were reduced to extreme distress: they
even compelled to derive a scanty sustenance from the
uction of their domestic animals, and from the most un-
me and disgusting viands.
itremity, they deputed one of their citizens to the
roffers of an immense sum, on condition of their
ge and leaving the port free. The archbishop,
he proposition of the besieged, coldly de-
session of the whole,
Lleys,



































would do well to accept of a part; in illustration of which
maxim he recited to the ambassador an apologue: ‘A lion,
said he, “reigned over the animals of a certain forest. A hun-
ter, with his dogs, pursued for many days, with great fatigue,
this sovereign of the beasts. At length, having observed him
in a cavern, he contrived to block up its entrance, and thus to
rap him within. Pressed with hunger, the lion was desirous
aking a composition with the hunter, for which purpose
he offered him one of his claws. Would you have counselled
the hunter to accept the claw, and give the lion his freedom *
The deputy, after a few moments’ consideration, thus re-
plied: “Had the hunter been advised by me, he would not
have been contented with the claw; but, had the lion added
to this offer that of the tip of his ears, the man would have
done well to conclude the agreement, since it is probable the
body might have followed. It often happens, that in our eager-
ness to grasp the whole, we lose the part in our power, and
thus forfeit the fruit of our labour, of which the following
fable may afford an example: A certain fowler, having spread
his net in a field, threw before it grain to allure his prey: se-
ven pigeons alighted and fed, but the fowler, observing others.
hovering among the trees, forebore to draw the net: a hawk
at length appearſng in the air, the seven pigeons, having sa-
tisfied their appetite, spread their wings and escaped. Would
not the fowler have been wiser to have taken the birds in his
power, than to have returned, harassed with fatigue, with
empty net?’ The archbishop, piqued by the ingenuity, and
offended by the application of the deputy’s fable, swore in his
wrath, that he would come to no accommodation with the
Anconians, till they delivered into his hands, uncondition
themselves with their city.
The besieged, filled with consternation by the event of
their deputation, called a general assembly, in which some
advised a surrender of the city; others, to give battle t
enemy, and die under arms, amidst the wreck of their co
try. An aged citizen, who, in an infirm body, retained
gorous mind, then arose, and addressing his cº
strain of animated eloquence, exh lem eithe
*heir treasures in procuring foreign aid, and choos
from among themse
vol. I.
























ommission, or to bury their riches in the sea, and sell their
lives dear to the besiegers. This counsel was received with
applause, and immediately adopted. Three nobles were ap-
inted as deputies, who, having thrown themselves into a
with a large sum of money, and passed intrepidly through
midst of the Venetian fleet, steered their course to Ferrara,
where, on their arrival, they laid their cause before William,
son of Marchesello degli Adelardi. William promised them
*... <. 1 advised them, also, to implore the aid of the
countess t - - %
The supplications of the deputies were received favourably
by Aldrude, who, ordering her troops under arms, prepared
to march in person to the relief of Ancona. - -
William hastened to Lombardy, where he assembled his
army; and where, having pledged his effects to procure the
y necessary for the expedition, he summoned his friends
als to attend him. During his march towards Anco-
scountered near Ravenna one of the noblest of its ci-
r de Traversuri, a friend and ally of the besiegers,
he head of an armed force, attempted to intercept his
The cities of the cantons, excepting Rimini, were
rest of the emperor; William therefore, finding
surrounded by the enemy, was compelled to dissemble
lose. Pretending to enter into the views of Peter, he
d, on condition of their mutually disbanding their
to accompany him to Ancona, and to unite with him
lating an accommodation. Peter having assented to
tion, they proceeded together to Rimini. But, in
night, th - - m secretly pursued
g under the walls -. hº venna, and, on the
red at Rimini 'eter and William
e soldiers of W
having re-
e arrival of the
mations, forged



























































caused to be conveyed to Ancona. The purport of this letter
was to inform the citizens, that the gold with which the de-
puties had been charged was lost; that the countess Bertinoro,
fearing the arms of the emperor, had failed them; that the
Lombards, dreading also the imperial vengeance, were in no
condition to afford them succour; and that they would do
well, not waiting till the enemy should be informed of these
tidings, to come to an immediate capitulation. The authenti-
city of this intelligence being justly suspected by the gover-
nors, they prevented its operation on the public mind, by po-
sitive asseverations of its falsehood. . *
A few days after this transaction, the combined troops
appeared, bearing at their head a standard of cloth of gold,
and followed by twelve squadrons of two hundred chosen
men each, with an innumerable multitude of light-armed
troops: arriving near the close of the day, they encamped on
an height which overlooked the tents of the besiegers. At
midnight, William gave orders, that every soldier should bear
two lighted torches, and elevate their pikes and lances.
The scouts of the enemy, observing the glare on the
neighbouring heights, fled, and announced to the archbishop
the neighbourhood of an immense force, which their fears had
contributed to magnify. Filled with consternation, the prelate
instantly decamped, and posted his troops further from th
city, on an elevation which nature had fortified.
William having assembled his forces, harangued them with
animation, represented to them the misery of the besieged, the
efforts which he had made to bring them ***
character of the enemy. He described the troops of the arch-
bishop as a banditti, led by a priest not less despised by those .
whom he commanded, than detested by those whom he op-
subsist by rapine, would not dare to wait their attack
would flee before their arms, as kites before the no
blast: or, should they presume to stand, it would be but
ź. r carcasses spread over the earth, a
to afford an example































Aldrude, then rising, thus in her turn addressed the troops:
“Fortified and encouraged by the favour of Heaven, I have,”
said she, “contrary to the customs of my sex, determined to
address you. A plain exhortation, destitute of precision or
ornament, should it fail to flatter the ear, may yet serve to
rouse the mind. I solemnly swear to you, that, on the present
occasion, no views of interest, no dreams of ambition, have
impelled me to succour the besieged. Since the decease of
my husband, I have found myself, though plunged in sorrow,
unresisted mistress of his domains. The preservation of my
numerous possessions, to which my wishes are iimited, afford
for my sex and capacity an occupation sufficiently arduous.
But the perils which encompass the wretched Anconians, the
prayers and tears of their women, justly dreading to fall into the
hands of an enemy, who, governed by a brutal rapacity, spare
neither sex nor age, have animated me to hasten to their aid.
‘To relieve a people, consumed by famine, exhausted by
resistance, and exposed to calamities, I have left my domi-
nions, and come hither with my son, who, though still a child,
recals to my remembrance the great soul of his father, by
n the same zeal, the same courage, was ever displayed
le protection of the oppressed. And you, warriors of
mbardy and Romagne,’ proceeded she, “not less illustrious
or fidelity to your engagements, than renowned for valour in
the field; you, whom the same cause has brought here, to obey
orders and emulate the example of William Adelardi,
listening only to his generosity and love of freedom, has
ed not to engage his possessions, his friends, and his
s, for the deliverance of Ancona. A conduct so gene-
o worthy of praise, requires no comment; beneath our
of its magnanimity, language fails. It is by those only
truly great, that virtue is esteemed more than riches
irs, or that virtuous actions can be duly appreciated.
ise so full of glory, has already nearly succeeded;
ugh the defiles occupied by the
tents in the hostile country. It is
º; º; , should bring forth
‘ngth, and of that
trage is relaxed





























45
#
nine the victory promised by the M
sun may illum
your pity for the unfortunate.” sº . . . . . .
The exhortation of the countess was received by the
soldiery with unbounded applause, mingled with the sound of
trumpets and the clashing of arms. The archbishop, alarmed
at the force advancing against him, borrowed, under pretence
of giving them battle, arms of the Venetians; from whom,
without advertising them of his intentions, he basely fled dur-
ing the night. Thus deceived and deserted by their allies, the
Venetians were compelled to retreat. . .
After this bloodless victory, the combined troops remained
encamped near Ancona, till it was no longer endangered by the
vicinity of its enemies, and till an abundant supply of provisions,
had been brought into the city. The Anconians came out, in
a body, to return thanks to their gallant deliverers, to whom
they offered magnificent presents.
-Aldrude, with her army, retook the way to her dominions:
they encountered on the road parties of the retreating enemy,
whom they engaged in several skirmishes, in all of which they
came off victorious. William, disbanding his troops, and em-
barking for Constantinople, was received by the imperial court
with applause and distinction, seated at the right hand of the
emperor, and lodged in the apartments of the palace. º
On his departure, the emperor presented to him royal robes,
embroidered with gold and jewels; a horse, a tent, an ensign,
a standard of gold, and the accoutrements of a cavalier; to-
gether with gold and silver vases, and treasures, by which he
was enabled honourably to fulfil the engagements into which * -.
he had entered for the relief of Ancona.
:: *% Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées—Mairte Buon-
compagno, &c. &c. .
High to
. AMALASENTA.
AMALAsenta, daughter of Theodoric, king of the Ostro-
goths, was the mother of Athalaric, whom, to the great disg
of the Goths, she caused to receive a Roman education.
princess, with every talent to form a great sovereign, was quº
fied to reign ished people. Possessed of genius .
º














º he peace of her countr ºº:
Romans from the barbarity of the Goths. Ac-
inted with the languages of the various nations, who had
spread themselves over the empire, she treated with them
without the aid of an interpreter. -
Theodotus her cousin, who, under a false accusation of adul-
tery, barbarously caused his benefactress to be strangled in a
bath. This crime, it is said, was committed through the jea-
ousy, and by the instigation, of the empress Theodora. The
emperor, informed of what had taken place, declared war
against the murderer, whom he chastised by his general, the
ebrated Belisarius. § . . . .
Roman History—Biographical Magazine.
#
FRANCES D'AMBOISE,
º DUTCHESS OF BRITT ANY. .
Es D’AMBoise, daughter of Lewis d'Amboise,
nt de Thouars, prince of Talmond, and of Marie de
was educated at the court of Brittany, and married to
rother to the reigning duke. Jealousy was the foible
husband, to which she opposed a gentleness and mode-
hat, by gradually gaining his confidence, cured him of
t. On the death of the duke of Brittany, his brother
him in his government, under the title of Peter II.
is wife, crowned at Rennes.
in her new dignity, occupied herself in useful re-
, and employed her example and influence in checking
xury of the Bretons: by the simplicity of her dress and
e rendered moderation and temperance fashionable at
ence the example spread through the city. The duke,
f profiting by this economy, proposed laying a
pon the people, but was m his project by
~~~~ ns of his wife. : her influence with
for the benefit of the public, and for what she
m the pop
trus
%.” #. --
e the canonization of
º :: : ſ º -
§
º





















































saint Vincent Ferrier, the Apostle of Brittany; and also indu-
ced him to bestow an establishment on the daughters of Saint
Claire, for whom the duke erected a house in the city of Nantes.
During the building of this edifice, Peter was seized with a dan-
gerous malady, with the nature of which his physicians were
unacquainted. His disorder, through the ignorance and super-
stition of the age, being imputed to magic arts, practised by his
enemies, it was proposed to seek for a necromancer, who, by
a more powerful spell, should defeat their malice, and dissolve
the charm. This expedient was, however, rejected by the good
sense and piety of the dutchess, who beheld her husband, after
a reign of seven years, expire in her arms, October, 1457.
Artur, his successor, treated with indignity the widow of
his predecessor, whom he endeavoured to despoil of her pos-
sessions. Her father, M. d’Amboise, for the purpose of secur-
ing her a protector, proposed to her a second marriage with
the prince of Savoy, the treaty for which he had negociated
with the king and queen of France. Lewis XI. addressed, on
this occasion, a letter to the widow, in which he earnestly se-
conded the proposition of her father. But the dutchess, deter-
mined on devoting herself to the memory of her husban
clined the offers of France, and retired to Rochefort.
M. d’Amboise followed her to this retreat, where, on the
evening of his arrival, she had bound herself by a vow of pe
petual widowhood. She resisted with firmness the intr
and prayers of her father, who, finding his persuasions fail,
determined, by a stratagem, to enforce his purpose. A bark.
was prepared for the occasion by the king of France, and st
tioned on the Loire, whence it was to carry off the dutche:
under the pretence of taking her on her way to Nantes, w
she was about to repair. This project was, however, frustra
by the freezing of the river. *
The dutchess sought refuge from her persecutors in t
monastery des Trois Maries, near Vannes, where she assume
the Carmelite habit, and in which she died, October 4th, 1485.
La Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes célébrées.



















LAURA, daughter of John Antony Battiferri, was born at
Urbin in 1513. Having married Barthelemi Ammannati of
Florence, a celebrated architect and sculptor, who had culti-
wated a taste for philosophy and the belles-lettres, she united
with her husband in his studies and pursuits. She applied her-
self more particularly to poetical composition, in which she
was very successful. She translated odes and penitential
psalms in stanzas of triple rhymes, and also the prayer of Jere-
miah in blank verse. She likewise translated an hymn on the
Glories of Paradise. She was greatly distinguished by the men.
of letters of the age, and was accounted one of the best Italian
poets of the sixteenth century. % .
Her productions were admired for a pure and elevated
strain of sentiment: they were printed at Florence in 1560, and
afterwards at Naples in 1594. She was elected a member
the academy of Intronati at Sienna. Ans-d’Akén, a famous
German painter, requested to be allowed to take a portrait of
Laura, that he might make a woman, so illustrious for her
genius and acquirements, known to the ladies of his own country.
Laura Battiferri Ammannati died at Florence in Novem-
ber, 1589, regretted by the lovers of the fine arts. She was in
high estimation at the court of Tuscany. . . x
N. Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées, &c.
is ABELLA ANDREINA.
Is ABELLA ANDREINA, a celebrated Italian actress, born at
Padua in 1562, was not less respected for her talents and vir-
tues, than admired for her dramatic powers. From the men of
nd learning of the age in which she lived, she received the
most flattering homage. Her figure is said to have been ele-
gant, her countenance beautiful, and her voice flexible and me-
dious. To these advantages she added a sensibility and judg-
which enabled her to conceive and express, with exqui-
te and propriety, the varieties of dramatic character.
looks,” says a writer of those times, “recommend her
















ISABELLA ANDREINA. , 49.
voice, and her voice her looks, either of which might render
her immortal. No painting can equal the charms of her face,
no music the harmony of her voice.” She excelled in vocal
and instrumental music, and was conversant with the French
and Spanish languages, nor was she unacquainted with philoso-
phy and the sciences. She was a votary of the muses, and cul-
tivated poetry with ardour and success. The Intenti, academi-
cians of Pavia, conferred upon her the honours of their society,
and the titles of Isabella, Andreina, Comica Gelosa, Academica
Intenta, detta l'Accesa. She dedicated her works to cardinal
Cinthio Aldobrandini (nephew to Clement VIII.), by whom
she was greatly esteemed, and for whom many of her poems
were composed. . 3.
In France, whither she made a tour, she met with the most
flattering reception from the king, the queen, and the court.
She composed several sonnets in praise of her royal patrons,
which are inserted in the second volume of her poems. She
married Francis Andreina, an Italian comedian and poet. She
died at Lyons, June 10th, 1604, in consequence of a premature
delivery during a state of pregnancy, in the forty-second yea
of her age. Her husband, whom her loss overwhelmed w
affliction, had her interred in the city in which she expired, and
erected a monument to her memory, on which he caused an epi-
taph to be inscribed, enumerating her virtues, her piety, and
talents. Her death was consecrated by the tears of the mu
innumerable elegies, panegyrics, and lamentations, bot
Latin and Italian, were poured forth on the occasion; man
which were in the Milan edition, 1605, prefixed to her po
The company of Francis Andreina, which had acq
high reputation, declining after the death of Isabella, he
ted the stage, and devoted himself to letters. In one
productions, entitled, “The Complaints of the Sheph
Corinto alla defunta sua Fillide & alla sua Boscareccia Sa
he celebrates the virtues and genius, and laments
of his wife. .
Isabella Andreina composed sonnets, madrigals,
eclogues, and a pastoral, entitled Myrtilla. Several
letters were printed at . tº º º
Formineum—Dictionnaire Hi

















ANNE MAURIce, of Austria, daughter of Philip III. king
of Spain, and of Margaret of Austria, his wife, was born at
Valladolid, September 22, 1601. Her birth preceded five
days that of Lewis XIII. of France, to whom she was con-
tracted during her childhood, and whom she espoused at Bour-
deaux, November 9th, 1615. .
The following portrait is given of Anne by Madame de •
Motteville, one of her ladies of honour. “It appeared to me,”
says this lady, “when I advanced to salute her (in 1639), that
she yielded not in beauty to any of the ladies who composed
her circle. She wore a round head-dress, in the fashion of the
times; her hair, of which she had a great quantity, was of a
pale brown, lightly curled and full powdered. Her complexion
was not remarkable for the delicacy of its tints; her nose was
too large; and, in the Spanish fashion, she rouged too high.
Her skin, the texture of which appeared peculiarly fine, was
air. Her eyes, in which majesty and softness were blended,
are perfectly beautiful; a slight mixture of green in their co-
r, gave additional vivacity to their glances. Her mouth was
ill, her lips vermilion, her smile fascinating. Her forehead
well formed, and her face finely turned. Her hands and
is, which rivalled the snow in whiteness, were celebrated
ghout Europe for their exquisite beauty and proportion.
*ck and bosom, without being perfect, were handsome.
stature, she had an air of grandeur, yet free from
There was a charm in the expression of her counte-
which communicated to those who beheld her a ten-
chastened y respect.” &
fithstanding these advantages, Anne failed in acquiring
ion and confidence of her husband, who was distrust-
r connexion with the king of Spain, her brother, with
sne held a confidential correspondence, and through
was suspected of favouring the enemies to the peace.
, and of fomenting intestine division.
raordinary that a Spanish princess should have
ms and the spirit of chivalry:
iarly tenacious of the importance and authority




























ANNE of AUSTRIA. 31
of her sex, of which she formed her opinions upon the model
of the heroic ages. Women, she was persuaded, were formed
to be adored and served by the men: nor did she reprove
those who presumed to declare themselves her lovers: she
considered their homage as the privilege due to her sex, to
her rank, and to her charms. The duke de Montmorency,
who had been among the most devoted of her slaves, failing
at length in his constancy and allegiance, she banished him
from her presence, and resented his levity as a mortal crime.
Historians have recorded the gallantries of the duke of
Buckingham, the favourite of James I. towards this princess.
The duke having been deputed to receive Henrietta, sister to
the king of France, and to conduct her to England, to espouse
the prince of Wales, became, during his stay at the French
court, enamoured of the queen. It is believed that Anne was
not wholly insensible to the personal graces, the elegant man-
ners, the ardent address, and splendid equipage, of the am-
bassador, who, when on the point of quitting the country,
left the princess of France, his future sovereign, at Calais, and
returned to court, on a frivolous pretext, to obtain another in-
terview with the queen. Anne mingled with her reproof
this rashness and presumption, a kindness sufficiently flatte
ing; but the vigilance of Richelieu defeated the futu
jects of the lovers. In vain the duke, on his return to En
sought pretences for a second embassy to Paris; a
for this purpose hesitated not to embroil the two
Through the influence of cardinal Richelieu, a message fro
Lewis was received in England, prohibiting, in positive term
the future appearance of Buckingham in France. These cir.
cumstances were known to the whole court.
It was reported on this occasion, that the cardinal
was among the lovers of Anne, but of this there appe
proof, and it is certain that Richelieu testified towa
various occasions, not only indifference, but en
like. He continually harassed her by his imperiº
and, more than once, caused her to be examined by
the presidents of the parliament of Paris, respecti
rying on in Spain against his administration. “M
nal.” said she to him. one of these occasions,
















--> #2
paye pastoutes les semaines, mais enfinil paye.” But not.
withstanding the vexation she received from Richelieu, she
did justice to his political talents. On seeing a portrait of him,
soon after she became regent, “Had Richelieu been now
living,” exclaimed she, “he would have been more powerful
than ever,” . * : º, º, . . . . . .” % •
Anne at length assumed a dignified conduct, and, occupied
perhaps by a more serious attachment, would no longer suffer
the follies of gallantry. The marquis de Gerze having pro-
fessed himself her lover, addressed to her several letters,
which were conveyed to her by madame de Beauvais, first lady
of the bed-chamber. Cardinal Mazarine, whose ascendency
over the queen was daily increasing, observed her conduct
with a jealous eye, and remonstrated with her on this occasion.
In compliance with his wishes, Anne discharged the lady who
had delivered to her the letters of de Gerze, not doubting by
this method to convince him that his suit was ineffectual: but
the enamoured marquis, who was not to be thus discouraged,
presented himself before the queen, in his office, as captain of
the guards, and received from her a sarcastic and pointed re-
buke. The ridiculous circumstances attending this adventure,
i provoked the mirth of the court, made it public. Lewis
... would have pardoned the gallantries of his wife, had he
suspected her of more serious intrigues.
Richelieu had incurred, by his conduct, the hatred of Anne,
nor did she seek to disguise it. Barriere, one of her people,
perceiving her aversion to the cardinal, offered to kill him:
o,” replied the queen, “to that I will never consent; he
lais, grand-master of her wardrobe, who owed his for."
Richelieu, having formed a plot for his assassination,
was suspected, though without proof, of being con-
1e conspiracy. . . . .º.º. 3
ad borne no children to the king, who had for some
stranged himself from her: an accident gave being
hin, whose birth, in some degree, conciliated
wis having been to the convent of Saint Mary, on
lord cardinal, does not sett
le them effectually.






























, a visit to mademoiselle de la Fayette, night drew on befor
was aware; the return to St. Germaine, at an hourso late,
was considered by his attendants as imprudent and dangero
In this dilemma, he was advised by one of his gentlemen to
sleep at the Louvre. “There is no bed there,” replied the
king. “Is there not that of the queen?” said the gentleman;
“where will you find a better?” It was to this incident that
France was indebted for Lewis XIV. after an unfruitful mar-
riage of two and twenty years. Anne was, years after-
wards, delivered of a second son, which afforded to the king
and the court a new subject of satisfaction. .
On the death of Lewis XIII. he left to the queen the title
of regent, with the guardianship of her children: the autho-
rity and powers of government were transferred to a council,
of which the duke of Orleans was declared the head. The
queen and the duke swore jointly to preserve inviolate the
deed they had subscribed, which, to render it yet more au-
thentic, was registered in parliament. But scarcely had the
monarch breathed his last, when his will was openly violated,
the council of regency was rejected, and Anne, by an arret
of the parliament of Paris, invested with the sole power of
administration. Indolent, and ignorant of business, Anne
frankly acknowledged her incapacity, and resigned herself to
the influence of cardinal Mazarine (a native of the little town
of Piscina, in the Abruzzo), whose talents and address had
gained him the confidence of Richelieu, and whose ascendency
over the regent quickly became unbounded.
The young king had not yet completed his fifth year: the
kingdom was harassed with foreign wars, and torn by internal
divisions: during the period of the regency, the political at-
mosphere of France was agitated by perpetual storms. The
nation regarded with jealousy the administration of Mazarine,
and the favours and benefits which the queen showered upon
him; while the taxes, which the profusion, or the exigences,
of the government obliged him to impose, added to distrust .
an inveterate hatred. The revenues of the state were exhaust.
ed. Anne, by retrenching a third of all pensions, mul
her enemies: these resources being found insufficient,
taxes were levied on a people already exasperated by d º
e parliament refused to register the imposts; the people,
















sº ANNE of AUSTRIA.
sustained by the legislature, became furious; their rage ex-
ceeded all limits on beholding the sums, extorted from the la-
bours and necessities of the poor, lavished by the court upon
spectacles and diversions. An opera was played about this
time, on the first representation of which, more than five hun-
dred thousand crowns were expended.
The discontent at length openly declared itself: eight hun-
dred wine-merchants assembled and mutinied, on account of a
tax imposed upon their houses. The masters of requests, a
body still more considerable, rose at the same time, resisting
an augmention of their order, by a dozen new officers. The
queen, having broke them for their mutinous conduct, became
alarmed by the exasperation which this measure produced,
and again re-established their order. The malecontents, en-
couraged by this conduct, which they justly attributed to
weakness, grew yet more peremptory and turbulent. But the
assembled parliament appeared to terrify the regentless than a
troop of women, who, crying for justice and mercy, followed
her to Notre Dame, a church, whither she was accustomed to
repair on a Sunday. Affrighted by their numbers and formida-
ble appearance, the guards were summoned by the queen to
ensure her safety and prevent their approach. .
Irritated by the opposition of parliament, Anne determined,
without sufficiently considering her ability to maintain it, to
venture on a bold measure. August 26, 1648, several of the
members were openly arrested, among whom were the presi-
- dent Blancmenil, and the counsellor Broussel. This was the
signal of revolt; the barricadoes of the league were revived,
and all Paris rose in arms. Guitard, a courtier, advised the
queen to secure her own safety, which the tumult threatened,
by liberating Broussel, who was a popular favourite. “Release
him!" replied she, with vivacity; ‘I would rather strangle him
with my own hands.” Nevertheless she was compelled to yield
to the storm, which threatened devastation to the state. The
nbers were set at liberty, and, two days afterwards, re-
as a
. he people.
e































*
oratory, she learned to command or obey?” The assemblies
and cabals of the parliament continued; even the curates of
Paris met to take cognizance of the affairs of the kingdom,
and to carry their remonstrances to the throne. The queen,
wearied and insulted, resolved to abandon to the malecontents
the field of battle, and to remove the infant monarch from
Paris. This project, of difficult execution, was, soon after, suc-
cessfully effected. -
January 5, 1649, the princes and the cardinal came to take
the king to madame de Grammont; while the queen-mother
remained at the palace, affecting to amuse herself with some of
her women. The evening being a festival, she retired as was
her custom, at an early hour, for the purpose of rising in the
morning to perform the ceremonials of her religion. Having
publicly announced this design, she commanded the doors to
be closed, and that no one should presume to open them with-
out her knowledge. She then imparted her plan of escape, to
those only whom it was necessary to inform. Towards two in
the morning, she caused the king and his brother to be taken
from their beds, and conveyed through a small door of the
Palais Royal, where a coach waited their coming. Having left
orders to those who were to follow, where the rendezvous was
appointed, she proceeded on her way, and arrived first at the
place of meeting. The princes, who, with cardinal Mazarine,
were in the secret, presently joined the queen, and, having
waited till the remainder of the party assembled, they went on
to St. Germain, which they reached without accident or inter-
ruption. No accommodations were provided for the company;
they had only three small beds, which they had brought with
them, with neither linen nor furniture, and were compelled to
spread straw in their apartments, on which the dutchess of Or-
leans and mademoiselle reposed.
The prince of Conti escaped from the court, and espoused
the cause of the parliament, putting himself at the head of
the Fronde, the name adopted by the malecontents, who, led by
a prince of the blood royal, became more bold and formidable.
The royalists were reduced to extreme distress; the queen was -
necessitated to pledge the jewels of the crown for the mainte-
* : * the court: their spirits were at length revived, by the
abilities and reputation of the prince of Condé, who, with an












army of scarce eight thousand soldiers, blocked up the city of
Paris, which contained five hundred thousand citizens. Their
individual purposes of ambition and avarice being at length ob-
tained by the leaders of both parties, a peace was concluded,
sufficiently ignominious for the court; and, on the 18th of Au-
gust, 1649, the king, with the queen and cardinal, re-entered
Paris, amidst the shouts of the multitude.
These rejoicings were of no long continuance: the war of
the Fronde rekindled with new fervor: the court, as impelled
by the caprice of the leaders and a fickle populace, alternate-
ly abdicated or occupied the capital: Mazarine was compelled
to seek refuge in banishment from the rage of an incensed
people. * : . .
During these storms, which ravaged the nation, Lewis at-
tained the age of majority, and, assuming the reins of govern-
ment, was solemnly proclaimed in parliament. The young
king adopted the partiality of his mother for Mazarine, who
was recalled to Paris, which he entered in triumph, notwith-
standing a price fixed on his head by the parliament. The
troubles of the state were not yet appeased; the kingdom was
torn by intestine broils: Mazarine, exiled by the parliament,
and restored by the court, now fixed his power on a stable
basis; under his authority all parties at length united, while
reign princes courted his favour. The nuptials of the king
with the infanta of Spain in 1660, was the signal of joy and
peace throughout the nation.
A marriage, it was believed, had also taken place between
Anne and the cardinal, notwithstanding his priest's orders,
d that, taking advantage of the ascendency he possessed
her mind, he had, on various occasions, used her unwor-
. However this might be, it is certain that Anne treated
3roposal of Mazarine for a marriage between the young
nd one of his nieces with a just and spirited disdain.
lid she, “the king were capable of thus degrading him-
would put myself and my second son at the head of the
;ainst both the king and you.' .
lowing year, Mazarine reached at once the sum-
bition and the period of his life: in the last mo-
stence , by a deed of gift, the
, he resigned
in gradually accumulating to his royal mas-






















ANNE OF AUSTRIA. sº
ter: his discernment and policy on this occasion were justified
in the event by the generosity of Lewis, who restored to him
the instrument. The king, relieved by the death of the cardi-
nal from the shackles to which he had for some time impa-
tiently submitted, assumed, with the ensigns of royalty, its ac-
tual duties: the queen-mother, whom he continued to treat
with respect, lost from this moment her influence in the affairs
of the state. $ .
In 1663, Anne, having observed too rigidly the abstinence
enjoined by the Romish church, during the season of Lent, per-
ceived her health begin to decline: the king, at the commence-
ment of her disorder, watched with her through many nights,
with truly filial tenderness. In the beginning of the following
summer, a small tumour appeared in her breast, which, dege-
nerating into a cancer, was rendered incurable by the igno-
rance of her physicians, who, by their presumption and mis-
takes, aggravated the malady. .
Anne, about this time, gave offence to the devotees, on
the following occasion. The king declared an intention of
giving a ball to his mistress, madame de la Valiere, by which
the young queen felt herself offended: to console her under
this mortification, the queen-mother promised to accompany.
her to the assembly: escorted by monsieur, the king's brother,
they accordingly entered the ball-room, masked, Anne having ; :
concealed herself in a black Spanish mantua. This disguise,
the motive to which was so innocent and laudable, provoked
the censure of the devout, who, in their zeal for decorum, lost
sight of charity. º . w
May 27, 1665, Anne was attacked by a fever, followed by
an erysipelas, which spread over the half of her body, and oc-
casioned a gangrene in two of her fingers. The abbé de Mon-
taign, an ancient friend and confident, undertook to announce
to her her danger. “You give me pleasure, she replied, with
calmness; “these offices are the truest marks of friendship.”
Having made her will, and the disorder increasing, she ear-
nestly demanded the viaticum and the extreme unction, which
she received with great devotion. Under her arm, on the side
QPPosite to the cancer, an abcess formed, from which s
fered exquisite pains. During these cruel maladi is, her
*was painfully exercised: her delicacy and physical
foL. L.








bility had been always excessive and acute: her passion for
perfumes and fine linen, her fastidious nicety and susceptibi-
lity to disgust, are well known. For her sheets and personal
linen, the texture of the finest linens and cambric were insuf-
ficiently delicate. Cardinal Mazarine once, rallying the queen
on this subject, observed, “That should she be condemned in
another world, her punishment would be to lie in Holland
sheets.” The insupportable infection, the innumerable offensive
and disgusting circumstances attending the disorders under
which she laboured, were infinitely more distressing to the de-
licacy of the sufferer than even its most cruel pangs: yet, not
the slightest complaint escaped her; her patience, her resigna-
tion, her mildness, were truly exemplary. Except by the in-
voluntary expression of her features, she betrayed to those
about her no symptoms of uneasiness; a placid smile continu-
ally dwelt on her lips: she fulfilled the duties for which she
was yet capacitated with regularity and animation. To the
cares of her toilet she also paid the same attention as in the
lustre of her health and beauty. . - .
The king and his family were constantly with her; their
presence and attentions softened the pangs of her expiring
oments; while the tenderness of her looks and words ex-
pressed her sense of their kindness. The affection and the tears
of her children seemed to sooth and console her; while pomp
and royalty faded on her imagination, her heart survived to
sympathies of nature. Sacred and endearing ties, before
which factitious gratifications melt away!
On the 4th of August, Anne appeared so much revived, as
re in her family some hopes of her recovery. Being
d from St. Germain to Paris, she was at first conducted
tl de Grace, but she remained not long in this retreat:
#
cians, impatient of the forms which it was customary
ve on entering a monastic house, caused their patient
inveyed to the Louvre. The gangrene having spread,
*** : urable symptoms disappearing, it was thoughtne-
to separate, by an operation, the morbid from the sound
ers,’ said the dying queen, in the midst of her suf-.
. int after death, but for me the
may receive punishment a
appointed during life.”




















ANNE OF AUSTRIA.
On the 16th of January, 1666, a new erysipelas appeared,
which terminated her painful and lingering existence. On
the 19th of the same month, the archbishop of Austria an-
nounced to her the certainty of her approaching fate. She had
long expected the mandate, and received it with firmness.
Looking on her hands, the beauty of which had been so much
celebrated, “Observe,” said she, “how they are swelled; it is
time for me to depart.” She survived till the next morning,
when she expired between five and six o'clock, January 20,
1666. z .
The king lamented the death of his mother, who merited
his esteem and tenderness, with unfeigned sorrow. During his
infancy, in the midst of civil commotions and the agitations of
the state, she had never transferred to another the duties of a
parent: the first lessons of Lewis were received from her lips,
while she anxiously guarded him from those persons, whose
precepts or example might corrupt his inexperienced youth.
With equal assiduity, she sought to form his manners, and to
communicate to him a portion of that gentleness, grace, and
amenity, by which she was herself so eminently distinguished,
and which giving to him, as he advanced to maturity, an as-
cendency over all hearts, rendered the court of France the
most polished in Europe. Neither did she neglect to inspire
him with those noble and magnanimous sentiments which be-,
came his elevated rank, without suffering him to be intoxicated
with its advantages. She taught him to engage the affections
of those around him, and to aspire to reign in their hearts.
Anne of Austria appears to have been estimable for the
goodness and kindness of her heart, rather than for extraordi-
nary capacity; for the attractions of the woman, rather t
the virtues of the queen: a propensity to personal attachme
and an amiable and forgiving temper, were her distinguishin
characteristics. A woman who procured her subsistence by
singing infamous songs, exposed to sale one grossly reflecting
on the queen: this woman, after having exercised her odious
profession for some time, was committed to prison. Anne,
hearing of the miserable situation to which the wretch wh
defamed her was abandoned, secretly sent to her abundan
lief. The last favour which the queen-mother exacted fro
son, was to recal a gentleman by whom she had been lib









In a history of the press of Caille, an anecdote appears, by
which it may be seen that Anne of Austria loved literature,
and sustained its freedom and dignity. Antoine Berthier, li-
brarian of Paris, having formed a design to add to the life of
Cardinal Richelieu two volumes of letters and memoirs, which
he had carefully collected, addressed himself to the regent, to
whom he intimated, that, without a powerful protection, he
dared not hazard the publication, as many persons still living
and received with favour at court, were freely treated in this
collection. ‘ Proceed without fear,” replied she, “ and make
so many blush for vice, that, for the future, virtue only may
find repose in France.”
The life of this queen had been marked with vicissitude,
and clouded by disquiet: at one period, subjected by an impe-
rious minister, whose yoke she had not the resolution to throw
off, she became an object of compassion even to those who ca-
balled and revolted against her; yet her affections were never
alienated from France, in favour of which she interested her-
self, with spirit and zeal, in the war against her native country:
the French, at length, relinquished their prejudices, and did
justice. The latter years of her life were passed in tran-
lity, in retirement, and in the exercise of benevolence.
The following curious portrait, in which, with an affecta-
of antithesis, some malice and prejudice seem manifested,
awn of her by cardinal de Retz: “The queen had, be-
ond any person I have ever seen, that kind of with which is
necessary not to appear a fool to those unacquainted with her.
ºrs possessed more sharpness than pride, more pride than
eur, more of manner than solidity, more avidity for mo-
han liberality, more liberality than selfishness,t more at-
nt than passion, more of hardness than fierceness, a me-
retentive of injuries than benefits, more desire of
than piety, more obstinacy than firmness, and more
y than of any of the foregoing qualities.”
“Esprit. Intérêt.














ANNE of BEAUJEU.
Anne of Austria was interred at St. Denis; her heart was
carried to Le Val de Grace, of which she had been the foun-
dress. The following epitaph was made on her:
“Sister, wife, mother, daughter of kings :
Never was any more worthy of these illustrious titles "
Dictionnaire Historique, les Femmes Célébrées—M. Anquetil's
Memoirs of Lewis XIV—History of France, from the Establish-
ment of the Monarchy to the Revolution—Memoirs of Anne of
Austria—Anecdotes of Distinguished Persons, &c.
ANNE OF BEAUJEU.
ANNE, eldest daughter of Lewis XI. of France, born in
1462, was early distinguished for genius, sagacity, and pene-
tration, added to a lofty aspiring temper. Lewis, actuated by
the capricious and jealous policy which characterised him,
married her to Peter of Bourbon, sire de Beaujeu (and youngest
brother to the duke of Bourbon), a prince of a moderate capa-
city and a quiet unambitious temper, possessing but a slender
fortune, and related to the crown by a remote and collateral
branch. The friends of Anne observed on these nuptials, that
it was the union of a living with a dead body. Peter, either
through indolence, or from a discovery of the superior endow-
ments of his wife, left her uncontrolled mistress of his house-
hold, passing himself the greater part of his time in retire-
ment, in the Beaujeulois. .
On the death-bed of Lewis, his jealousy of his daughter,
then only in her twenty-seventh year, gave place to his confi-
dence in her talents: having constituted her husband lieute-
nant-general of the kingdom, he bequeathed the reins o
pire, with the title of governess, to the superior abilities
lady of Beaujeu.
The youth of Charles VIII, who was scarcely fol
years of age, his infirm constitution, defective education, and
ignorance of business, rendered him wholly unfit for the ad-
ministration of the state, convulsed by faction and i
division: while Anne, the first princess of France, si
accession of the house of Valois, who had been inve











. o2. : . AN w E. O Fº B. º ºAUJEU.
h an office, justified by her capacity the choice of her .
so hig
father. & ... . .” , ,
Two competitors disputed the testament of the monarch,
and opposed themselves to the pretensions of the lady of Beau-
jeu: John, duke of Bourbon, a prince whose unblemished
reputation and advanced age had procured him the respect of .
the nation; and Lewis, duke of Orleans, presumptive heir to
the crown, but whose inexperienced youth weakened his natu-
ral claim. Thus delicately circumstanced, Anne conducted
herself with admirable firmness and prudence, and obtained
the nomination of the states general in her favour. “Equal
to her father in genius,” says an historian of the French mo-
narchy," speaking of the lady of Beaujeu, “but more uniform
in her conduct, and more magnanimous in her disposition;
her judgment was sound, without any mixture of the perfi-
dious duplicity which debased the understanding of Lewis:
though vindictive, not cruel; though tenacious of her dignity,
neither violent nor imperious. Led aside by no inferior pas-
sions, she felt her capacity for administration, and sacrificed
§3. * : . . . . entirely to that object. Mistress of an eloquence and address
the most refined, she knew how both to possess and to retain
her delegated authority.”
By acts of popular justice, and the sacrifice of the late
ministers, who had abused their power, and wantonly oppres-
ed he people, Anne conciliated the favour of the nation;
while she disarmed by her address the resentment of her ri-
vals. The duke of Bourbon was appeased and gained by the
sword of the constable, which had long been the object of his
ambition: but the pretensions of the duke of Orleans were
asy to be satisfied. Anne, happening to decide against
h the king, a spectator, his stifled enmity broke forth.
sº intemperate reflection, into which he suffered
o be betrayed by his passions, drew upon him the re-
of the governess, and irritated her to obtain from the
rder for his arrest. The duke made a precipitate
castle on the Loire, where, besieged by Anne,
france from the commencement of the monarchy to the re.























ANNE OF BEAUJEU. as
The union of Brittany with the crown of France was pro-
jected by the lady of Beaujeu, who had for that purpose en-
tered into a negociation with the disaffected subjects of Fran-
cis, whose patronage of her rival afforded her a pretext for
more open hostilities. The Bretons were irritated by the
weakness of their duke, who had resigned his power into the
hands of Landais, a favourite, whose insinuating and flexible
genius had, from a low mechanical employment, raised him
to the first offices of the state, and who had, by acts of violence
and oppression, abused the powers entrusted to him. The
Bretons, thus aggrieved, invited Anne to their succour, upon
certain stipulated conditions, to which she affected to yield:
an invasion of their country was agreed to by these infatuated
men, who ought to have foreseen that their formidable ally
would observe the conditions no longer than they suited her
interest. % x :
The vigilance of the lady of Beaujeu detected a corre-
spondence of a treasonable nature between Philip de Comines,
the celebrated historian, and the duke of Orleans, for which
Comines suffered an imprisonment of three years. By the
strenuous efforts of France, the governess was enabled to in-
vade Brittany with four armies, which were opposed by the
duke of Orleans on the part of Francis. The rapid successes
of the French at length alarmed the Bretons, and made them
repent of the imprudence by which they had exposed them-
selves to so dangerous an ally. The duke of Orleans, who
fought on foot with distinguished bravery, was taken prisoner,
and detained in captivity more than two years. º
The history of the war belongs not to this narration; let it
suffice therefore to say, that after various fortune, alternate
successes and checks, battles and negociations, through which
Anne preserved a spirit alike firm and dauntless, a sagacious
Policy, and a mind fertile in resource, peace was concluded,
and Brittany annexed to the crown of France, by the marriage
of the young dutchess, who had, by the death of her fa
succeeded to his domains, with the French monarch C
VIII. The nuptials were celebrated at Langeais in Tour
With the acquisition of Brittany, the administration of the
of Beaujeu gave place to the rights of the king, who a
on this event the reins of government. Ž
*





The lustre which was thrown over 5****.
th e acquisition of Brittany, rec imit
. . ny, received some diminution in the
restoration of the counties of Roussillon and Cerdagne to the
king of Spain, who had joined with Maximilian in the league
against France. It is pretended, that a monk, who had been
gained by Ferdinand, assured the regent, to whom he was con-
fessor, that on the restoration of these counties to Spain, de-
pended the deliverance of her father from purgatory. It is
doing more justice to the political character and strong mind
of the lady of Beaujeu, to believe, that on this occasion, she
was influenced rather by motives of policy than by the fables
of superstition. N. 3.
• Anne became dutchess of Bourbon by the death of John,
duke of Bourbon, her husband's elder brother, who expired
without issue in 1488. Her influence over the mind of the
young king was diminished by his marriage with the dutchess
of Brittany; yet she continued to preserve a rank in the coun-
º cils of state during the reign of Charles VIII. Previous to his
expedition to Naples, she ventured to admonish him respecting
the pleasures and excesses in which he indulged, and which
it is probable accelerated his end. On the final departure of
the king for Italy, the duke of Bourbon was left regent; but,
rendered by his limited talents incapable of sustaining the
ight of affairs, the supreme power was in reality exercised
by Anne. ź... . . . . . ;
Charles VIII. dying in 1498, was succeeded by the duke of
leans. Anne dreaded, and not without reason, the resent-
ent of a prince who had felt the weight of her power, and
no had, through her means, been detained in imprisonment.
ut Lewis, magnanimously overlooking the past, continued to
he place which she had before occupied in the council.
e duke of Bourbon died in 1503; and November 14th,
Anne also expired, at the chateau of Chantelle in Au-
under the reign of Francis I. and was interred with
ld, in the priory de Sau in the Bourbonnois.
e child, Susanna, heiress to the vast possessions of
y of Bourbon, who was married to the celebrated and .
Charles de Montpensier, constable of Bourbon,





































ANNE OF BRETAGNE. § 65
Les Filles de Sainte Claire de Gien, and the Minimes
(monks of the same city), were founded by the lady of Beaujeu.
. History of France, from the establishment of the Monarchy to the
Revolution—Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées--
Wraxall’s History of the House of Valois. x.
ANNE OF BRETAGNE.
ANNE, daughter of Francis II. duke of Bretagne," a generous
and magnificent prince, and of Marguerite de Foix his wife,
was born at Nantz, January 26th, 1476. Francis, having no
male heirs, shewed an extraordinary tenderness for his daugh-
ter, whom he delighted to consider as destined to share one of .
the first thrones in Europe, and whose education he carefully
superintended. Frances de Dinant, lady of Laval, was ap-
pointed governess to the young heiress, whose capacity and
quickness smoothed the difficulties of instruction. §
According to the custom of royal houses, Anne, when
scarcely five years of age, was promised in marriage to Edward,
prince of Wales, son of Edward IV. of England. But the tra-
gical death of this young prince, two years afterwards, dissol-
ved the contract, and restored her to freedom. The reputation
of her beauty and accomplishments, added to the advantages
of her alliance, procured her, as she advanced towards matu-
rity, the homage of the princes of Europe. >
Among the most distinguished of these was Lewis, duke of
Orleans, who, about this period, having offended the lady of
Beaujeu, governess of France, during the minority of Charles
VIII. took refuge in Brittany, where he was received by Fran-
cis with kindness and respect. Flattered by the distinction
with which he found himself treated, Lewis conceived, at the
court of his protector, a passion for his daughter, whose favour
he despaired not of gaining. A previous marriage with a prin-
cess of France opposed itself in vain to his wishes; from the
unhappy Jane he determined to free himself by suing at Rome
for a divorce. 3 . : º 2: 3:...:” . jº º
But the nobles of Brittany, dissatisfied with the con
reign, and jealous of the countenance obtained
* Brittany. . .









country. On the approach of the French armies, Francis en-
trusted his defence with the duke of Orleans and the count of
Dunois, whom he appointed to command his forces. The Bre-
tons, disgusted with this arrangement, and averse to their
leaders, retired from the field in discontent, and left the French
to pursue their conquests without opposition. ×.x.
The court of France in the intoxication of success, threw
off the mask which it had assumed, and discovered a design
of subjugating the country. Roused by this outrage from their
criminal supineness, the barons rallied and returned to their
allegiance. The French were compelled to raise the siege, and
'retire with disgrace from before the city. A future campaign
proved less favourable to the Bretons; by the impetuous
charge of the French cavalry, their troops were broken; when
the duke of Orleans, after displaying great personal gallantry,
was taken prisoner in the field, and detained two years in cap-
These calamities were succeeded by the death of Francis,
who, oppressed by infirmities and overwhelmed by misfortune,
expired in consequence of a fall from his horse, the effects of
which the anxiety of his spirits rendered fatal. By this event,
ted to favour the captive duke; but the perils of her situa-
apelled her to listen to the proposals of Maximilian,
ans, who was lavish in promises of assistance
. ppo rt. The marriage was accordingly celebrated N. by
le Maximilian triumphed in his success, his hopes
from an unexpected quarter: the lady of Beaujeu,
º f Brittany, and intent on annexing
of queen, t









































tount of her youth, the completion of the marriage had been
hitherto delayed. . .
Margaret, with a rich dowry, was, after her brother Philip,
heiress to the dominions of the house of Burgundy. But the
prospect of a precarious succession appearing less desirable to
the lady of Beaujeu, than the immediate acquisition of a con-
siderable territory, she scrupled not to violate her engage-
ments, and, by the dissolution of two marriages, the ceremo-
nials of which had only passed, to unite the dutchy of Britta-
ny with the kingdom of France. Margaret of Austria was ac-
cordingly sent back to her father, who, at the same instant, be-
held his affianced bride torn from his hopes. s
The inclinations of Anne, who suddenly beheld herself in-
vested by the armies of France, were not consulted on this oc-
casion. Determined to adhere to the faith she had pledged,
she resisted for a time the rough courtship by which she was
assailed. Vanquished at length by the persuasions of the duke
of Orleans (released from captivity by Charles on condition
of pleading his suit), she yielded a reluctant, or rather an ex-
torted, consent. The marriage was celebrated December
16th, 1491. ~.
The king of the Romans, doubly injured and insulted,
and breathing only vengeance, menaced France with the com-
bined armies of Austria, England, and Spain. But from these
threats novery important consequences ensued; the clouds which
seemed gathering in the political horizon, passed over without.
bursting, and quickly dispersed. A pecuniary gratification pur
chased the neutrality of England, the king of Spain was sub-
dued by the restoration of Roussillon and Cerdagne, and even
the wrath of Maximilian subsided on the cession of a part of
the territory in Artois. .
These important concessions were not made by France,
but with a view to new and more splendid acquisitions. The
character of Charles VIII. weak, but amiable, rendered him
accessible to sensations more lively than permanent: a *r- º
nately inflamed with the love of glory and of pleasure, he sa-
crificed by turns to both: as heir to the house of Anjou, he ha d
claims upon the kingdom of Naples, the conquest of wh
tort ned a dazzling object to an ardent and inexper
mind. On his departure for this expedition, he left is
%















hands of his wife, who had scarcely reached her eighteenth
year, the administration of affairs; a power which she exer-
cised with admirable discretion.
The campaign in Italy proved brilliant and successful: de-
lighted with the blaze of glory which seemed to surround
him, the youthful monarch meditated carrying his arms to
Constantinople, and the subversion of the East; when a power-
ful combination, supported by Maximilian and the king of
Arragon, appeared against him, which checked his career, and
ultimately compelled him to return to France.
Declining health, and symptoms of approaching dissolution,
opposed a still more effectual barrier to the projects of ambi-
tion. Conscious of his approaching fate, Charles retired with
the queen to the castle of Amboise, a favourite residence,
where he applied himself to the internal regulation of his
affairs. It happened one day, that he overlooked from a gal-
lery in the castle a game of tennis played in the ditch below;
when being desirous that the queen should partake in his
amusement, he passed towards her chamber through a low
door, against the top of which he struck his head with some
violence. No immediate consequence followed from the
blow; but presently afterwards, while conversing with the
bishop of Angers, the king suddenly fell back in an apoplectic
fit. Having been laid by his attendants on a couch in a corner
of the gallery, he thrice recovered, and again lost his voice: all
medical aid proving ineffectual, he expired the same evening,
in the fifteenth year of his reign, and the twenty-eighth of his
The queen, on this catastrophe, secluded herself during
two days in her apartment, where she refused sustenance, and
abandoned herself to the most lively grief.
From Charles VIII, in whom ended the direct line of the
lois, the crown passed to Lewis, duke of Orleans, who as-
ed the throne at the age of thirty-six, in the mature vi-
gour of mind and body, when experience and adversity had
empered and softened the ardour of his youth. During the
ſian expedition, he had, by some military misdemeanor, in-
red the displeasure of the king. On his return to France,
also given offence to the queen: in a mistaken zeal to
: her on the death of the dauphin, his extravagant vi-
















ANNE of BRETAGNE. 69
vacity had awakened her suspicions of his disinterestedness, 3
and provoked her resentment. Thus circumstanced, he "
thought it proper to retire from court to the castle of Blois.
From his retreat he was now recalled, to the splendors of
royalty. It was on this occasion, when reminded by his cour-
tiers of former injuries which he had suffered, he made the
magnanimous and justly celebrated reply: ‘That it became
not a king of France to revenge the quarrels of the duke of
Orleans.” º x sº N.
Anne, on the decease of her husband, retired into her he-
reditary domains, where she affected the rights of an inde-
pendent sovereign. By the articles of her marriage with the
late king (should he leave no male issue), she was precluded
from disposing of her hand to the prejudice of the state. Pru-
dence prompted Lewis to secure to France the possession of
Brittany, to which enterprise he was also stimulated by his
dormant affection for the dutchess. The first use he made of
the regal power was to procure a dissolution of his union with
the unfortunate Jane, daughter to Lewis the Eleventh, who,
personally deformed, was supposed incapable of giving an heir
to the crown. Pope Alexander VI. on the oath of the king
that the marriage had never been completed, declared it illegal
and void. Jane declined her testimony on this occasion, and
with modest resignation submitted to the sentence. Taking
refuge in a convent from the severity of her fate, she assumed
the veil, and closed, in retirement and the exercises of dev
tion, a life of unassuming worth.
Lewis, availing himself of his freedom, sought the favour'
of his former mistress, whose temporary displeasure yielded a N.
without difficulty to the flattering prospects which opened be
fore her. The preference which Anne had ever entertained
for the duke of Orleans, a preference which the peculiarity of
her situation had compelled her to stifle and conceal, was
transferred with pleasure to the king of France. She received
his addresses with frankness and satisfaction, and at Nantz,
where he hastened to meet her, gave him an unreluctant hand:
hence she was conducted a bride by her husband to Blois.
Solicitous to maintain, if possible, the independence of her na-
tive domains, Anne stipulated with the king, that, should more
than one son be the fruit of their union, the second should in-







erogatives of its former princes,
hildre greement, so pre-
º owed by no consequences. .
The respectful affection which Lewis had so long cherish-
ed for Anne, suffered no diminution from the security of pos-
session: by the purity of her conduct, her beauty and amiable
manners, her ascendency over the heart of the most amiable
of the French monarchs, whose virtues rendered him the fa-
ther of his people, was strengthened and secured. It was the
care and the delight of Anne to reward merit, and, by her
example and influence, to encourage virtue, to discountenance
-vice, and purify the corrupt atmosphere of a court. She pre-
served in her cabinet a valuable collection of jewels, which
she presented, as ornaments and testimonies of favour, to the
wives of such of the French generals as had distinguished
themselves in battle, or deserved well of the state. Lewis,
fearing to oppress the people, restrained his liberality and gave
little; it was the queen who charged herself with the distribu-
- tion of rewards. She also patronised learning, and attached
to 1 . Marot, father
er by her beneficence men of letters. Jean M
tent, assumed the title of “Poet to the magnificent Anne
retagne.' Andre de la Vignne, author of the history of
III. received wages as her secretary. ×.
imorous anecdote is related of this queen, who piqued
f upon appearing learned. With this view, and to court
larity, she was accustomed to use, in her conversation with
gn erS ge, w nic
* words and phrases of their languag ſº
eemed desirous of being supposed to understand. Grignaux,
: chevalier of honour, nversant with the living lan-
... º. 3% . . . ...º.º. . .3 sº which he had acquired in his voyages
queen, when about to give audience to
ador of Spain, demanded some Spanish phrases of
campaigns. Th
alier, who had the temerity to violate the respect due
and rank, by teaching her words of indelicate im-
º t apprehension of the consequences of this
*
ux thought proper to communicate what had
ing, who, with a smile, insisted on his undeceiv-
inne ex pressed, on this occasion, a resentm en
irm, that it required all the influence of Lewi
ardon for the facetious chevalier. A differ int :









































NNE of BRETAGNE.
anecdote is also told of this queen in proof of her respect for
letters. Passing one day from her apartment towards that of
the king, she observed in a gallery, asleep and leaning on a
table, Allaine Chartier, a poet, and secretary to Lewis. Anne,
in the presence of her ladies, stopped, bent down, and salu ted
Chartier. “We may not,” said she, aloud, ‘of our princely
courtesie, pass by, and not honour with our kiss the mouth
whence so many sweet ditties and golden poems have issued.”
It was Anne of Brittany who first caused to appear at
court the daughters of the nobility, who afterwards received
the appellation of daughters of the queen: from a persuasion
that licentiousness is fostered by the want of occupation, she
obliged these young ladies to employ themselves in different
works of embroidery and tapestry, with which she caused the
churches to be hung and adorned. Modesty and prudence be. —
came, by her example, the fashion of the court, where every
species of improper licence was rigidly discountenanced; no
rank was allowed to be an excuse for indecorum or irregulari- sº
ty. A train of ladies every where attended the queen and or-
namented the court, “in whose hearts (says Pierre de St. Ju-
lien) she planted honour and virtue.' º §
In imitation of the princes who had instituted orders of )
knighthood, Anne founded that of the Cordeliers, in com- |
memoration of the cords with which the Founder of christiani-
ty was bound before Pilate: in this order she enrolled the
principal ladies of the court, admonishing them to humiliate
and chastise themselves, and to bear in memory the sufferi ſ
of Christ. .
Always attached to her native subjects, a guard of Bretons
was appointed to attend her, whose ordinary rendezvous was
on a terrace at the chateau of Blois, thence named the Porch
of the Bretons. She was the foundress of various institutions: ~~
her ancient hotel of Brittany, called the chateau de Nigori,
she bestowed on Chaillot and Francis de Paul, who establish-
ed there a house of his order: the title of ‘the good man of
"rance’ was given to de Paul: after him, the religious of whom
he was the father, retained the appellation of ‘good men.' Fre n
had been chosen by Anne to baptise her son the
cis de Paul H
* Puttenham's Art of Poetry.























72 ANNE of BRETAGNE.
dauphin, who received the name of Charles Orlando (or Ro-
land), and who lived only three years. §
The queens of France owed to Anne many prerogatives,
which they afterwards enjoyed: among these may be named
that of giving audience to ambassadors, and of having a guard
of a hundred gentlemen; privileges which, with the consent
of the king, she assumed as dutchess of Brittany. She was the
first of the French queens who wore black for mourning,
which she adopted on the death of Charles VIII. the royal
mourning having been previously white. Lewis XII. also
wore black after the decease of Anne. ;
In August, 1503, the death of Alexander VI. and the ac-
cession of Julius II. to the pontificate, proved unfavourable to
the affairs of France. These events, added to other vexations,
overwhelmed the king with anxiety, and brought on a fever.
Apprehensions being entertained for his life, Anne prepared
for a retreat into her dutchy, with which design she caused a
number of rich moveables to be embarked in boats on the
Loire. The mareschal de Gié having met them between Sau-
mur and Nantes, stopped their progress, believing it contrary
to the interest of the state that the queen should be allowed to
remove at pleasure her jewels and effects out of the kingdom.
Lewis recovered; and Anne, incensed at the interference of
the mareschal, avenged herself severely for the affront, by pro-
curing, not only his exile from the court, but his removal from
all his posts. She even at length reduced him to extreme po-
verty, and left him to expire in want and disgrace.
A combination of unfortunate circumstances shook Lewis
on the throne, yet he sustained them with fortitude, till, wea-
ried with the supplications of the queen, and in the hope of re-
ceiving assistance from Rome, by which he had hitherto been
opposed, he sent two prelates to make his submissions to the
so reign pontiff, Leo X. and to testify his contrition for his
past offences. This humiliation, to which the king was incited
le reverence of his wife for the holy see, was the last act
er life. Anne expired, in consequence of improper treat-
in child-bed, January 9th, 1514, at thirty-seven years of
Her death took place at the chateau of Blois, whence she
rried in pomp to St. Denis. Francis I. caused a mag-
omb of marble to be erected to her memory, in which
wis was afterwards interred,

















ANNE of BRETAGNE. 78.
By the author of Anecdotes of the Queens of France, Anne
of Brittany is thus described: “Her complexion was of admi-
rable whiteness, animated by the finest bloom. Her forehead
high and ample, in which modesty tempered majesty. Her
face was rather a long oval; her nose well formed, her mouth
in beautiful proportion. Her stature of the middle height, her
air noble: her only personal defect was a slight lameness,
scarcely perceptible, from her care to correct it, both by her
shoes and by an habitual attention to her walk. The excellen-
ces of her mind were scarcely inferior to those of her person: -
she expressed herself with eloquence, and her manners were
dignified. She was sensible, judicious, and engaging, in a rude .
age, to which literature and the graces were almost equally
unknown. Her temper was generous and benevolent; her heart
kind, sincere, and frank. She was solicitous to perform the
duties of her station, with which she appeared to be penetrated.
Her piety was fervent and sincere; but, in the character of the
times, bordering on scrupulosity: her religious opinions were
founded on faith rather than on investigation; she was tena-
cious, of course, in proportion to her want of knowledge.
Blindly attached to her notions, when she had once adopted a
party, nothing could vanquish or moderate her zeal. To in-
flexibility she added pride, and a temper somewhat vindictive;
she knew not, when believing herself justly offended, how to
pardon. These defects were however overbalanced by her
amiable and fine qualites. Anne of Brittany may justly be
placed among the most illustrious of her rank and sex.” º
To this eulogium it is but just to add the remarks of a
modern and elegant writer,” on the character of this princess:
“The conduct of Anne of Bretagne, as queen of France, does
not justify the praises lavished upon her by the French histo-
rians. However blameless she might be as a wife, she loved
not the people nor the country over which she reigned. She
ever cherished an avowed predilection for the house of Austria,
and sought to prevail on the king, to the great detriment of
France, to bestow Claude, his eldest daughter, on the young
archduke, afterwards emperor, Charles V. Disappointe
this view, she attempted to transfer the succession of B.
*ś,
*




















74 ANToNIA.
to her youngest daughter Reneé, and to marry her to the
same prince; a project teeming with ruinous consequences to
France, and which, happily for the nation, failed. Her venera-
– tion for popes and priests was highly injurious to her husband’s
affairs, and continually tended to check his successes. Vindic-
tive and unforgiving, she never pardoned an injury. Lewis was
aware that, on many occasions, he yielded too much to her
prejudices and solicitations; but her fidelity, liberality, and
personal virtues, endeared her to him. At her death he
appeared inconsolable; shutting himself up in his apartment
for many days, he abandoned himself to grief. He ordered all
the comedians and musicians to quit the court, and refused
audience to every minister and ambassador who did not appear
in his presence in deep mourning. Lewis was more tenacious
of the dignity of his queen, and more sensible to whatever
might wound her feelings than to his own. When the scholars
of the university of Paris exposed his court, and even himself,
to ridicule in their farces, he cheerfully forgave them; but
warned them, at the same time, to forbear to make the queen
the subject of their satires, as, should they presume so to do,
he would certainly have them hanged.”
Dictionnaire Historique—Des Femmes Célébrées—History of France
from the Establishment of the Monarchy to the Revolution, &c.—
Wraxall’s Memoirs of the House of Valois, &c. 3
ANTONIA.
WHILE displaying the splendor reflected on the individual
by the possession of extraordinary talents, an equivocal and
often dangerous pre-eminence, the milder lustre, which, in a
orrupt age, virtue confers on her votaries, ought not to be
º looked by the biographer. -
Antonia, eldest daughter of Mark Antony and Oct.
erited the virtues and the misfortunes of her moth
s given in marriage, in early youth, to Drusus, the
Tiberius, a noble Roman, whose mother Livia the em
Lugustus had espoused. Livia, solicitous for the ad-
ent of her sons, procured for them, by her ascen-
over her husband, the most important posts in the
ire, Drusus, already promoted to the consulate, carried
















ANTONIA. 7s
the terror of the Roman arms to the remotest provinces.
Having subdued the neighbouring nations, and spread con-
sternation throughout Germany, he pitched his tents on the
banks of the lower Rhine. . . .
Rome, elated by the news of his victories, prepared the
laurel for her hero, when a premature death put a stop to his
career. Tradition relates, that walking by the side of the river,
a spirit appeared to him in the form of a beautiful woman :
“Whither,’ said she, accosting him sternly, “whither does am-
bition hurry you? Return : you have already reached the pe-
riod of your victories and of your life.” This prediction,
whether natural or supernatural, was quickly verified: Drusus
expired when on his way to Rome to receive the reward of his
exploits. The tidings of his death were heard by the citizens with
surprise and concern: grief overwhelmed his mother; but the
despair of Antonia knew no bounds. Their union and virtues
had been the admiration of Rome, where, in a dissolute court,
they had given a distinguished example of conjugal attach-
ment and faith. Three children were the fruit of this marriage;
Germanicus, Claudius (afterwards emperor), and Livilla, who
was espoused to the son of Tiberius. .
Antonia, celebrated for the charms of her person, and re-
spected for the qualities of her mind, though widowed in the
bloom of beauty and the prime of life, refused with constancy
a second engagement. Devoted to the memory of a husband
by whom she had been tenderly beloved, whose magnanimous
actions rendered him the boast of his country, she passed th
greater part of her time in retirement, where, occupied
the duties of her family, or unbending in innocent recreations,
she preserved in the midst of a licentious age, a pure and un-
sullied fame. In vain did Augustus solicit her to quit her re-
treat, and embrace the splendid connexions which courted her
acceptance: contemning the advantages offered to her, and re-
jecting every solicitation, she remained steady to her purpose.
The severity of her conduct, her mildness, and her pru- . . . . .”
dence, procured her the respect of the nation, and even ex-
torted from the stern Tiberius (whom the death of Augustu
had raised to empire) a portion of confidence and esteem. A
conspiracy had about this period been formed against Til
by his favourite Sejanus, who, having murdered the

















his master, aspired to ascend the throne. Antonia transmitted
to the emperor, then in Caprea, an account of his danger, and
the perfidy of the man whom he loved and trusted, of which
º she had contrived to gain full information. The project thus
betrayed, was defeated without difficulty, when the favourite
expiated his ingratitude by death, involving in his punishment
the companions of his guilt. The emperor, not unmindful of
princess. Her son Germanicus, endowed with every noble
quality, and adorned with the accomplishments suited to his
rank, adored by the army, the idol of the people, the pride
and hope of his mother, and presumptive heir to the throne,
suddenly expired in the bloom of life.
Agrippina, the grand-daughter of Augustus, whom he had
espoused, possessed in a feminine frame the soul of a hero.
Vain of her birth, conscious of talents, ambitious, intrepid,
haughty, and glorying in an unsullied life, she refused to do
homage to the mother of the emperor, whose vindictive feel- .
ings she had irritated and roused. To the malice of Livia and
the jealousy of Tiberius, provoked by the merit and popularity
cus, Rome attributed his premature fate. A secret
for the assassination of Germanicus was supposed to
been sent into Syria, where he had long held the military
mand. Piso the senator, with his wife Placina, were named
he agents of this barbarous policy. Tiberius, on this catas-
Sphe, affected surprise and concern; but Piso, incensed at
is hypocrisy, and apprehensive of its consequences, prepared
throw from himself the odium of the crime imputed to him,
producing the orders of the emperor in the senate.
Agrippina returned to Rome bearing in an urn the ashes
h usband. The city went forth to meet her; the senate,
is, the troops, the people, even the women and chil-
!d the solemn procession: the remains of their hero
with respect, as a dear and sacred deposit.
. menaces mingled with the general sorrow; while
and Livia, dreading the popular clamour, immured
; with in the palace. . In vain the ; wife and m other of §
manded vengeance of the senate; the empress































ANToNIA. 77
openly espoused the cause of Placina, whom by her authority
she screened from punishment.
The measure of the sorrows of Antonia was not yet filled
up: her younger son Claudius, by his stupidity and vices, dis-
honoured his family; while her daughter Lavilla, by her dis-
graceful conduct, wounded yet deeper the heart of a mother.
Convicted of adultery and the murder of her husband, to
whom she had administered poison, she was given up by Ti-
berius to the afflicted Antonia, who, losing in the Roman ma-
tron the sentiments of nature, confined the delinquent to a
chamber, where, without sustenance, she suffered her to
perish. . -------> .
A fatality seemed to pursue the family of Antonia; a mil-
dew blighted her fairest hopes: by the licentiousness of her
grand-children, added to their ingratitude, her heart was filled
with horror and grief. Caligula, at length, raised to the throne,
quickly forgot, in the wantonness of power, the respect he had
at first affected to pay to her, and those honours which were
so justly her due: unable to bear her reproaches for his disso-
lute conduct, he refused to admit her to his presence; first ne-
glecting and then contemning her. The spirits of Antonia sunk
under these repeated blows: an incurable melancholy took
possession of her soul, which soon terminated in her death; an
event which the emperor has been accused of accelerating.
sufficiently dark.
But of this suspicion there was no proof: history delights in
adding to tragedy a deeper shade; the tints are however here
The year of Antonia's death is uncertain, but from a com-
parison of circumstances may be placed about 792 of Rome,
her husband dying in 744. Octavia, her mother, was united to
Mark Anthony in 713, and delivered of a daughter (Antonia)
the following year, on Antony's return from Gre ece, 71.4.
The temple of Antonia, mentioned by Pliny, probably received
its name in honour of this princess.
Dictionnaire des Femmes Célébrées—Bayle's Historical Diction.
ary—Lives of the Roman Empresses, by Monsieur de Serviez.



I re I
JOAN D’ARC.
JoAN, daughter of James d’Arc and of Isabella Romé his
wife, was born of humble parentage, in the village of Domremi,
near Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Lorraine, in 1402. The
instruction she received during her childhood and youth were
suited to her humble condition. She quitted her parents at an
early age to relieve them from the burthen of her subsistence,
and engaged herself as a servant at a small inn. In this situa-
tion she employed herself in exertions and fatigues rather suited
to a groom than to her sex and station; in attending the horses
of the guests, and in riding them to the watering place. By
these exercises she acquired an active temper and a robust and
hardy frame. Without displaying any superiority of talent or
character, she preserved in circumstances thus exposed, her
manners and conduct free from reproach. The situation of
France, at that time peculiarly critical and interesting, afford-
ed a subject of conversation and solicitude to all ranks of peo-
ple. A prince expelled from his throne, the kingdom torn by
intestine division, the progress of a foreign enemy, the distress
of Orleans, besieged by the English, the efforts of its inhabi-
tants, and the importance of its fate, were circumstances tha
seized and engrossed the public mind. Joan, eagerly li
the daily and varying tale, became interested in p
airs, and caught the spirit of the times: the mi --~~.
the dauphin, his gentle and amiable character, and the peri
which threatened him, awakened in her heart a sentiment of
loyal and generous attachment: she meditated on the means
t f his deliverance, and on the calamaties of her bleeding
country, till her imagination became inflamed, the delusions of
rhich she mistook for an impulse from heaven. Visions floated
i her disordered fancy; angelic forms appeared to hover be-
fore her sight; while supernatural voices, sounding in her
ears, seemed to exhort her to expel the enemy, and to re-esta-
blish on the throne of France its native sovereign. The enthu-
siasm of her purpose, her hardy habits and fearless temper,
joined to her inexperienced youth, led her to overlook the
lifficulties which opposed themselves to her enterprise, and to

























JOAN D’ARC. 79
cherish that sanguine ardour, which so frequently ensures,
while it presages, success. -
Full of these ideas, she returned to her family, and com-
municated to them, with her projects and her hopes, a portion
of the spirit by which she was inspired. Having accompa-
nied her uncle and aunt, whom business carried to Vaucou-
leurs, she gained admission to Baudricourt, the governor, to
whom she imparted her mission, while she conjured him not
to neglect the revelation of God, but to aid her in conforming
to the divine impulse, and in effecting the glorious enterprise
to which she was called. - -
Baudricourt, believing her to be insane, at first treated her
with neglect; till, at length, impressed by her importunity and
perseverance, he attended to her more seriously, and either
became a convert, in the temper of the times, to her visionary
confidence, or determined to employ her as a political engine
in a credulous and fanatic age. In this resolution he was con-
firmed by the representations of an old gentleman, named
Longport, who thought he perceived in Joan an extraordinary
character. The affairs of the king were in too desperate a
state to reject any means, however insufficient or romantic,
that might promise to produce an effect on the desponding
spirits of his adherents. Joan therefore was, by the orders of
Baudricourt, conducted to the French court, then residing at
Chinon. º º,
It is pretended, by those who are addicted to the marvel-
lous, that she here gave proof of the truth of her mission, by
singling out the dauphin, though disguised, from the midst of
his courtiers: but, admitting the truth of this circumstance, it
seems scarcely necessary to account for it by having recourse
to a miracle. To this story it is added, that having offered, in
the name of the Supreme Being, to raise the siege of Orleans *...
to conduct the dauphin to Rheims, and there to anoint him
king, she satisfied his doubts of her authority, by revea
saling to
him, in confidence, a secret known only to himself, and j
it was not possible for her to have discovered otherwise than
by inspiration. In the same spirit, we are told, that a sword
kept in the church of St. Catherine of Fierbois, where it ha I
long lain neglected, was, without having seen it, minutely de- ź.
scribed by Joan, and demanded as the instrument of her fu-
















ture victories. These tales, originating in an ignorant age,
must undoubtedly be admitted with great deductions.
To give sanctity and effect to the illusion, scruples were
affected and multiplied by the king and his ministers, till a
grave assembly of divines, after a profound investigation of
he pretensions of Joan, at length agreed in pronouncing them -
valid. The parliament, collected at Poictiers, though prepared
to convict her of imposture, also retracted their profane
doubts, and confirmed the decision of the theologians. Hope
and enthusiasm combined to re-animate the drooping spirits of
the royalists; heaven appeared to declare itself in their favour;
their desires produced the force of conviction; the cold and
unwelcome suggestions of reason were, in the ardor of faith
and confidence, silenced and overborne.
After these preparations and precautions, the demands of
the pro phetess met an implicit compliance: armed cap-a-pee,
and mounted on horseback, she was exhibited to the people in
r martial accoutrements. Her fine person, the comeliness of
ountenance, and the grace and agility with which she
l her steed, completed the popular delusion: the air
by the shouts and acclamations of the spectators. Her
Aupation was, by her admirers, softened into that of
3rdess: from her age, which was seven-and-twenty,
were subtracted: chivalry, religion, and sentiment,
powerful auxiliaries that united, on this occasion, to
he fancy, and to enflame the hearts of the mul-
its effects upon the enemy. A large convoy, for
f Orleans, escorted by 10,000 men, under the
St. Levere, was made ready at Blois. Thither
n of licentious manners were, by her command
. . e camp, and the soldiers exhorted to & ir -- y .
aving over her helmet, the heroin











































JOAN D’ARC. 81,
In her prophetic character, Joan insisted that the convoy
should enter Orleans, from the side of Beausse, by the direct
road; but the faith of Dunois yielding to his habits of military
policy, he thought proper to differ from the maid, and to con-
duct his troops on the opposite side of the river, where the
enemy were less strongly intrenched. Previous to this enter-
prise, the maid addressed a letter to the enemy’s generals, ex-
horting them, in the name of the Almighty, by whom she was
commissioned, to raise the siege, and to evacuate the king-
dom. The English officers affected to ridicule the desperate
situation of the dauphin, which only could have prompted him
to an expedient so contemptible, while they treated the preten-
sions of the heroine with derision and scorn: but the soldiers
had not escaped the general contagion; the superstitious im-
pressions which prevailed around them, had penetrated to
their camp, and unnerved their courage and confidence.
While the convoy approached the river, a sally was made
by the garrison on the side of Beausse, as a feint to deceive the
enemy: the inhabitants of Orleans sent boats at the same time
to receive the provisions, while Joan, with her troops, covered
the embarkation. The English ventured not an attack, and the
French general carried back his army in safety to Blois. The
enterprise thus successfully achieved, failed not to produce its
effects on the minds of both parties. The maid entered Orleans
in military triumph, and was received by the citizens as a ce-
lestial guardian.
Confiding in the spirit which this event had produced, Du-
nois agreed that the next convoy, which was expected in a few
days, should enter by the side of Beausse; a measure which
was accordingly put in practice. The besiegers, struck with a
panic, offered no resistance: the convoy passed between their
redoubts; while silence and astonishment pervaded their lines.
The earl of Suffolk, their general, found himself in a novel
and perilous situation; a fanatic influence confounded his
troops, against which reason and valour were of little avail.
Imprudently expecting their recovery from these impressions,
he suffered them to remain inactive, by which force and sta.
#
bility were given to their fears. The effects of surprise, of
‘redulity; and ignorance, were easily mistaken for a divine in-
fluence; the circumstances which invigorated the spirits of the
Vor. I. L






besieged, depressed in proportion those of the besiegers, and
prepared the way for the subsequent triumphs of the maid.
Joan, seizing the moment of ardor, exhorted the garrison
to make a sally on the enemy; the generals seconded her spirit
and gallantry: the troops, assured of the assistance of Heaven,
poured impetuously on the dispirited English; their ranks were -
mowed down, their redoubts forced, and those whom the sword
spared were carried into captivity. Sir John Talbot, who ar-
rived with some troops to their relief, dared not to face the
victorious army. .
The maid and her votaries, flushed with success, and to
whom every thing now appeared to be practicable, urged an
attack on the main body of the enemy; but, aware of the con-
sequences of the least miscarriage, Dunois sought to repress
their temerity. To restore them to reason, and check their ve-
hemence, it was proposed, by attacking the forts of the English
on the opposite side of the river, to lay the communication
with the country open. To this proposition Joan being induced
to assent, the forts were accordingly assailed; when the French
having met on their onset a repulse, the maid was left nearly
alone. Compelled at length to give way, and join the desert-
º ers, she displayed on high the sacred banner, while, by her
voice, her countenance, and her gestures, she animated her re-
eant followers, led them back to the charge, turned the for-
tune of the field, and overpowered the enemy. When wound-
ed, on another occasion, in the neck with an arrow, she retired
moment behind the troops, and exclaimed, as with her
and she extracted the weapon, “It is glory and not blood
ich flows from this wound.’ The wound having been quick-
dressed, she returned to head the assailants, and to planther
rious standard on the enemy’s ramparts. º
The English, driven by these successes from their entrench-
ents, lost, with their spirit and confidence, more than 6000
len. Joan once more was received by the city as a delivering
scepticism itself yielded to these prodigies: the French,
ispired by a celestial energy, passed from despair to a
- - - siasm, before which obstacles melted away as
º
in the sun's rays.
glish generals
~ « . . ~ * st rprised and c i. ST n:
aticism with its own weapons, by at


































JoAN D'ARc. 83
discomfiture to the ascendency of malignant demons, of whom
they gravely declared the maid to be the implement. To dis-
cover and weigh the operation of motives on the human mind,
was an effort too arduous for an unenlightened age. The doc-
trine of demons did little towards raising the drooping spirits
of the besiegers, who sagely concluded, a contest with supe-
rior powers, whether of light or darkness, to be unequal and
hopeless. Unable to maintain his ground with a panic-struck
army, Suffolk prudently raised the siege, May 8th, 1429, and
retreated. §
The French, determined to pursue their advantage, allow-
ed the enemy no time to rally: a body of 6000 men were de-
puted by the dauphin to attack the English at Jergeau, whither
a detachment had retired with Suffolk. The place was obsti-
nately defended during a siege of ten days. Joan, in leading
the attack, descended intrepidly into the fossé, where receiv-
ing from a stone a blow on the head, she was stunned and
thrown to the ground; but having quickly recovered herself,
the assault was carried, and Suffolk compelled to yield him- *
self a prisoner. The remains of the English army, solicitous
only to effect a retreat, sought for a place of safety; while the
vanguard of the French attacking their rear, at the village of
Patay, they were wholly routed: 2000 men fell in the action,
and two of their generals were taken prisoners. The conduct
of the troops, the military operations, and even the decisions
of the council, were politically attributed to Joan, to whose saga-
city and promptitude in availing herself of the suggestions of
more experienced commanders no mean praise is due.
Having performed a part of her mission in raising the siege
of Orleans, the crowning of Charles at Rheims only remained
to be effected, on which enterprise she now insisted. Rheims,
situated in a distant part of the kingdom, was still in the hands.
of the enemy, whose garrisons occupied the road which led to
it; the idea of passing them would a few weeks before have º
been deemed rash and impracticable; but the spirit which now
animated the French rendered them invincible.
To avail himself of the enthusiasm of his troops, ar
consternation of the English, for which the belief of a super.
natural agency afforded but a delicate and critical support, was
undoubtedly the interest of Charles: persuaded by his friends,




84 JOAN D'ARC.
that the safety of the state depended on his person, he had
hitherto restrained his military ardor: he now placed himself
at the head of his troops, and, under the auspices of Heaven
and fortune, inspired new zeal into his adherents. At the head
of 12,000 men he began his career: Troye opened to him its
gates; Chalons followed the example; while, before his ap- -
proach, Rheims sent him a deputation with its keys: every ob-
stacle thus overcome, the ceremony of the coronation was per-
formed (July 17th), with the holy oil, brought from heaven by
a pigeon to Clovis, on the first establishment of the French
monarchy. The maid, clothed in armour, and displaying her
sacred and victorious banner, took her place, on this occasion,
by the side of the king; while the people hailed this combina-
tion of miracles with shouts and acclamations. Joan, after the
ceremony was completed, throwing herself at the feet of the
monarch, embraced his knees, and, shedding tears of tender-
ness and joy, congratulated him and herself on the accomplish-
ment of her mission. .
The mystical inauguration of Charles shed over him a kind
of glory, and gave him, in the eyes of the nation, new and di-
vine rights: triumph and success, the best proofs of inspira-
tion, by flattering the inclination of the people, gave support
and stability to their faith: no one presumed to doubt, that, in
all which had past, the finger of Heaven was evident and clear.
Laon, Soissons, Chateau-Thierri, Provins, with various
other towns and fortresses, submitted to the summons of the
king, and to that of the prophetic maid; while the whole coun-
try disposed itself to testify its loyalty and zeal. A medal was
uck in honour of the heroine, bearing on one side her por-
it, on the other, a hand grasping a sword, with the motto,
'onsilio confirmata Dei.” 3.
The duke of Bedford, firm, vigilant, and resolute, still pre-
served his footing in France, where he employed every re-
source which circumstances had yet left to him: his garrisons
were held in postures of defence, and a watchful eye kept over
the French; while the Parisians were, by alternate severity and
ses, yet retained in the English interest. An alliance
duke of Burgundy, the most important to their sink-
was, at the same time, renewed and strengthened.
Sustained by the aid of God.












JoAN D'ARc. ~ 85
The supplies of money from the British parliament were tardy
and scanty; while the impression produced on the minds of
the troops of the wonderful power and resources of the maid,
occasioned in the army daily desertions. But in this perilous
state of their sffairs, their spirits were revived by the arrival of
cardinal Winchester, who landed at Calais with a body of 5000
men, which had been levied originally for a crusade. The car-
dinal suffered himself to be prevailed upon by the duke of Bed-
ford to lend him these troops for the purpose of opposing the
French king, who with his forces was advancing towards Paris.
Charles having left Rheims, and taken St. Denis and Lag-
ni, proceeded to the capital, to which he had laid siege. The
barriers of the port of St. Honoré were presently forced; when
Joan, flushed with military ardor, and animated by success, in
attempting to pass the fossé, received a wound in her thigh :
pressing forward, regardless of the blood which streamed
through her armour, she was at length perceived by the duke
of Alençon, who, observing her situation, carried her forcibly
back to the camp. The king was however compelled, by want
of provision, to raise the siege, and to retreat from before Paris
with his troops. z
The mission of the maid having been thus accomplished,
she expressed a wish to be allowed to retire; but this request
was overruled. Charles, still solicitous to retain her in his ser-
vice, conferred, as a testimony of his gratitude, nobility upon
her family and their posterity, both in the male and female
line. Armorial bearings were accordingly assigned to her, and
her name exchanged from d’Arc to Lys. Domery, the city
which gave her birth, received at the same time a perpetual
exemption from subsidies and taxes. 3.
The duke of Bedford, prudently declining a present en-
gagement with a victorious foe, chose his posts with wisdom
and caution, attended the French in all their movements, co-
vered the towns and garrisons which remained in his posses-
sion, and attentively watched the steps of the enemy. The
French army, consisting mostly of volunteers, were soon after
disbanded. The king, having made himself master of various
towns in the neighbourhood of Paris, retired to Bourges, the
place of his ordinary residence.

JOAN D'ARC,
The duke of Bedford, with a view of reviving the courage
of his troops, proposed that the young king of England
should pass over to France, be crowned at Paris, and receive
from his vassals a new oath of allegiance. This ceremony,
however politically planned, afforded but a spiritless spectacle,
when compared with the coronation at Rheims. But an event
soon after took place which gave a different aspect to affairs,
while it reflected upon both nations lasting dishonour,
The English, supported by the duke of Burgundy, laid
siege to the town of Compeigne, into which Joan threw her-
self. The garrison, who with her assistance believed them-
selves invincible, received her with transports of joy. On the
day following her arrival (May 24th, 1430), she headed a sally
made on the quarters of John de Luxemburg. Having thrice
driven the enemy from their entrenchments, and finding their
numbers increasing every moment, she prudently ordered a re-
treat. But the pursuers pressing hard upon her, she turned
upon them and forced them to recoil. The besieged, protect-
ed in their rear by the maid, had, in the mean time, gained the
city in safety, the gates of which were instantly closed. Joan,
thus deserted and alone, perceiving herself excluded, surround-
ed by the enemy, suspecting treachery, and rendered despe-
rate, exerted herself with a courage deserving a better fate.
Her horse at length falling under her, she was compelled, after
performing prodigies of valour, to surrender to the enemy.
The Burgundians, into whose hands she had fallen, carried
eir prisoner to Luxemburg, where, for ten thousand livres,
ey basely sold her to the English." It is believed that the
ench officers, jealous of the glory of the maid, had de-
ºnedly exposed her to this fatal catastrophe; such is human
aude and the fate of merit, and such the recompense
!d to the benefactors of their species. .
1 curious anecdote is related on this occasion count Luxemburgh,
ad sold the maid of Orleans to the English, visited her in prison, ac-
by the earls of Warwick and Stafford, to treat with her respect.
Insom. . Begone,’ exclaimed she, indignantly, s you ha ve neither
on nor the power to ransom me.” Then, sternly regarding the two
hus addressed them: “I know that the English have determined
to death; and you imagine that after my death you will be able to
; : e; but, though there were an hundred thousand more God.
in France, believe me, they will never conquer that kingdom.”















The savage triumph of her enemies on her capture, was
ths unequivocal eulogium of the heroine. Te Deum, a service
so often profaned, was celebrated at Paris on the event. The
courage of the English, blasted by the successes of Joan, be-
gan, on her imprisonment, to revive. The duke of Bedford,
instigated by a policy alike barbarous and disgraceful, com-
menced a prosecution against his magnanimous captive, who, ,
by the circumstances of her defeat, the gallantry of her con-
duct, and her irreproachable life, was justly entitled to the pri-
vileges of a prisoner of war. Her youth, her sex, whose ap-
propriate decorum she had strictly observed, her extraordi-
nary qualities, added to the services she had performed for
her country, gave her novel and singular claims, to which fa-
naticism only could have remained insensible. Under the
sanction of religion, justice was outraged, and humanity vio-
lated. : .
A petition against the maid was presented by the bishop of
Beauvais, who was devoted to the cause of the English; un-
der pretence that she was taken within the bounds of his dio-
cese, he requested that she might be delivered over to the ec-
clesiastical court, to be tried for sorcery, impiety, and magic.
The university of Paris covered itself with infamy by joining
in this petition. The title of inquisitor of the faith was assu-
med on the occasion by the bishop of Beauvais; and the office
of promoter adjudged to William Stivel.”
The court was held at Rouen, where the young king of
England then resided, and where Joan, loaded with irons, and
clothed in her military apparel, was produced before this pre-
judiced tribunal. She had previously endeavoured to procure
her liberty by leaping from the top of the tower in which she
was confined; but, stunned by the fall, had been discovered by
the centinel, and retaken. An accusation of purposing suicide
was, on this justifiable attempt, added to the offences with
which the prisoner was charged. Having requested of her
judges to be eased from her chains, she was reproached .
with her design of escaping. She boldly avowed and justi-
fied the fact, declaring, at the same time, that if she hesitated
The only English prelate associated with the judges was the cardinal of
Winchester,









88 JOAN D'ARC.
to repeat her attempt, it was only from despair of success.
Throughout her trial, she discovered equal firmness and cou-
rage. Being interrogated respecting the affairs of the court of
France, she refused to reply to the questions proposed to her,
alleging, that where the secrets of her king were concerned,
she owed no obedience to ecclesiastical powers. Near four
months she was continually harassed by questions and perse-
cutions the most ridiculous and absurd. ‘Joan the heretic, the
sorceress, the lascivious,” were the terms of obloquy lavished
on her by her enemies. The assembled university, having
pronounced her a schismatic, proceeded to threaten her with
the stake. She was repeatedly examined respecting her vi-
sions, revelations, and intercourse with departed saints, and
required to submit to the church the truth of her inspirations.
“To God,” she replied, ‘the fountain of truth, I am willing to
submit them.” By this answer she drew upon herself the
charge of denying the authority of the church. She appealed
from her judges to the pope, but her appeal was fruitless.”
It was demanded, whether she had not put her trust in a
standard consecrated by magical incantation? Whether, at the
coronation of Charles, she had not still displayed this mysteri-
ous standard? “Her trust,” she replied, ‘was in the image of
the Almighty impressed on the banner; and that she who had
shared the danger of the field, was entitled to partake of the
glory at Rheims.” Accused of violating the decorums of her
'X, by assuming the habits and the command over men, she
boldly avowed and justified the purpose of this violation, “the
defeat of the enemies of her country, and their expulsion from
the kingdom.” During these examinations she betrayed no
weakness, nor gave to her persecutors any advantage; she dis-
graced not, when in the power of her determined adversaries,
the heroism she had displayed in the field. .
Every species of imposition and baseness was practised
upon her: she was required to abjure the masculine habit, and
a paper to this purport was tendered to her to sign, to which
* When Joan was condemned to the flames as a sorceress, by one English
and six French bishops, Couchon, bishop of Beauvais, drew up against her
the procès-verbal, without inserting in it the appeal she had made to the pope.
Joan, on this occasion, said with simplicity, “You insert only what makes
against me, but you take not the least notice of what makes for me.”






JOAN D'ARC. 89.
a promise was subjoined never more to bear arms. Having
complied with this proposition, a new deed was substituted in
its place, in which she was made to criminate herself, by the
most odious and false imputations. The malice of her ene-
mies, aggravated by superstition, led them to accuse her of
various crimes, particularly of a compact made with infernal
spirits. After having received judgment, she was delivered
over for sentence to the secular arm.
Harassed by injustice, exhausted by suffering, and subdued
by cruelty, the spirit of Joan at length gave way: brow-beaten
by men of superior rank, condemned by those whose functions
she had been accustomed to regard as sacred, basely deserted
by the monarch she had served, sustained no longer by ap-
plause and success, her enthusiasm began to subside; the
dreams of inspiration were superseded by the feelings of na-
ture, while, before the terrors of impending death, the visions
of a distempered fancy faded away. Recanting, she acknow-
ledged that she had been misled by illusions, which she solemnly
engaged henceforward to renounce, and prayed to be reconciled
to the bosom of the church. In consequence of this humilia-
tion, her sentence was mitigated to perpetual imprisonment.
No steps were taken by Charles to rescue from destruc-
tion the deliverer of himself and the saviour of his dominions;
nor, while he held in his hands, as prisoners of war, Eng sh
of the first distinction, were any proposals offered to exchang
them for the heroic Joan: a memorable example of the
tude of princes. .
Political vengeance might here have ceased; the fa lacy
the pretensions of the maid to divine inspiration were su
ciently manifest; the foundation for the panic of the En
and the temerity of their enemies, appeared to be wh
thrown: but the malignity of the adversaries of the u
Joan was not yet fully glutted; barbarous and insatiable, t
thirsted for her blood! The victim, having consented to al
the masculine habit, and to resume the habits and attire
sex, it was determined to tempt her to a violation of
gagement. For this purpose a suit of man’s apparel was
in her room, and spies appointed to observe her cº
Whether the sight of a dress associated with so many:






















many glorious ideas, by reviving her enthusiasm and mar-
tial ardour, induced her to re-assume it; or whether (as has
been alleged) her own clothes were removed while she slept,
and were designedly withheld from her, it is of little moment:
certain it is, that she was tempted in the solitude of her prison
once more to array herself in the forbidden garb. Seized by-
her treacherous enemies in this situation, and declared guilty
of a relapse into heresy, she was excommunicated, and all par-
don, and all mercy refused to her. Crowned with a paper, on
which was inscribed the terms “apostate, heretic, and idola-
tress,” and guarded by armed soldiers, she was soon after de-
livered over to the stake, which had been erected for the pur-
pose in the market-place of Rouen. -
On the right hand of the scaffold, on which she was exposed
to the savage fury of the people, were stationed the clergy,
and on the left the secular officers. In this situation she was,
with solemn mockery, interrogated on the principles of her
faith; principles which, in no respect, appeared to differ from.
those of her merciless persecutors. A discourse was pro-
nounced by Nicholas Midi, towards the conclusion of the ce-
remony, in which the poor culprit was informed, “that the
meek and merciful ministers of the gospel had, for the exe-
cution of their sentence, consigned her over to the secular
owers.” The bailli of Rouen, less firm than the preacher,
ld only utter Menez la, ‘Let it be.’ The tears of Joan even
ftened the executioner, while the theologians, incapable of
the weakness of humanity, remained firm and unmoved. Dieu
soit beni. “Blessed be God!’ exclaimed the sufferer, as she
iced herself on the pile. Her body was quickly consumed,
her ashes were scattered to the winds. Thus perished this
mirable woman (June 14, 1431), to winem (it is justly ob-
served by Mr. Hume) “the more liberal and generous super-
h of the ancients would have erected altars.” Thus were
vices rendered by Joan to her ungrateful prince and
ultimately rewarded.
The assesseurs of Rouen, abhorring the crime they had
sen impelled to commit, felt themselves dishonoured and dis-
ed: the executioner, throwing himself at the feet of his
or, demanded and obtained absolution: humanity wept,
lushed, and priestcraft only triumphed. . ----

















JOAN D'ARc. 91
The affairs of the English received little benefit from the
tragedy which had stained their name; the French everyº
where manifested a disposition to return to their native sove-
reign; the duke of Burgundy receded from his unnatural alli-
ance, and the regent was at length compelled to yield.
In 1454, a revision of the sentence of Joan was demanded
by her mother; a commission was given by pope Nicholas V.
to the bishop of Paris, for the investigation of the cause; and
the memory of Joan was fully cleared from every imputation
which could tend to its dishonour. Monuments were erected
to her honour in Orleans, which she had delivered; in the
market-place of Rouen, where she had suffered death and in-
famy; and in various parts of France. Her family, of whom
the last male died in 1760, had been ennobled; but its female
branches were, in 1614, at the request of the procureur-gene-
ral, deprived of the privilege so justly their due; that of enno-
bling their children in their own right, independent of the
rank of the father.
On the 8th of May, the epoch of its deliverance, an annual
fête was held at Orleans, and a cross raised by the citizens on
the bridge, on which were represented Charles VII. with their
championess, Joan d’Arc, completely armed. .
The following character of the maid of Orleans is quoted
from Fuller, in the preface to Mr. Southey's Joan of Arc:
“People found out a nest of miracles in her education, that so
lion-like a spirit should be bred among sheep like David. Ever
after she went in man’s clothes, being armed cap-a-pee, and
mounted on a brave steed: and, which was a wonder, when
she was on horse-back, none was more bold and daring; when
alighted, none more tame and meek; so that one could scarce
see her for herself, she was so changed and altered, as if her
spirits dismounted with her body.” . .
Some years after her decease, Joan was, by a bull of pope
Calixtus III. declared a martyr to her religion, her country,
and her king. She is made by Chapelain the subject of a Fren
epic poem, entituled La Pucelle.
Hume’s History of England—Les Femmes célébrées--southey's .
Joan of Arc—History of France, &c.






* Jº ARETAPHILA.
ARETAPHILA of Cyrene, who lived during the reign of
Mithridates, was the daughter of Aeglator, and the wife of
Phaedimus, both nobles of high rank. Nicocrates, having usur-.
ped the government of Cyrene, and put to death many of the
principal men of the city, caused also Phaedimus, the husband
of Aretaphila, to be slain, and forcibly espoused the widow,
of whose beauty he had become enamoured. Cyrene groaned
under the cruelty of the tyrant, whose temper was fierce and
inexorable. To Aretaphila only, whose charms appeared to
have subdued the ferocity of his nature, he was tractable and
kind. She mourned nevertheless the constraint of her person,
and the distresses of her country, and continually meditated on
the means of its deliverance. x
The citizens were executed daily, their property seized,
and their habitations laid waste. Destitute of friends whom
she could trust, and intent on freeing Cyrene from the tyranny
under which it suffered, Aretaphila determined to administer
poison to the usurper ; and, with this view, made proof of the
strength of various kinds of drugs. In the course of these ex-
periments, some circumstances exposed her design to suspi-
, when Calbia, the mother of Nicocrates, a woman of a
pus and implacable disposition, vehemently insisted that
should be put to the torture. The fondness of the tyrant
sed to a measure so violent some delay, during which
aphila, by plausible pretences, sought to remove his sus-
, and to allay his anger. She declared, that the drugs
I
of Calbia, his
n, to extor














ARETAPHILA. 93.
Nicocrates, though not yet fully convinced of the inno-
cence of his wife, repented of his severity, and even urged
her, by every persuasion in his power, to forgive what had
past, and to receive him once more into her favour. But Are-
taphila, to whose former purpose vengeance for her sufferings
was added, resisted the prayers and caresses of the tyrant, and
resolved, by other means, to accomplish her designs.
One daughter had been the fruit of her former marriage:
this young damsel, who was approaching to womanhood, and
who inherited the beauty of her mother, was tutored by Areta-
phila to ensnare the heart of the tyrant's brother, a young man
of lively and susceptible passions, who had been but little ac-
customed to resist the allurements of pleasure. Leander, the
name of this youth, was entangled in the toils prepared for him,
and at length prevailed on Nicocrates to permit him to espouse
the mistress of his affections. The bride, under the direction of
her mother, insinuated into the mind of her husband a distrust
and aversion to his brother, whom, by arguments and entrea-
ties, she prevailed on him to depose. The usurper fell beneath
the agents of Leander, who, having on this occasion taken
counsel with Aretaphila, mounted the vacant throne. But with-
out strength of mind, and corrupted by power, he imitated the
vices of him whom he had dethroned, and completed the mis-
fortunes of the suffering Cyreneans. To the advice of Areta-
#
phila, whom he had placed in a department of authority
in the
state, he no longer paid respect, while he went on to fill up the
measure of his crimes. . º
Aretaphila, disappointed in her son-in-law, and still anxious
for the deliverance of her country, practised secretly with Ana-
bus, a prince of Lybia, whom she solicited to invade Cyrene,
with a powerful army, for the purpose of freeing it from its
oppressors. At the same time, she insinuated into the mind of
Leander suspicions of the loyalty of his nobles and captains,
and persuaded him to make peace with Anabus. She herself
undertook to effect an interview between them, and dextrously
prevailed on r to accord with her plans. In a confer-
Čnce wº
s ed, that when she should deliver the king into
fºllS .
usui
an prince, she informed him of her de-
would immediately arrest him as a tyrant and an
For this service, she promised him, as a reward,













94. ARETAPHILA.
magnificent gifts, and a present in money. Leander at first
made some objections to the interview, which the address of
Aretaphila having succeeded in removing, they set forward
together, unarmed and unattended, to the Lybian camp. As
Leander approached the place, and perceived Anabus at a dis-
tance, his heart again misgiving him, he would have retreated,
or at least have waited for a guard. But his mother-in-law,
with a mixture of persuasion and rebuke, urged him on.
“Should he now go back,' she told him, “he would be branded
for cowardice and perfidy, as a man who made no account of
his word, and who was incapable of a generous confidence.”
Once more, when on the point of meeting the Lybian, he
started and hesitated; when Aretaphila, seizing his hand,
boldly dragged him forward, till she delivered him up to
Anabus. 3 * .
The tyrant was detained in the camp, under a strict guard,
till the friends of Aretaphila, and the citizens of Cyrene, ar-
rived with the stipulated presents. The people, when inform-
ed of what had past, flocked in crowds to the camp of Anabus,
where they prostrated themselves at the feet of Aretaphila,
and, with tears of joy, acknowledged her as their saviour and
queen. After their transports had in some degree abated, they
proceeded to deliberate on the measures to be pursued. Having
received from the Lybians the person of Leander, they con-
ducted him back to the city, where he was sentenced, with his
mother Calbia, to death. Leander, fastened up in a leathern
bag, was cast into the sea, and Calbia burnt at the stake. It
was then decreed, that to Aretaphila the public administration
should be given, while a council should be chosen for her as-
sistance among the principal nobles of the city. This honour
was declined by the heroine, who, having liberated her coun-
try from oppression, preferred to the cares of the government
the privacy of a retired life, and returned to her domestic ha-
bitation amidst the prayers and blessings of the people.
º - Plutarch's Morals.





9s
ARETE.
ARETE, the daughter of Aristippus, the founder of the
Cyreniac philosophy, was the mother of Aristippus the philo-
sopher, who was called Metrodidactos, from having been taught
philosophy and the sciences by his mother.
Biographium Foemineum—The Female Worthies, &c.—Diction-
naire Historique, &c.
POLLA ARGENTARIA.
Poll A ARGENTARIA, the wife of Lucan, assisted her hus-
band in his Pharsalia. She is praised by Martial, and alsº by
Statius.
LADY MARY ARMYNE.
LADY MARY ARMYNE, daughter of Henry Talbot, fourth
son of George earl of Shrewsbury, and wife of sir William
Armyne, was born in the beginning of the seventeenth centu-
ry. She was distinguished for her talents, her virtue, and her
piety. To superior natural powers she added high cultivation:
she was mistress of the French and Latin languages, and skilled
in history and polemic divinity. Prudent, modest, courteous,
and amiable, she conciliated the affections of all with whom
she was connected. Her conversation was animated and inte-
resting, and her life exemplary. She possessed a devotional
turn of mind, and was zealous in promoting the knowledge of
those principles and sentiments which she conceived to be true
and important. With this view, she was accustomed to distri-
bute books among the poor: she also gave large annual sums
to the missionaries, towards the conversion of the Indians in
New-England, r
When, in 1662, on the day of St. Bartholomew, the minis-
ters were ejected for non-conformity from their benefices, she
Presented, for their relief, to the rev. Edmund Calamy, the
sum of five hundred pounds. Her charities and acts of munifi-
cence were numerous. She erected and endowed, during her


96 MARIE ANGELIQUE ARNAULD.
life, three hospitals, in different counties; and, at her death,
left her estate to benevolent uses. Sprung from an ancient and
catholic family, she professed protestantism upon mature con-
viction. Her virtues were without ostentation, and her religion
without bigotry. She died at an advanced age, in 1675.
. Gibbon's Memoirs of Pious Women, &c.—Ballard's British Ladies. -
%.
MARIE ANGELIQUE ARNAULD.
MARIE ANGELIQUE ARN AULD, daughter of d’Antoine Ar-
nauld, sister to the celebrated Arnauld, doctor of the Sorbonne,
and titular abbess and reformer of Port Royal des Champs, was
born in 1591. At an early age she was distinguished for her
capacity, her endowments, and her virtues. She revived, by
her zeal and activity, the original spirit of the numerous order
of the Citeaux, which had become relaxed and irregular. By
the example and persuasions of this lady, they were induced
to confine themselves within the boundaries of the cloister;
and, in imitation of the primitive Christians, to share their
property in common. She discovered peculiar skill and saga-
city in the changes which she gradually introduced among the
religious: she accomplished her purposes without constraint
or severity, by the force of mildness and perseverance: habit,
opposition, and prejudice, yielded to her firm yet gentle sway.
Attentive to exact nothing of which she had not shewed the
practicability by her own example, and to impo .
to which she had not first submitted, she found in the emula-
tion and respect which she inspired, an engine to which con-
straint is feeble and powerless. By adopting a coarse and
simple dress, and rigidly fulfilling the observances enjoined
by the church, she gradually established order and humility
throughout the community. -
The fame of these reformations spreading through the
country, their author was removed by the general of the order,
to Maubuisson, a considerable abbey, of which she received
jurisdiction both spiritual and temporal. Charged with this
mmission, and furnished with an arrét of parliament, enabling
to receive there fifty girls, she took thirty during the five
which she remained there almost gratuitously. She was
ſatigable in forming these young novices to the spirit and
º
















catherine AGNES ARNAULD. or
duties of their vocation; while she left no means unessayed in
correcting the irregularities of the house; success rewarded her
efforts; the scandal which the monastery had incurred was
quickly effaced; while its reputation for piety and morals daily
increased.
During her residence at Maubuisson, she became acquaint-
ed with S. Francois de Sales, bishop of Geneva, then at Paris
on business of importance, and placed herself under his spiritual
direction; the prelate regarded her with paternal affection, and
continued to her during life his friendship and correspondence.
After effecting a reform at Maubuisson, she returned to
Port-Royal, where she diligently applied herself to the super-
intendence of her house. Having formed a design of placing
the monastery under the ordinary jurisdiction, she addressed
herself, for that purpose, to pope Urban VIII. from whom she
received a favourable reply to her request. Foreseeing that the
regulations which she had enacted, might be changed or dis-
pensed with by future abbesses, she sought earnestly to obtain.
the right of election, which was accorded to her by Lewis XIII.
She received with joy a privilege, which enabled her to divest
herself of the cares and dignities which she had, for more
than twenty years, sustained with so much credit and exertion.
Having chosen to fill her station a religious in whom she could
confide, she resigned her office, and retired; submitting herself
as though she had but newly entered the cloister. º
Twelve years after her resignation, she was re-chosen
abbess, in which dignity, with the permission of the superior,
she continued for the four following triennials. She died Au-
gust the 6th, 1661, at seventy years of age.
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes célébrées, &c.
cATHERINE AGNES ARNAULD.
CATHERINE AGNES ARN AULD was chosen, while yet in her
noviciate, by her sister Marie Angelique, to be mistress of th
novices. During the five years which Marie passed in the
bey of Maubuisson, Catherine was entrusted with the go
ment of Port-Royal, and elected coadjutrice with her
N º
who was desirous












Agnes, respected and beloved by the religious, instructed
them no less by her example than by her eloquent discourses,
She was equally celebrated for her talents and for her piety.
She was the author of two small treatises, one of which was
entitled Le Chapelet secret du Saint-sacrement. The other,
L’Image de la Religieuse, parfaite et imparfaite. Both were.
printed at Paris. 2. .
The former was censured by M. Hallier, doctor of the
Sorbonne, and also by others, who united with him; but, hav-
ing been revised by an order of the bishop of Langres, supe-
rior of Port Royal, a division was made in its favour, and the
decision referred to the tribunal of the sovereign pontiff, who
gave a verdict of approbation; but lest, improperly understood,
it should mislead the ignorant, its circulation was suppressed.
In consequence of a defluxion on her lungs, Catherine
Agnes Arnauld expired February 19th, 1671, at seventy-seven
years of age. . -
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées.
§: . . . . . . . . . . . . ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ; ANGELIQUE ARNAULD.
ANGELIQUE ARNAULD, niece to the abbess of Port-Royal,
entered the cloister at six years of age, and formed herself
upon the model of her aunts, by whom she was educated. She
erited their virtues and endowments, and became at length
elevated to the same station, which she filled with equal dig-
nity and capacity. She was distinguished for her taste and pe-
netration, for her eloquence and facility in speaking and in
composition. She died January the 29th, 1684, in the last year
} second triennal, aged fifty-nine years.
% Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées.
&
º
of hºrse
cor su • te, joined in a conspiracy, at ..he head of %
s. Fi Camillus Scribonianus, governor of Dalma-























ARTEMISIA. 99
ror Claudius. This hazardous enterprise, conducted with
more precipitation than prudence, failed through the loyalty or
the superstition of the soldiers. The legions, it is pretended,
when ordered by their general to march against the emperor,
to whom they had taken the oath of allegiance, found it im-
practicable to take up their colours, which had been fixed into
the ground. Camillus, upon this event, took to flight, and tak-
ing shelter in an island, was there killed by his pursuers, in the
arms of his wife Junia.
Caecinius Paetus was seized and carried to Rome for his
trial. Thither his wife Arria, who had petitioned in vain to
be allowed to accompany her husband, followed him, in a fish-
erman's bark, which she hired to pursue the vessel in which
Paetus was conveyed. On their arrival at Rome, Arria em-
ployed, without success, every means in her power to save the
life of her husband, who, according to some historians, was
condemned to die by his own hand, and allowed to choose the
manner of his death. By others it is asserted, that Arria, per-
ceiving all her efforts to preserve the life of Paetus likely to
prove fruitless, exhorted him to prevent the disgrace and the
tortures prepared for him, by perishing, like a Roman, by his
own hand. However this might be, it is allowed by all, that
she determined not to survive him, and that she gave him an
example of the resolution which she recommended. Observing
his hesitation, and convinced of his desperate situation, she
tenderly embraced him, and seizing, at the same time, his
poignard, plunged it into her breast: Nec dolet Pete: ‘Paetus,
it is not painful,” said she; and expired a martyr to conjugal
affection.
Roman History—Lives of the Roman Empresses, &c.
ARTE MISIA.
ARTEMIs A, a woman of masculine courage and capacity,
daughter of Lygdamis, and queen of Caria, was, after the
§ death of her husband, appointed regent during the minorit. r
her son. Thirsting for distinction, and animated by a lov
glory, she determined to join her arms to those of Xer
king of Persia, who, about 480 years previous to the chris
* * * * *
3% § ;





era, declared war against Greece. She signalised herself, on
this memorable occasion, by her judgment and conduct, no
less than by her spirit and courage. She brought to the aid of
Xerxes five vessels, the lightest and the best equipped in the
Artemisia, whose sagacity enabled her to presage the
event, counselled the king of Persia against the battle of Sala-
mis, so fatal to his enterprise, his honour, and his hopes. She
represented to him, in forcible colours, the maritime skill of
the Greeks, with the consequences of a naval defeat, in which
the ruin of his land forces was but too likely to be involved:
she exhorted him to protract the war; to sow jealousies among
an enemy, already divided, who by such a conduct must be
effectually subdued, and himself rendered master of Greece,
without the necessity of striking a single blow. Her just and
prudent reasoning was, however, neglected and contemned;
the battle was hazarded, precipitated, and lost.
Though prudence had been previously recommended by
Artemisia, her efforts during the action were intrepid and vi-
gorous. Xerxes, beholding from an eminence the conduct of
the battle, and observing the valour of the Carian queen, ex-
claimed aloud, in wonder and admiration, ‘That the men had
that day proved themselves women; and the women acted like
The Athenians, with a vindictive and ungenerous rage,
finding themselves baffled by a woman, who had dared to take
up arms against them, set a price upon her head, offering a re-
ward of ten thousand drachmas to any man who should seize
her and bring her before them alive. Artemisia, pursued by
an Athe an vessel, and perceiving herself without hope of es-
cape, had recourse to a stratagem, by which she at once eluded
the enemy, gratified her vengeance, and assured her safety.
Having hung out Grecian colours, she attacked and sunk a
rsian ship, commanded by the king of Calynda, against
m she had long cherished a secret hatred.
, and scarcely to be justified, still less are they e

















She proclaim
was to be s
of the devoted town. Thither, on the day appointed, she ac-
cordingly repaired, attended by a train of women, eunuchs,
and musicians. The inhabitants of Latmus, unconscious of the
fate which hung over them, crowded to behold the feast. In
the mean time, the troops of Caria, placed in ambush for the
purpose, seized on their deserted and defenceless city.
Xerxes, by the advice of Artemisia, abandoned his vain ex-
pedition, quitted Greece, and returned into Asia justly hum-
bled. He confided to the care of the Carian heroine the govern-
ment of his children, the young princes of Persia. The statue
of Artemisia was erected at Lacedaemon, among those of the
Persian generals, in the portico built with the spoils of the van-
quished.
But her great qualities proved insufficient to preserve her
heart from the tyranny of the softer passions. Artemisia be-
came enamoured of Dardanus, a native of Abydus, who re-
turned her favours with coldness and neglect. Piqued by his
insensibility, she suffered herself to be hurried into acts of dis-
graceful violence. Dardanus, while he slept, was by her orders
deprived of his sight, which had refused to do justice to the
charms of the queen. The unfortunate youth was quickly re-
venged in the remorse of Artemisia, to which returning ten-
derness added insupportable pangs. Impatient of anguish, and
of a temper unaccustomed to bend, she sought to procure re-
lief by consulting the oracle. Either in compliance with it
dictates, or with those of her own unconquerable spirit, she
hastened to the promontory of Leucate, and daring, like the
unfortunate Sappho, the dangerous leap, quenched in the arms
ºf death the fire that consumed her. ſ
Les Femmes Célébrées—Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Rollin's
Ancient History—La Gallerie des Femmes Fortes. sº
**ister and wife of Mausolus. In those days,
“Such mixture was not held a stain.”
ARTEMIsIA, queen of Caria, daughter of Hecatomnes, was










Artemisia is celebrated for her great qualities; and is still bet-
ter known for her conjugal affection, and the honours she paid
to the memory of her husband. -
Mausolus, having reigned twenty-four years, died without
issue, towards the end of the 106th olympiad. His widow
caused a superb monument to be erected to his memory, in
Halicarnassus, which, bearing his name, was accounted one of
the wonders of the age.” In remembrance of the tomb of
Mausolus, the term mausoleum has been since applied to mag-
nificent monumental structures. Not satisfied with this public
testimony of respect and affection, Artemisia, it is recorded,
daily mingled the ashes of her husband with water, and swal-
lowed them, that she might herself become his living tomb.
She proposed prizes of great value to such as should excel
in making the panegyric of Mausolus. Socrates, on this occa-
sion, entered the lists with his pupil Theopompus; when the
prize was adjudged to the latter. A tragedy entitled Mausolus
was composed by Theodectes of Phaselides. º
The first architects of the age were summoned to erect and
adorn the monument of the king of Caria, which his widow,
who pined away with grief, lived not to see completed. She
expired within two years after the decease of her husband.
It is affirmed by some writers, that during this interval,
Artemisia suffered not her time to be wholly consumed in un-
availing sorrows that she performed several heroic actions, and
wºº
§
ined over the enemies of Caria more than one victory. It is
related by Vitruvius, that the Rhodians, despising a female
emisia, having defeated them by a stratagem, carried her
arms into Rhodes, headed her troops, and personally attacked
her adversaries; that, with great spirit and courage, having
made herself mistress of the city, she caused two statues to be
!cted in brass, in commemoration of her victory, the one re
the city of Rhodes, the other the conqueress mark-
ith a hot iron. The Rhodians, withheld by superstition
r from destroying this trophy of their disgrace, sur-
with a building, which concealedit from public view.
the tomb of Mausolus has




























BLANCHE, LADY ARUNDEL.
as inconsistent with what is recorded of her conjuga 3:
ness and sorrow; but, it may be observed, that great passions
seldom break out in weak or ignoble minds; that the benevo- &
lent affections, exalted to a certain height, have in them a
strong tincture of heroism; that the grief of the widow of Mau-
solus seems to have been of an ardent and enthusiastic nature;
sentiments which keep the mind in a state of restless inquie-
tude, and, however fatal may be their ultimate consequence, by
no means preclude temporary exertions and starts of activity.
Bayle’s Historical Dictionary—Dictionnaire Historique, les
Femmes Célébrées, &c. &c.
g
MARY, countEss of ARUNDEL.
MARY ARUNDEL was the daughter of sir Thomas Arun-
del, knight, by his second wife, Catherine, daughter to sir
Thomas Greenvil, knight...She was first married to Robert
Ratcliff, who died without issue, 1566; and afterwards to Hen-
ry Howard, earl of Arundel. She translated from English into
Latin, The wise Sayings and eminent Actions of the Emperor
Alexander Severus. This performance is dedicated to her fa-
ther, who died in the thirty-sixth year of Henry VIII. The
manuscript is preserved in the royal library at Westminster,
12 A. 4. She also translated from Greek into Latin, Select
Sentences of the seven wise Grecian Philosophers. Similes, col-
lected by her from the works of Plato, Aristotle, Seneca, and
other philosophers, are preserved in the same library, 12 A. 3.
and dedicated likewise to her father. N. º .
% Ballard's British Ladies—Biographium Formineum, or the Female
Worthies. .
BLANCHE, LADY ARUNDEL.
The courage and spirit with which this lad
Wardour castle against the parliamentary army
vil wars, in the reign of Charles I. are deserving of co
ration. The following account of the transaction is giv
*ercutius Rusticus, a kind of newspaper of those ti













º, º On Tues 1ay, M ay 2d, 164 13, sir. Edwar º : linge r t r !
commander-in-chief of the parliar --
sº ºr - mentary forces in Wiltshire
appeared before Wardour castle, a mansion of Lord Aru
# me county. Sir Edward, finding the castle prepared
to stand a siege, and the inhabitants resolute in its defence,
called in colonel Strode to assist in the attack. The combined
troops, amounting to about thirteen hundred men, commenced
their operations by summoning the castle to surrender, under
the pretence, that it had served as a harbour and an asylum for
the king's party, and that it contained men and arms, plate and
money, which they had a commission from the parliament to
seize. The lady Arundel, daughter to the earl of Worcester,
in the absence of her husband, then at Oxford, commanded the
fortress, which she refused to deliver up, declaring with mag-
nanimity, that she had the orders of her lord to keep it, and
those orders she was determined to obey. 2.
On this reply the cannon were drawn up, and the battery
commenced, which continued, without intermission, from
Wednesday till the following Monday. The castle contained
but twenty-five fighting men. During the siege two mines were
sprung, by the explosion of which every room in the fortress
was shaken and endangered. The besiegers offered more than
once to give quarter to the women and children, on condition
that the besieged should surrender their arms. But the ladies
of the family, disdaining to sacrifice to their own safety their
brave friends and faithful servants, with whom they chose ra-
ther to perish, rejected the proposals, with honourable scorn
Oppressed with numbers, wearied with exertion, and exhaust-
ed by watching, the strength of the besieged at length began
to fail: in this extremity the ladies and female servants as-
sisted in loading the muskets, and in administering refresh-
ments to their intrepid defenders. . .
The enem y
ed them to the
force, and open
at the same tim
rawn up, by which it w





































that the ladies and servants should have their wearing apparel
spared to them, and that six of the serving men, nominated by
themselves, should be allowed to attend on their persons,
wherever they might be disposed to retire: thirdly, that the
furniture should be saved from plunder, and that a person
should remain in the castle for the purpose of taking an inven-
tory of all that it contained, one copy of which was to be de-
livered to the commander-in-chief, and another given to the
ladies. . 3.
The besiegers were, on these terms, allowed to take pos-
session of the castle; but the first article of the capitulation,
by which the lives of the inhabitants were spared, was the only
one observed, while the remainder were violated without
scruple. The besieged had in their defence slain more than
sixty of their adversaries, who had now their turn for ven-
geance. They destroyed, and defaced, with savage fury, many
valuable pictures, carvings, and works of art: nothing was left
to the defeated but the clothes which they wore. The ladies
and children were led prisoners to Shaftsbury, whither five
cart loads of their richest furniture and hangings were carried
in triumph. Having plundered the castle, and burnt the out-
houses, they pulled up the palings of the park, stocked with
red and fallow deer, many of which were killed, and the rest
let loose. The lodges and tenements in the park were destroy-
ed with fire; the trees, large oaks, and elms cut down, and
sold for a small part of their value. To render the devastation
yet more complete, the fruit-trees were rooted up; the heads
of the ponds dug up, the fish destroyed, or sold by cart-loads
in the county. As if unsatiated with ruin, so ferocious is party
rage, even the nurseries to the great ponds were destroyed;
the horses and cattle sold or driven away; and a conduit of
lead which brought water two miles to the castle, was cut up
and sold for an inconsiderable sum. The loss of the earl of
Arundel, on this occasion, was computed at one hundred
thousand pounds.
The victors, conceiving their prisoners insec
bury, proposed removing them to Bath, the ai
at that time infected both by the plague and sm
Arundel, dreading to expose her children to







* .
Edmund Ludlow, and their army, and then delivered it up on
MARGAf -— sº
only she was determined should effect. Her adversaries
afraid lest the people should be disgusted by so gross and bru-
tal a proceeding, were induced, on reflection, to relinquish
their design; but not without piercing the heart of a mother
by obliging her to separate from her children. Two sons, the
elder only nine, and the younger seven years of age, were torn-
from her arms, and carried captives to Dorchester. ~
Lady Arundel is buried with her husband, near the altar
of an elegant chapel at Wardour castle: on the monument is
the following inscription: “To the memory of the right ho-
nourable Thomas, lord Arundel, second baron of Wardour,
and count of the sacred Roman empire, who died at Oxford,
of the wounds he received at the battle of Lansdown, in the
service of king Charles I. for whom he raised a regiment of
horse at his own expense, at the time of the usurpation. Obit.
19th Maii. Etat. 59. 1643. And of the right honourable
ianche, lady Arundel, his wife, daughter of Edward Somer-
set, earl of Worcester, lord keeper of the privy-seal, master
º
of the horse, and knight of the most noble order of the Gar-
ter, ancestor to the duke of Beaufort, lineally descended from
John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, son of king Edward III.
This lady, as nguished for her courage, as for the splen-
dor of her birth, bravely defended, in the absence of her hus-
l, the castle of Wardour, with a spirit above her sex, for
days, with a few men, against sir Edward Hungerford,
3.
tourable terms. Obit. 28th Oct. 1649. Etat. 66. Requiescat
‘Who shall find a valiant woman? The price of her
s things brought from afar off, and from the uttermost
st. The heart of her husband trusteth in her.” Prov. xxxi.
“‘Our God was our refuge and strength; the Lord of
nies was with us, the God of Jacob was our protector.”
m xlvi.” º .
Anecdotes of Distinguished Persons.
How was married, in 15 54, to Rog
e fortune. To her care the
Tºls






























ANNE AsKEw.
debted for Mr. Ascham’s book, entitled The School-master, to
which she prefixed an epistle dedicatory, to the honourable
sir William Cecill, knight. The work was published in 4to,
1570, London, and reprinted in 1589. It was again reprinted
in 1711, with explanatory notes, &c. by the rev. Mr. James
Upton, A. M. rector of Brimpton, in Somersetshire, and fel-
low of King's college, Cambridge. Mrs. Ascham is supposed
to lie interred with her husband, in the church of St. Sepulchre,
London. z .
Ballard's British Ladies—Biographium Formineum.
ANNE ASKEW.
ANNE AsKEw, daughter of sir William Askew, of Kelsay,
in Lincolnshire, knight, was born in 1529. She received a li-
beral and learned education, and manifested in early life a
predilection for theological studies. Her eldest sister, after
having been contracted in marriage to the son of Mr. Kyme,
of Lincolnshire, died before the nuptials were completed.
Sir William Askew, on this event unwilling to lose a con-
nexion which promised pecuniary advantages, compelled his
second daughter Anne, notwithstanding her reluctance, re-
monstrances, and resistance, to fulfil the engagement entered
into by her sister, and to become the wife of Mr. Kyme. This
marriage laid the foundation for the subsequent misfortunes
of her life, which terminated in a cruel and premature death.
But, however reluctantly she gave her hand to Mr. Kyme
whom she bore two children, she rigidly fulfilled the d
of a wife and mother. . . . . . •
Though educated in the Roman catholic religion, by which
the perusal of the Scriptures is withheld from the laity, Anne, ?
from attending to the questions respecting the Reformation
at that time violently agitated, became curious to examine the
records from which both parties affected to derive their
and to which they mutually appealed. In this pursuit, d
suggesting themselves to her mind, her adherence to th
nions of her ancestors became daily weaker, till at ler
& I the principles of the reformers. Her pre:
ubts


















husband, who, at the suggestion of the priest, drove her with
ignominy from his house. Anne, conceiving, herself released
by this treatment from the obligations that had been imposed
upon her, determined to sue for a separation. For this purpose,
she proceeded to London with a view of imploring protection
and aid from those who favoured the protestant cause.
In London she met with a favourable reception from
many of the principal ladies of the court, and was particularly
distinguished by the queen, who favoured in secret the doc-
trines of the reformation. The catholics, on this occasion, en-
deavoured with impotent malice to misrepresent her conduct,
and to sully her reputation; but the innocence and consistency
of her life confounded their malignity.
The king (Henry VIII.), rendered irritable by declining
health, under the influence of no steady principle, whimsical,
vindictive, and tyrannical, exacted from his subjects an impli-
cit compliance with his caprices: while, daily changing his
faith, he treated with severity those who wanted facility to ac-
commodate to his, their opinions. In these perilous times,
Anne became a victim to the vengeance of her husband, and
to the bigotry of the priests, who accused her to Henry of
dogmatising on the subject of the real presence; a notion re-
specting which, in proportion as it was untenable, he was par-
ticularly tenacious. The sex and age of the heretic aggravated,
rather than softened, the
3.2%
malice of her adversaries, who could
not pardon in a woman the presumption of opposing arguments
and reason to their assertions and dogmas.
Anne was accordingly seized, in March 1545, and taken into
ody: she was repeatedly examined by Christopher Dare,
e lord-mayor, the bishops, chancellor, and others, respecting
her faith, transubstantiation, masses for departed souls, &c. &c.:
her answers to the questions proposed to her were more clear
d sensible than satisfactory to her inquisitors.” The sub-
In the course of her examination she was asked, by the lord mayor,
er the priests could not make dy of Christ? (in allusion to the
rine of the Eucharist). To which she replied, ‘I have read that God
de mau; but that man can make God, I never yet read, nor I suppose ever
“After the words of consecration (retorted her adversary), is it
's body?’ ‘No, it is but consecrated, or sacramental, bread.”
§:... after the consecration, what shall become of the
le of it, say you, my lord.” “I say that the mouse





















ANNE, ASKEW. 109
stance and particulars of this examination were written by her-
self, and published after her death. N.
Being committed to prison, she was refused bail, detained
there eleven days, and prohibited from having any communi-
cation with her friends. During this confinement, she employed
herself in composing prayers and meditations, and in fortifying
her resolution to endure the trial of her principles.
On the 23d of March, a relation, who had obtained permis-
sion to visit her, endeavoured to bail her: his earnest applica-
tion, for this purpose, to the mayor, to the chancellor, and to
Bonner, the bishop of London, was at length successful. On
this occasion she was brought before the bishop, who affected
concern for what she had suffered, while he again proposed to
her ensnaring questions. Mr. Britagne, her relation, and Mr.
Spilman, of Gray’s Inn, became her sureties. . .
A short time after, she was again apprehended, and sum-
moned before the king’s council, at Greenwich, when Wrio-
thesely the chancellor, Gardiner bishop of Winchester, and
other prelates, once more questioned her on the doctrines of
the church of Rome. She replied to their inquiries with firm-
ness, and without prevarication: on finding her immovable,
her sagacious judges determined on other measures, and re-
manded her to Newgate, though she was at that time suffering
under a severe indisposition. Having entreated, in vain, to be
allowed a visit from Dr. Latimer, she addressed a letter to the
king himself, declaring, ‘That respecting the Lord's supper,
she believed as much as had been taught by Christ himself, or
as the catholic church required.” But still refusing her assent
to the royal explication, her letter served but to aggravate her
crime. She then wrote to the chancellor, enclosing her address
to the king, but with no better success. From Newgate she
was conveyed to the Tower, where she was interrogated re-
specting her patrons at court, with several ladies of which she
is damned” “Alas! poor mouse!’ replied she, smiling. Thus ludicrously did
her persecutors convert their tragedy into farce. When threatened by the
chancellor with the stake, she observed, that, having searched the Scriptures,
she had never been able to find that either Christ, or his apostles, put any
Jeclaring that women were forbidden, by St. Paul, to speak of the word of
God. To this she modestly replied, that the prohibition of St . ..º.º.
teaching publicly in the congregations, .
creature to death. The chancellor rebuked her for referring to the Scriptures,
* *


110 ANNE ASKEW
held a correspondence, but, heroically maintaining her fidelity,
she refused the deposition exacted of her. *... . . . . . . º.º.º.º.
ź # *
Her magnanimity, so worthy of admiration, served but to
incense her barbarous persecutors, who endeavoured by the
rack to extort from her what she had refused to their demands.
She sustained the torture with unshaken fortitude, and meek.
resignation: her courage, her youth, her sex, her beauty, failed
to soften the hearts of the monsters which fanaticism had
inflamed. Wriothesely, with unmanly and infernal rage, com-
manded, with menaces, the lieutenant of the Tower to strain
the instrument of his vengeance: on receiving a refusal, he
threw off his gown, and, maddened with superstitious zeal, ex-
ercised himself the office of executioner, and nearly destroyed
the tender frame of the innocent victim. Anne, loosed at length
from the horrid engine of their cruelty, with every limb dislo-
cated, fainted with anguish. When recovered, she remained sit-
ting two hours on the bare ground, calmly reasoning with her
tormentors. Again, by flattery, sophistry, and menaces, they
sought to move her from her purpose, and once more were
confounded by her courage and resolution. Unable to stand,
she was carried away in a chair, and pardon and life again
offered to her, upon condition of recanting her declarations,
which, having still refused, she was condemned to the stake.
In the mean time, the lieutenant of the Tower hastened to
court, and informed the king of what had past, while he apolo-
gised for the humanity he had displayed. Even the tyrant be-
trayed, on this affecting narration, some symptoms of being a
; he commended the lieutenant for what he had done, and
peared disgusted with the brutality of the chancellor. -
A report having been circulated, that the prisoner had
ielded to her persecutors, she wrote a letter on the occasion
Mr. John Lascels, a gentleman who had been her tutor,
justifying herself from the charge: she also composed a gene-
ral address to the public, to the same purport. She drew up
ewise, before her execution, a confession of her faith, and
- r innocence, which concluded with a prayer
ne ce in what she conceived to be her
and pardon of her adversaries.
an
























ASPASIA. % tº
to rise or stand but with the assistance of two persons), her
features, animated by enthusiasm, and a consciousness of un-
deserved suffering, expressed a sweetness and serenity inex-
pressibly affecting. *: > & sº. º.º.
At the stake, letters were brought to her from the chancel-
lor, exhorting her to recant, with a promise of the king's pardon.
Averting her eyes from the paper, she simply replied, “she
came not thither to deny her lord and master.” The same pro-
position was made to her fellow-sufferers, with the same
success. While Shaxton, an apostate from his principles,
harangued the prisoners, she listened attentively to his dis-
course, nicely distinguishing, such was her self-possession at
this terrible hour, between what was deserving of approbation,
and what she conceived to be erroneous. Fire being put to
the pile, she commended her spirit to God, and resigned her-
self with magnanimity to her fate. She expired in the twenty-
fifth year of her age. July 16, 1546. .
Such are the triumphs and the monuments of fanaticism;
triumphs and monuments which are peculiar to no sect: all
who have attached important consequences to speculative
theology, have in proportion to the spirit of the times, and to
the power allowed them by civil governments, employed it for
the extirpation or the annoyance of those, who, doubting the
propriety of a standard mind, have presumed to exercise their
own judgments. .. .
Fox's Acts and Monuments of the Church—Hume's History of
England–Ballard's Memoirs of British Ladies—Biographium
|Formineum—Gibbon's Pious Ladies. .
ASPASIA.
Aspasia, daughter of Axiochus, a native of Miletus in
Asia, is celebrated for her beauty and talents, rather than for
the severity of her morals. To personal charms and graces,
she added a mind highly cultivated, a captivating eloquence,
an acquaintance with the philosophy and sciences of Greece, a
vigour, an acuteness, a versatility of genius, equally admil able
and rare. Thus accomplished, Athens appeared to As
tageously displayed.








Thither she repaired, accompanied by a train of young
beauties, with whom she formed a singular and curious estab-
lishment, which the Muses combined with the Graces to
render, to the youth of the city, not less dangerous than
attractive. The Athenian women were immured within their
tments, where they were carefully guarded and secluded;
course was denied them, excepting with those of their
, or with their nearest male relatives: thus restricted,
ad but little opportunity of acquiring the polished man-
d intellectual graces, which, by a refined and enlighten-
le, are required to give dignity and sentiment to the
sympathies and affections. This circumstance gave, in
s, to the odious and degrading profession of a courtesan,
Icter and even an importance, to which, under the less
governments of Europe, it has certainly no claim.
The house of Aspasia became the resort of wit and talents;
professors, philosophers, orators, and politicians, the first and
the most illustrious citizens of Greece, were here assembled.
Socrates, accompanied by his friends and disciples, openly
visited the fair Milesian, professed himself her disciple, and
acknowledged, that it was from her precepts and example he
had acquired the art of rhetoric. -
Pericles, who under popular pretences had usurped the
sovereignty of the state, passionately attached himself to As-
pasia: while her wit and vivacity delighted his imagination, he
scrupled not to confess, that he was indebted to her sagacity
for many maxims of policy not less acute than profound; nor
d he blush to recite the orations which she occasionally
posed for him: the ascendency which he had gained over
the minds of the people, was maintained by the counsels and
eloquence of his mistress. After parting with a wife, whom he
lid not love, Pericles gave to Aspasia the strongest proof of
; esteem and tenderness, by uniting himself with her in
marriage, in defiance of popular censure.
Notwithstanding the more than questionable reputation of
Aspasia, many of her visitors carried with them their wives,
that they might listen to her wise and eloquent discourses.
It was the custom of the Athenian theatre to introduce on
, by allusions or representations, the most celebrated
habitants and citizens of Athens. Aspasia, too dis-




















ASPASIA. its
tinguished to escape censure, was thus, under the appellations of
Deianira, Juno, or Omphale, alternately satirised and praised.
A decree was, about this period, made in Athens against
sceptical and speculative persons who denied the existence and
administration of the gods; and also, against such as professed
or taught in the schools certain philosophical opinions he
be injurious to the religion established by the state.
mies of Pericles, fearing to attack him personally
themselves of this occasion to level their malice ag
favourites and friends. For the purpose of woun
where he was most vulnerable, Aspasia was summon
the tribunal of the judges, on the accusation of atheis
dissolute life. Pericles betrayed, during the process, t
extreme solicitude for the fate of his mistress, while
ployed in her behalf all his influence and power. To m
and remonstrances he even added prayers and tears; and, at
length, by his importunity, prevailed over the machinations of
his adversaries, and rescued from destruction the woman he
loved. It was observed, that when in danger of forfeiting his
own honours and life, he had manifested a far inferior concern.
Aspasia is accused by historians of having, by her influence
over her lover, been the occasion of the Samian and Megarian
wars, the circumstances of which are thus related. The Sa-
mians and Milesians having contended for the city of Priene,
the latter were vanquished; when Aspasia, animated with a
pardonable love for her country, persuaded Pericles to induce
the Athenians to declare war against the conquerors. The
Megarian, in which originated the Peloponnesian war, is said
to have had its origin in motives less honourable. Some young
men of Athens, in a licentious frolic, carried away from Me-
gara a celebrated courtesan. The Megarians made reprisals,
by bearing off two nymphs of the household of Aspasia; who,
indignant at the insult offered her, employed her credit with
Pericles to avenge, on the whole nation, this affront. She is
likewise accused, and probably with too much justice, of cor-
rupting the morals while she polished the manners of the
Athenian youth. In a passage of Xenophon, it is said of As-
Pasia, that, in learning and rhetoric, her precepts excelled
those of Socrates himself: she is also celebrated for her p











MARY ASTELL.
cal talents. After the death of Pericles, she attached herself
to a man of obscure birth, whom, by her wit and intrigues, she
contrived to raise to the first dignities of the republic.
Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Rollin's Ancient History—Plutarch's Lives.
*
º
MARY ASTELL.
Ast ELL, the daughter of a merchant of Newcastle-
ne, was born in 1668. The proofs of acuteness and
which she displayed in the early periods of youth,
the attention of her uncle, a clergyman, who request-
rents to commit their daughter to his charge, and al-
o become her preceptor. Under the tuition of this
an, she acquired the French and Latin languages, and
*** considerable progress in logic, philosophy, and the
mathematics. : *
In the twentieth year of her age, she quitted Newcastle and
came to the metropolis, where she prosecuted her studies with
diligence and success. During the remainder of her life, which
was devoted to literary pursuits, she resided alternately either
in London or at Chelsea.
From having experienced in the study of letters a fruitful
source of independent pleasure, she became solicitous to im-
part to her sex the satisfaction she enjoyed, to raise the gene-
ral character of women, and to rescue them from ignorance
and frivolity. In a defective education, she was persuaded,
o be found the true cause of those frailties and follies ab-
attributed to sex. Under these impressions, she wrote
and published an anonymous treatise, entitled “A serious
Proposal to the Ladies, for the Advancement of their true and
great Interest.” A second part to this address was a short
me after given to the public; “wherein a Method is offered
the Improvement of their Minds.” These productions,
nted in 12mo, London, 1696, were favourably received, and
appeared to produce an effect on the female character,
towards the improvement of which they were directed.
A lady of fortune, impressed by these publications, pro-
:ont towards erecting a seminary, or
of young women, and also to serve

















as an asylum for those whom misfortune, studious habits, or
other circumstances, should render desirous of retiring from
the world. The execution of this laudable and rational project
was prevented by bishop Burnet, from a puerile apprehension,
that its resemblance to conventual institutions would reflect
scandal upon the Reformation. § º
About this time, Mr. John Norris published his “Practi-
cal Discourses upon several divine Subjects.” The perusal of
this performance having suggested to the mind of Mrs. As-
tell, certain doubts, she stated her objections in a letter to the
author, of whom she requested their solution. Several letters
having passed between them on the subject, Mr. Norris pre-
vailed with the lady, on condition that her name should be con-
cealed, to consent to their publication. Two prefaces were
prefixed to the work (one by each of the writers), which was
entitled, “Letters, concerning the Love of God, between the
Author of ‘Proposals to the Ladies,’ and Mr. John Norris,
wherein his late Discourse, shewing that the Love of God
ought to be entire and exclusive of all other Love, is cleared
and justified:” published by J. Norris, M. A. rector of Be-
merton near Sarum; London, 1695, 8vo. The curiosity of the
public defeated Mrs. Astell's modest desire of concealment;
her letters attracted great notice both for their spirit and style,
and procured her credit and esteem: in Mr. Norris's preface
they are complimented in a high strain of panegyric. .
During the ensuing seven years it does not appear that
Mrs. Astell resumed her pen, except in “A Letter to a Lady,
written by a Lady,” 1696; a humorous essay in defence of he
sex. In this period she devoted herself to the prosecution of
scientifical studies. To preserve herself from the interruption
of frivolous visits, from such persons as relieve themselves
from the burthen of time unemployed by breaking in upon
their more rational and industrious acquaintance, she was ac-
customed, from her window, jestingly, to inform intruders,
that “Mrs. Astell was not at home.’ The classics next engaged
her attention, to the perusal of which she diligently applied
herself. Her favourite authors were Xenophon, Plato, Hiero-
cles, Tully, Seneca, Epictetus, and M. Antoninus.
In 1700 she wrote and published “Reflections on Mar.
ria ge.” in which she contended with force and spirit for what




Mary Astel.
she conceived to be the privileges of her sex. A recent disaps
pointment, in a matrimonial engagement, with an eminent
clergyman, the particulars of which are unknown, gave, it is
thought, on this occasion, a more poignant edge to her satire.
This production, of course, excited opposition and provoked
malignity. A second edition 8vo, was published in 1705, to .
which was added a preface, in reply to the objections which
had been urged. Both the performance and the preface were
written with point and smartness. .
Polemic controversy now engaged her attention, and affor-
ded an exercise to her active mind. In answer to Dr. d’Aven-
ant’s “Moderation a Virtue,” and “Essays on Peace and
War,” she undertook the defence of establishments, in a quarto
pamphlet, entitled “Moderation truly stated, or a Review of
* Moderation a Virtue;’ or the occasional Conformist justified
from the Imputation of Hypocrisy, &c.” 1704. This publica-
tion, which bore hard upon the dissenters, and proved her ac-
quaintance with the religious disputes of the times, was traced
with little difficulty to the author, who obtained the applause of
the learned prelates whose cause she had espoused. Among
those by whom she was more particularly distinguished, may
be named Mr. Henry Dodwell; Dr. Hickes, eminent for his
learning and knowledge; Dr. John Walker, who speaks of her
in his “Sufferings of the Clergy;” also Mr. Evelyn, in his
“Catalogue of learned Women.” Dr. F. Atterbury, bishop of
* Rochester, in a letter to Dr. Smallridge, thus writes: “About
a fortnight ago, I dined with Mrs. Astell. She spoke to me of
my sermon against bishop Hoadley’s “Measures of Submission,'
d desired me to print it, hinting that she wished to peruse it.
!cordingly sent it to her on the following day. Yesterday
returned it, with a sheet of remarks of an extraordinary
re, considering they came from the pen of a woman. In-
one could not imagine them to have been written by a
, &c. She attacks me home you see, and artfully
º tough, under pretence of taking my part against those who
are in Hoadley's measures. I dread to engage her; so I merely
wrote a general answer, leaving the rest to a conference.”
To a pamphlet entitled “Short Ways,” she replied, 1704,
: any other furious Jacobite, whether























MARY ASTELL. 11:
Clergyman or Layman, but by a moderate Person and dutiful
Subject to the Queen;” London, 4to. Before this performance
had passed the press, a new edition of “Moderation a Virtue”
was published by Dr. d’Avenant, to which Mrs. Astell wrote
an immediate answer. In the ensuing year she also published
a letter, addressed to a lady of high rank, entitled “The Chris-
tian Religion, as professed by a Daughter of the Church of
England, &c.” London, 1705, 8vo. In this performance she
enters into a metaphysical disquisition, and attacks Mr. Locke
on his notion of thinking matter. Some remarks are added on
the sermons of Tillotson. *...
The concerns of the church and state have, by modern go-
vernments, been so interwoven, that a connexion is generally
observed between theological and political investigation. Mrs.
Astell's next production was, “An impartial Inquiry into the
Causes of Rebellion and Civil War in this Kingdom; in an
Examination of Dr. Kenrick’s Sermon, January 30, 1703-4:
and a Vindication of the Royal Martyr:” London, 4to.
The former periods of her life having been thus occupied
by literature and study, she devoted herself, towards its close,
to a rigid observance of the duties and ceremonials of her re-
ligion. For some years before her death she was accustomed
to walk, regardless of weather, every Sunday from Chelsea to
St. Martin's church, to attend the instructions of a favourite
preacher. The bloom of her life had been consumed in ab-
stracted pursuits, and in the acquisition of knowledge: her
heart was pure and her manners blameless; her temper gentle,
her spirits serene and equal, and her conversation instructive
and animated. It was her favourite maxim, that “a christian
ought to be cheerful.” But, while indulgent to others, her se-
verity towards herself degenerated into superstition and scru-
pulosity. She imposed on herself a severe abstinence, incon-
sistent with the temper of christianity, frequently allowing .
herself, for a considerable time, no other sustenance than bread
and water; and rarely, at any time, dining till night. “ Absti-
nence,” she contended, “was the best physic.” Those who
indulged at the table, she believed, must be indisposed either
for study or devotion. The human mind is prone to extremes:
temperance, not abstinence, is the law of nature; application,
intense and unremitted, by wasting the spirits, exhausts the
body and hastens its decay. -
%

Her death seems to have been occasioned by a cancer in
her breast; a painful and terrible disease, which, for some
years, she carefully concealed even from the most intimate of
her friends. It is not improbable that this disorder originated
in a severe and sedentary life, by which the blood is im-
poverished, and the system debilitated. The symptoms at .
length becoming alarming, she requested the advice of Mr.
Johnson, a gentleman eminent for his surgical skill, who hint-
ed the necessity of an amputation. Without appearing in any
degree intimidated, she immediately consented to the opera-
tion, entreating only that it might be performed in the most
private manner, and scarcely allowing the presence of the re-
quisite assistants. She refused, on this trying occasion, either
to be held or to have her hands confined, and submitted her-
self to the operator without shrinking; nor during her suffer-
ings did a complaint or a sigh escape her. Through the whole
of her subsequent confinement, she displayed the same forti-
tude and patience. Her friends, trusting that the disorder was
eradicated, flattered themselves with the hope of her recovery;
but her blood was contaminated, and her constitution impaired.
She continued to languish for some time, while her strength
gradually declined. As she perceived her dissolution draw
near, she gave orders for her coffin and shroud to be placed
near her bed, as a memento of her approaching fate. Occupied
entirely by her devotions, for some days previous to her death,
she refused to admit to her chamber even her most intimate
friends, lest they should discompose the serenity of her mind.
She expired May 11th, 1731, and was interred at Chelsea.
Among the most distinguished of Mrs. Astell's friends
may be mentioned lady Elizabeth Hastings, and lady Cathe-
rine Jones; the former of these ladies appears to have been,
on various occasions, her munificent patroness. -
ographium Foemineum—Ballard's Lives of illustrious British Ladies, &c.
- - º
- ATHENAIs. . .
The story of Athenais, a Greek virgin, of obscure rank,
nose beauty and talents raised her to an imperial throne,
i :ar the appearance of romance, had not its authenti-
been established by undoubted historical record.








ATHENAIS. 119
Athenais, the daughter of Leontius, an Athenian sophist,
was born about the year 393 of the christian era, and educated
by her father in the mythology and sciences of the Greeks.
Her progress in every branch of learning was uncommon and
rapid. As she advanced towards maturity, her talents and en-
dowments, added to the charms of youth and beauty, attracted
the attention and commanded the homage of the susceptible
and polished citizens of Athens. § .
Her father, proud of the beauty and attainments of his
daughter, exulting in the admiration they had excited, and
confiding in the taste and disinterestedness of his contempora-
ries, persuaded himself that the merit of Athenais would prove
a sufficient dowry. With this conviction, he divided, on his
death-bed, his patrimonial estate between his two sons, be-
queathing to his daughter only a small legacy of one hundred
pieces of gold.
Less sanguine in the power of her charms, the fair Greek
appeared shocked and confounded by this disposition of her
father's effects, which she could not but consider as capricious
and unjust. Appealing from the testament of their father, to
the equity and affection of her brothers, she besought them to
do her justice; to call to mind her irreproachable conduct, her
tenderness and duty towards their deceased parent; the rea-
sonableness of her claim, her youth, her sex, and exposed
situation. To these remonstrances her brothers listened wit
coldness: blind to the merits of their sister, and deaf to he
claims, avarice stifled in their hearts the voice of nature and o
justice. To rid themselves of importunities, which they knew
not how to evade, they at length determined, with savage
fury, to drive from the parental roof the victim of their rapa-
city, and to throw her unprotected upon the world. .
Athenais sought shelter from her pitiless brothers with a
sister of her mother, who received her with kindness and
sympathy. With this lady, an aunt, on the side of her father,
having united, they commenced, in the cause of their niece, a
legal process against her brothers. .
In the progress of the suit, Athenais was, by her aunts, ,
conducted to Constantinople. Theodosius II. who swayed at
this time the imperial sceptre, divided with his sister Pulche
the cares of empire. A commission, it is pretende




120 ATHENAIs.
about this period, been given to Pulcheria, by the emperor, to
ughout the East, for a young
beauty, whose virtues and graces should render her worthy of
possessing the heart of the monarch, and of sharing with him
the imperial throne. In this extraordinary mission, which was
to be determined by merit rather than by riches or descent,
Paulinus, a favourite of Theodosius, was joined. For the ac-
complishment of a charge thus singular, agents were dispatched
through the neighbouring provinces. …
At a juncture so critical, the aunts of Athenais, prostrating
themselves at the feet of Pulcheria, demanded justice for their
niece, on whose merit and injuries they eloquently descanted.
The princess, having listened with complacency to their suit,
requested to see the object of their cares; when the beauty
and address of Athenais confirmed the impression already
produced in her favour on the mind of her royal patroness.
Her slender and graceful form, the harmony of her features,
full eyes, fair complexion, and golden hair; her talents and
acquirements; the melody of her voice; her soft and interest-
ing manners; her modesty and ingenuous character, combined
to convince the princess, that in this young stranger she beheld
the future empress and consort of Theodosius. To her attain-
ments in philosophy and science, Athenais had also added the
ore alluring arts of music and eloquence.
the orders of Pulcheria, she was admitted into an apart-
the palace, and placed among the virgins, already as-
sembled, from whom the emperor was to select his bride. Her
aunts were likewise treated with marks of favour, and dis-
missed by Pulcheria with assurances of redress and protection
for their niece. 3. .
The princess having questioned Athenais respecting the
particulars of her cause, her family *ducation, and her de-
#
ceased father, was charmed by the propriety and modesty of
her replies, and the eloquence with which she related the lit-
tie incidents of her youth. Pulcheria failed not to report her
perfections to the emperor, and to irritate his impatience to
behold and converse with her. Paulinus was accordingly com-
issioned to appoint her an audience, in the apartment of the
iss, under pretence of a consultation on her affairs. Theo-
§
concealed by a curtain, witnessed the interview, and















contemplated at leisure the charms with which his imagin:
was already inflamed. His heart, prepossessed in favour of the
stranger, yielded, without resistance, to the power of her at-
tractions. While he gazed on her unseen, and listened to the
soft accents of her voice, he became fully persuaded that in
her he beheld the original of the portrait on which his fancy
had so long dwelt enamoured. º
The intelligence of her good fortune was received by
Athenais with a grace and modesty that heightened the lustre
of her charms. By the desire of her royal lover, she was in-
structed in the principles of the Greek church, and, being con-
verted from paganism, assumed the name of Eudocia, on her
baptism by Atticus the metropolitan patriarch. The royal nup-
tials were celebrated amidst the acclamations of the capital.
The title of Augusta was withheld from the new empress till
the ensuing year, when she gave proof of her fruitfulness by
the birth of a daughter, who, fifteen years afterwards, espoused
the emperor of the West.
With a mind highly cultivated in Grecian and Roman lite-
rature, the empress, in the bloom of youth and the pride of
beauty, preserved on a throne the studious and retired ha-
bits of a philosophic life: amidst the luxury of a court, she
continued to improve herself in those ingenious arts to which
she owed her elevation; her talents were dedicated to the ad-
vancement of religion, and the honour of the emperor her
husband. She composed a poetical paraphase of the first eight
books of the Old Testament; also of the prophecies of Daniel
and Zachariah: to these she added a cento of the verses of
Homer, applied to the life and miracles of Christ; the legend
of St. Cyprian; and a panegyric on the Persian victories of
Theodosius. “Her writings,” says the historian of the “De-
cline of the Roman Empire,” “which were applauded by a
a servile and superstitious age, have not been disdained by the
candour of impartial criticism.” “Who,” asks Du Pin,
“would expect to find among ecclesiastical writers a woman
and an empress, who, amidst the luxury and splendor of a
court, devoted herself to theological studies?”
Time and tranquil possession seemed to make no aba
ment in the conjugal tenderness of the emperor. Eud
*fter the marriage of her daughter, requested permissi
Vol. I.























discharge her grateful vows, by a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. In
her progress through the East, she pronounced, from a throne.
of gold and gems, an eloquent oration to the senate of An-
tioch, to whom she declared her intention of enlarging the
walls of the city, and of subscribing towards the restoration of
the public baths. For this purpose she allotted 200 pounds of .
gold. Her alms and munificence in the Holy Land exceeded
those of the great Helena: statues were decreed to her in the
city, which having graciously accepted, she returned to Con-
stantinople, covered with honours, and laden with pious relics.
We will not inquire into the consistency of this pomp with the
religion of the lowly Jesus, nor whether the relics were con-
sidered by the people as a compensation for a treasury ex-
hausted by lavish donations.” .”
The glory of Eudocia became now obscured; a cloud pass-
ed over its meridian lustre. Her pilgrimage, or rather her tri-
umphant progress through the East, had tainted the simplicity
of her original manners: ostentation prepared the way for a
stronger passion; ambition awakened in her heart: aspiring to
the government of the empire, she mingled in political in-
trigues, contested for power with the princess, her benefac-
tress, whom she sought to supplant in the confidence of the
emperor. . ------ - - .
Connected with her decline in the affection of Theodosius,
a story is related, which, it must be confessed, bears the ap-
pearance of fiction. An apple, it is said, of uncommon size and
beauty, being presented to the empress, by her husband, she
caused it to be conveyed to Paulinus (at that time indisposed),
whose talents and learning had acquired her friendship and
nfidence. Paulinus, ignorant of the hand whence the present
ame, sent it as a rarity to his master. Theodosius, struck
with this incident, hastened in anger to the apartment of his
ife, and sternly demanded of her, how she had disposed of
upple. Alarmed by the severity of his accent, and confused
is abrupt manners, the empress replied, trembling, that she
1 it., Her husband, confirmed in his suspicions by this
ion, produced the fruit, which he displayed before
uence,in a memoir on the fertility of Palestine, calculates the


















ATHENAIS. 123
her. Conscious that she had by falsehood forfeited his confi-
dence, the imprudent Eudocia, it is added, dismayed and con-
founded, fled precipitately from his presence.
However mingled with fable may be the preceding ac-
sount, it is certain that the influence of Pulcheria triumphed
over that of the empress, who found herself unable to protect
her most faithful adherents: she witnessed the disgrace of
Cyrus, the praetorian praefect, which was followed by the exe-
cution of Paulinus: his uncommon personal beauty, and the
favour of the empress, had given rise to suspicions injurious to
her honour, and excited the jealousy of Theodosius.
Perceiving the affections of the emperor irretrievably alie-
nated, Eudocia requested permission to retire to Jerusalem,
where the remainder of her life might be passed in solitude,
and consecrated to the offices of religion. Her petition was
granted, but the vengeance of Pulcheria, or the jealousy of
Theodosius, pursued her even in her retreat. Two ecclesias-
tics, her most favoured servants, were, by Saturninus, count of
the domestics, in compliance with an order from the imperial
court, punished with death. This severity was revenged by
the assassination of its instrument: Saturninus became a vic-
tim to the vindictive passions of his superiors. Stripped of
the honours of her rank, the empress was disgraced in the
eyes of the surrounding nations. The precepts of forbearence,
enjoined by her religion, failed to produce their effect on the
heart of the royal convert: the spirit of philosophy, and the
lowly temper of the gospel, had melted alike in the torrid zone
of a court. z -
The latter periods of the life of Eudocia, less tempestuous
**
were passed in exile and devotion, in building and adorning
churches, and in administering to the wants of the poor and
The CeSS1tOuS. > -ºº:
The death of the emperor, the misfortunes of her daugh-
ter, led a captive from Rome to Carthage, the approach of
age, and the society of the religious of Palestine, gradually
calmed the passions of Eudocia, and restored to her mind its
equanimity. It has been asserted by some historians,” that,
having been reconciled to Theodosius, she returned to C
stantinople, resumed her rank, and continued with her H
hand, in confidence and affection, till his death: by
- * Cave. + Du Pin.










DE L'AUBESPINE.
that she was not recalled to the imperial city till after the de-
cease of the emperor. Both these accounts appear to be doubt-
ful: it is certain, that, after an experience of uncommon vicis-
situdes, she expired at Jerusalem, in the sixty-seventh year of
her age (about the year 460), solemnly protesting her inno-
cence with her dying breath. In her last moments she dis-,
played the heroism of a philosopher, and the piety of a con-
fessor. . 3. .
During her power and influence, magnanimously forget-
ting, in its consequences, the barbarity of her brothers, she
promoted them to the rank of consuls and praefects: observing
their confusion on being summoned to the imperial presence,
“Had you not,” said she “compelled me to leave my country,
and to visit Constantinople, I should never have had it in my
power to bestow on you these marks of sisterly affection.’
Gibbon's Decline of the Roman Empire—Biographium Famineum
—Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées.
MADELINE DE L'AUBESPINE.
MADELINE, daughter of Claude de l’Aubespine, lord of
Hauterive, was married to Nicholas de Neufuille, lord of Vil-
leroi and of Alincourt, secretary of state, and treasurer to the
king of France. Nicholas de Neufuille had served five of the
French monarchs; Francis II. Charles IX. Henry III. Henry
and Louis XIII. Madeleine, his wife, joined to the
arms of beauty, a fine genius and a delicate wit. She is
en of by Francis Grudé, in his catalogue of illustrious
sh writers, by whom we are informed, that she translated
verse the epistles of Ovid, and that she composed a num-
of original poems. Her eulogium is also made by Louis
ob Carne, in his account of women celebrated for their
igs. The works of Madeleine de l’Aubespine, are like-
entioned and praised by various other authors. She was
larly esteemed by Ronsard, who addressed to her a
compli mentary sonnet. º She died in 1596. * .
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes célébrées, &e

















MARIA cATHERINA LE JUMEL DE BER.
NEUILLE, countEss D'AULNo1.
THIs lady, so famed for her writings, was the wife of
Francis de la Motte, count d’Aulnoi. Her mother, whose se-
cond husband was the marquis de Gadaigne, died at Madrid,
where she had enjoyed a considerable pension, conferred upon
her by king Charles II. for the services she had rendered to
Spain at Rome. Philip V. continued this pension. The coun-
tess d’Aulnoi was the author of various productions. Her first
publication was “a Journey into Spain,” whither she went
with the queen of Spain, the first wife of Charles II. She also
wrote “Memoirs of the Court of Spain,” in two volumes,
which passed through three editions in France, and one in
Holland. This work produces an unfavourable impression of
the Spanish nation and character. She likewise composed
“Memoirs of the Court of England;” and three little histori-
cal romances, which were generally read, entitled, “Hippolito,
Earl of Douglas;” “The History of John de Bourbon, Prince
de Karency;” and “The Earl of Warwick.” She published,
also, “Tales of the Fairies,” four vols. 12mo, and a “Para-
phrase on the Miserère;” with “Mémoires Historiques de ce
qui s'est passé de plus remarquable en Europe, depuis 1672,
jusqu’en 1679;” a performance in which truth and fiction are
blended.
Her husband being accused by three Normans of high-
treason, narrowly escaped with his head. One of his accusers, >
struck with remorse, afterwards acknowledged the falsehood
of the charge. The countess survived her husband, and di º, º
a widow, in January, 1705. She left four daughters.
Bayle's Historical Dictionary–Dictionnaire Historique Portatif
des Femmes Célébrées. . . . . . . . .
LADY BAcon.
~ * * . . . . . . . - º #
ANNA, second daughter of sir Anthony Cooke, was born
1528. She was carefully educated with her sister, lady Bur-
leigh, and not less distinguished for her talents and erudi.
# ** º, is ----- > § 3. º: ... % sº º
tion. She was appointed governess to Edward VI.,












126
tion for which she was peculiarly fitted by her superior endow-
ments, and irreproachable manners. She gave her hand to sir
Nicholas Bacon, lord keeper of the great seal: two sons were
the fruit of this marriage, Anthony and Francis, whose know-
ledge and genius rendered them the ornaments of their age and
country. To the care and attention of their excellent mother,
who, during the early periods of their youth and childhood,
when the temper is most susceptible, and the first habits are
acquired, instilled into their infant minds the rudiments and
principles of science, and awakened the spirit of a liberal curi-
osity, their subsequent progress may justly be attributed.
Lady Bacon displayed, at an early age, her capacity, ap-
plication, and industry, by translating from the Italian of Ber-
nardine Octine, twenty-five sermons on the abstruse doctrines
of predestination and election. This performance was publish-
ed about the year 1550. .
A circumstance occurred soon after her marriage, which
again called forth her talents and zeal. The catholics of that
period, alarmed at the progress of the reformation, exerted, in
attacking it, and throwing an odium upon the reformers, all
their learning and activity. The council of Trent was called
by pope Pius IV. to which queen Elizabeth was invited. The
princes of christendom pressed her, by their letters, to receive
and entertain the nuncio; urging her, at the same time, to sub-
mit to the council. Bishop Jewel was employed on this occa-
sion, to give an account of the measures taken in the preceding
parliament, and to retort upon the Romanists, in “An Apolo-
gy for the Church of England,” the charges brought against
the reformers. The work of the bishop obtained great reputa-
on, but, being written in Latin, was confined to the learned.
A translation was loudly called for by the common people, who
y considered their own rights and interest in the contro-
versy. The learned, occupied in refuting the arguments, and
repelling the calumnies of their opponents, which daily multi-
plied upon their hands, had no leisure to gratify the public
... º.
Bacon, in this crisis of affairs, undertook to translate
“Apology,” a task which she accomplished with
7 and elegance. She sent a copy of her work, when finish-
the primate, whom she considered as most interested in















MARY-A
NNE BARBIER. 12;
the safety of the church; a second copy she presented to the
author, lest, inadvertently, she had, in any respect, done injus-
tice to his sentiments. Her copy was accompanied by an epis-
tle in Greek, to which the bishop replied in the same language.
The translation was carefully examined both by the primate
and the author, who found it so chastely and correctly given,
as to stand in no need of the slightest emendation. The trans-
lator received, on this occasion, a letter from the primate, full
of high and just compliments on her talents and erudition.
This work was printed in 1564, in 4to, and in 1600, in 12mo.
Lady Bacon survived her husband, sir Nicholas Bacon,
who died February 20th, 1578-9. She was living in the year
1591, and died, it is probable, about the beginning of the
reign of James I., at Gerhambury, near St. Alban's, in Hert-
fordshire, where she is interred in St. Michael’s church, but
without any monument or inscription. .
Ballard's British Ladies—Biographium Foemineum,
MARY-ANNE BARBIER.
MARY-ANNE BARBIER, born at Orleans, is celebrated for
her dramatic productions. She cultivated literature and poetry
at Paris, and took for her models, Racine and Quinaut. Her
tragedy entitled “Arria & Paetus,” dedicated by an epistle, in
verse, to the dutchess de Bouillon, was represented at the thea-
tre, in 1702. “Cornélie Mère des Greques” appeared on the
stage in the ensuing year. “ Tomyris, Reine des Mussagetes,”
dedicated to the dutchess du Maine, was acted in 1707. “La
Mort de César” was dedicated to M. d’Argenson, counsellor of
Metz. These pieces were printed soon after their representa-
tion; as was also “La Faucon,” a comedy, in verse, represent-
ed in 1719. Mademoiselle Barbier composed a fifth tragedy,
entitled “joseph,” which was neither acted nor printed. She
wrote also three operas, which were acted with success: “Les
Pétes de l’Eté,” the music by Montclair, represented in 1716;
“Le jugement de Paris,” an heroic pastoral, in three acts,
which appeared in 1718; and “Les Plaisirs de la Campagne,”
a ballet, played in 1719.

THE extraction of Agnes Sorrel (or Sorreille), who was
, born in 1409, was noble. Her father was the seigneur de St.
Geran and Coudun. Agnes had attained her twenty-second
year when she appeared at court, in the service of Isabella,
wife to René of Anjou, and queen of Naples and Sicily. From
the suite of Isabella she passed into that of Mary, wife to
Charles VII. of France, whose attention she attracted. Agnes
remained not long insensible to the devoirs of the monarch,
who offered to her ambition, to her vanity, and to her senses,
urements, which, united, proved resistless. Her influence,
for a time, appeared only in the promotion of her relations and
friends, who aspired through her interest to offices and digni-
ties. To personal charms and graces she united manners the
most engaging; a seductive gaiety, an elevated mind, and su-
rior talents. She was the benefactress of the indigent, and
he liberal patroness of the church; even the queen was inca-
able of refusing her esteem and friendship to her rival in the
ions of her husband. Agnes sought to inspire the king
noble and heroic sentiments, and to rouse him to the re-
ry of his dominions, which the English were wresting from
ds. For this purpose she recalled to him, without ceas
le obligations of his rank, and the duties which he owed
nearle. le suffer him to abandon Orleans, t
enemy had laid siege. “Forget me,’ said she to
anquished your adversaries.” These words







































AGNES SORREL. 129
troduces Agnes as the speaker. “The king,” says she, “was
willing to abandon his kingdom to strangers and usurpers, and
to hide himself with me in a mountainous country, where it
would not have been easy to follow him. To divert him from
this design, I bethought myself of a stratagem: I caused an
astrologer to be sought for, to whom in secret I gave his in-
structions. This man said to me one day, in the presence of
Charles, that all the stars were deceivers, or that I had inspired
a lasting passion in a great monarch. “Sire,’ said I, after a
moment's pause, turning to the king, “suffer me to fulfil my
destiny, to retire from your court, and to pass to that of the
king of England. It is Henry, who is about to add to his own
the crown that you relinquish, who is doubtless the object
of this prediction.” This anecdote, which occurred in 1432,
when Henry VI. had been crowned in Paris, is not a fiction,
but an historic fact. Charles felt the delicacy and the severity
of the reproof of his mistress, and determined to make an
effort for the recovery of his dominions. “It is thus,” says
Fontenelle, “that France is obliged to Love; our national
gallantry to the sex ought therefore to be considered but as
gratitude.” Charles owed his success and his restoration to
women. While Agnes urged him to resistance, the heroic
Joan d’Arc fought his battles. Agnes used worthily her in-
fluence over the mind of her lover, nor allowed him to sacrifice
his glory to a voluptuous effeminacy. She combated his taste º
for pleasure, roused him when sunk in indolence, and excited
him by the power of her charms to actions worthy of the dignity
of his station. . . 2: 3. . . .3:::
By some of the French historians,” the dauphin is said to
have been the enemy of Agnes, and to have been sent into
exile for an insult which he offered to her. According to
others, he was banished from court for the dishonourable de-
sign of causing a gentleman from whom he had received some
offence to be assassinated. Agnes, it is added, after the un-
happy dispute between her and the prince, who was jealous of
her influence over his father, and who even dared to strike
her, retired to Loches Touraine, where she resided near five
e constructed for her by the king, and appeared
ºf Gaguin and Varillas,
Vol. E. R

130 z AGNES SORREL.
no more at court. Her ascendency over the affections of her
lover suffered no diminution from her voluntary exile. The
queen herself at length prevailed on her to return to Paris,
whence she proceeded to Jumieges, where Charles was en-
gaged in the conquest and reduction of Normandy, to give
him intelligence of a conspiracy against his person. At the .
abbey of Jumieges, four leagues from Rouen, she expired of a
dysentery, February 9, 1449, at forty years of age. By several
writers of the times her death was attributed to poison; a
suspicion founded rather on the character of the dauphin, than
on any direct evidence. She was tenderly and passionately
lamented by Charles. Her remains were interred in the col-
legiate church at Loches, and a tomb of black marble erected
to her memory. Her effigy in white marble lies on the tomb;
two angels hold the pillow on which her head reclines, and at
her feet are two sheep.
Agnes had been created by Charles countess of Penthievre,
and lady of Beauté sur Marne. She left three daughters, whom
the king publicly owned; they were also acknowledged by the
dauphin as his natural sisters, and styled filles de France. On
the marriage of Jane, the youngest, with the count de Sancerre,
Lewis XI. gave her 40,000 crowns of gold as a portion.
Charlotte, the eldest, who inherited the beauty of her mother,
espoused Jacques de Brezé, count de Maulevrier. This lady
met with a tragical fate; she was stabbed by her husband, who
witnessed her infidelity and his own dishonour. .
The tomb of Agnes was strewed with flowers by the poets of
France. Even Lewis, when he came to the throne, was far from
treating her memory with disrespect. The canons of Loches,
from a servile desire of gratifying the reigning monarch, had,
notwithstanding her liberalities to their church, proposed to
destroy her mausoleum. Lewis reproached them with their
ingratitude, ordered them to fulfil all her injunctions, and ad-
ded six thousand livres to the charitable donations which she
*rancis I. honoured and cherished her memory. The four
. made on her by that prince are well known: ~
“ Gen. ille Agnes! plus d'honneur tu me ti
La cause etant de France recouvrer,
Que ce que peut dans un cloitre ouvrer
clause Nonain, ou bien devote hermite.”
Dictionnaire Historique—History of France, &c. &c.











I 131
ALOYSIA SIGEA OF TOLEDO,
CELEBRATED for her learning, who wrote a letter to Paul
III. in five different languages, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Ara-
bic, and Syriac: she was afterwards called to the court of
Portugal, where she composed several works, and died young.
MARGARET OF ANJOU.
HENRY VI. of England, desirous of giving peace to his
kingdom, after a long war, proposed, during a truce between
the two nations, to ally himself by marriage with France,
whence he was himself descended on the maternal side. With
this view he demanded, by his ambassadors, Margaret (cousin-
german to the French monarch), daughter of René duke of
Anjou and king of Sicily; a princess who, to the charms of
beauty, united superior endowments of mind. The duke of
Suffolk, with a splendid retinue, passed over to Nancy, to
solemnize the nuptials, and to escort the princess to England.
The marriage having been celebrated with great pomp, Mar-
garet was conducted to England, and received by the monarch
with affection and respect. The nuptial ceremony was re-
peated at the monastery of Titchfield; after which the queen
and her suite proceeded to London.
This alliance had, from political motives, been opposed by
the king's uncle, Humphry duke of Gloucester, who, placed
at the helm of government, managed with absolute authority
the affairs of the kingdom. Henry, three years previous to his
nuptials, had been contracted to the daughter of count d'Ar-
magnac, to whose territories he was to succeed, and with whom
he was to receive a considerable dowry; but the troubles of
the count having deferred the solemnization of the marriage,
the king had, in the mean time, become captivated by the re-
port of the perfections of Margaret, and, influenced by the
suggestions of the earl of Suffolk, had broken his engage-
ments, and deserted his affianced bride. The duke of Glou-
cester dreaded, with just cause, the resentment of the count
for this affront; an appreheusion which the event verified.


132 MARGARET OF ANJOU."
The duke of Anjou, possessing but a nominal sovereignty,
was incapable of giving a portion with his daughter: it was,
on the contrary, stipulated by the marriage-articles, that Le
Mans, the county of Maine, and the dutchy of Anjou, should
be ceded by Henry to the duke and his brother Charles of
Anjou, who were inviolably attached to the interests of France. .
Gloucester, however zealous in opposing a marriage thus in-
imical to the welfare of the kingdom, nevertheless resolved,
when the nuptials were solemnized, to pay to Margaret, who
was crowned at Westminster, May 30th, the honours due to
the queen of England. -
Margaret, whose temper was vindictive and lofty, could
not forgive the opposition of the duke: vengeance, added to a
thirst of power, determined her to ruin him in the favour of
the king, to drive him from his post, and to assume to herself
the reins of government. With these views she studied the
character of Henry: she perceived his weakness, his indolence,
his love of quiet, his aversion to business, his contempt of
dignities, and indifference to power; qualities of which she re-
solved to avail herself. Finding him one day alone in his
cabinet, she began her plan of operations, and laboured to ren-
der the duke odious in the eyes of her husband. Henry, at-
tached to Gloucester, whose fidelity he had long experienced,
and accustomed to lean on him for support, resisted the pur-
poses of Margaret, and zealously defended the duke. The
queen, not easily baffled, renewed from time to time her at-
. tacks, gradually prevailing over the flexible nature of the
monarch. In less than a year Gloucester lost, with his em-
ployments, his credit at court. In a parliament summoned at
St. Edmundsbury, he was arrested by the high-constable of
:::::: and; and a few days after was inhumanly strangled in
ring the night, without even the form of justice, after
d-twenty years' services in the administration of the
*
This atrocious action was generally attributed to the duke
of Suffolk; who, being on other accounts odious to the nation,
was impeached by the parliament, 1449, arrested by the king's
order, and, to appease the fury of the people, sent a prisoner
he Tower. After a month's confinement, he was, how-
wer, liberated, and restored to favour. The people, incensed
















MARGARET OF ANJou. 133
by this circumstance, renewed their clamours, and, rising in
several parts of the kingdom, cried out for justice on the
minal, who was again impeached by the parliament at Leices-
ter, and banished from the kingdom for five years. In his
passage to France, 1450, he was taken by a ship of war, be-
headed by order of the captain, and cast on the sands at Dover;
whence his remains were conveyed to London, and exposed
to the people to pacify their rage. Of these disorders, which
originated in the ambition of the queen, she was not guiltless:
her eagerness to grasp the administration of affairs had in-
volved the fate of Gloucester; while Suffolk, devoted to her
service, had paid with his life the forfeit of his crimes. Amidst
the tempests which shook the kingdom, Margaret presided at
the helm with firmness. Edmund duke of Somerset was
appointed by her prime-minister; while the princes of the
blood, jealous of his influence, covered their ambition by com-
plaining of his power. The factions of York and Lancaster
divided the nation, which they had so often deluged with
blood; while Henry held his crown, which tottered on his
head, by a doubtful and precarious tenure.
Richard duke of York, from whose ancestors the house of
Lancaster had wrested the throne, took up arms, under pre-
tence of the public good, to recover his heritage. His cause
was espoused by the common people of Kent, who, choosing
for their captain the celebrated Jack Cade, marched towards
London. A petition was sent by the insurgents to the king,
representing that their insurrection was intended only for the
maintenance of their liberties against the injustice and violence
of some of his council, whom they prayed his majesty to punish;
intreating also that he would recal to court the princes of the
blood-royal, who were ready to lay down their arms, and to
return on his command. The counsellors, struck by the bold-
ness of these demands, advised the king to answer them by
an armed force. A body of troops, under the command of sir
Humphry Stafford, was accordingly sent against the rebels: an
engagement ensued, in which the royal forces were routed,
and their commander slain.
Cade, after his victory, advanced boldly to Blackwall,
when the king, who was at Greenwich, finding his troops un-
§ willing to engage the rebels, whose cause London secretly


favoured, retreated with his queen to Kenelworth-castle. The
capital was thus left without defence, and the Tower under
the command of lord Scales. On the news of Henry's retreat,
Cade marched into Southwark, and thence into the city; while
the people of Essex advanced to Mile-end, and formed an en-
campment. The followers of Cade pillaged the houses of the
inhabitants of London, and beheaded the treasurer, lord Say.
The citizens, irritated by this proceeding, took up arms, under
the conduct of captain Methagon, marched into Southwark,
and gave battle to the insurgents, who now suffered a repulse
in their turn, their leader being slain in the conflict.
The king, finding himself incapable of succeeding by force,
had recourse to clemency. A general pardon was offered to
such as would lay down their arms, not excepting even Cade.
This measure proved successful; the people dispersed, and re-
tired to their homes: Cade was afterwards taken and killed.
The duke of York, by whom the rebellion had been kin-
dled, still fanned the flame of discord. Determined to attack
the administration of Somerset, he took the field with his
friends in 1454, having declared his intention of relieving the
nation from oppression, and punishing those who gave evil
counsels to the king. A great part of the kingdom rising in his
favour, he soon found himself at the head of a powerful army;
when, marching towards London, he encamped within ten
miles of the city. Henry levied an army, and approached the
enemy; to whom, before he offered battle, he sent ambassa-
- dors to learn the cause of his rising in arms. The duke in re-
ply, declared his design was to relieve the kingdom from the
exactions and oppressions it suffered from Somerset: as a
proof of which he would lay down his arms, come alone to the
king, and serve him in person, on condition that the minister
should be first put under arrest, that he might be forth-coming
to answer the accusations that should be brought against him.
Henry, averse to war, and desirous of using conciliatory mea-
sures, affected to grant this demand; but, instead of sending
Somerset to prison, he ordered him only to keep himself con-
cealed within his tent. York, having dismissed his troops,
came to the royal camp, and preferred his complaints against
he minister; when Somerset, who overheard what passed,
appeared, and, repelling the charges of his accuser,






MARGARET OF ANJOU. 133
defended himself with warmth. The duke was, in consequence,
carried a prisoner to London, where the lords of the council
were summoned to take cognizance of his offences. Somerset,
in his turn become an accuser, was importunate that his ene-
my should be interrogated upon the rack, and, on his confes-
sion, be sentenced to death. This sanguinary counsel, was,
however, over-ruled. York, having acquitted himself of the
charges preferred against him, was liberated, and allowed to
depart. He retired into the country, justly incensed at the
treatment he had received, and meditating future revenge. So-
merset triumphed in his success; and, deriding the resentment
of the duke, continued to exercise, under the patronage of the
queen, his office without control. His fortune appeared to be
established, when Margaret brought forth a son, October 13,
1453, to whom was given the name of Edward, and the title
of prince of Wales. |
The duke of York, in the mean time, drew over to his
cause numerous partizans; among whom were the earls of
Salisbury and of Warwick. Thus strengthened, he marched
again towards the capital, which the king immediately quitted.
Informed of this circumstance, the duke turned his forces to-
wards St. Alban's, which he purposed to invest. An engage-
mentensued between the two parties; when victory declared for
York, while the troops of the king were defeated with a dread-
ful slaughter. Among the slain was the duke of Somerset,
whose mal-administration had afforded a pretext for the war.
On the discovery of this event, York went over to the king,
and, in the midst of his vanquished troops, laid at his feet the
trophies he had gained; while he declared, that the death of
the minister was the life of the people, the safety of the king-
dom, and the enfranchisement of the crown. Having thus said,
he conducted Henry to London, accompanied by both armies.
He, however, left to the monarch but the shadow of sove-
reignty, the substance of which he assumed to himself. All the
great posts were at his disposal; while he was declared in par-
liament Protector of the kingdom. Salisbury was also promo-
ted to the place of lord-chancellor, while to Warwick was
given the government of Calais; every other office of trust or
it was bestowed on those attached to the interest of York.
Margaret, informed of these proce




136 MARGARET OF ANJOU.
to the king, whom she pressed to retrench the authority of his
rival. The duke, receiving notice of the intentions of the coun-
cil, quitted the court, and retired, with his adherents, to York.
Dreading new disturbances, and aware of the insecurity of
Henry, the queen plotted the destruction of the duke. With
this view, the king was, by her advice, induced to make a pro-
gress to Coventry, and thence to send letters, under his privy
seal, requiring the attendance of the lords of the adverse
party. This request was readily complied with: York and his
party joined the court, when a secret intimation of the snare
spread for them induced them suddenly to withdraw, and to
take refuge in their castles, where they levied forces to avenge
the intended injury. >
Hostilities were thus commenced, and continued with va-
rious success; when the earls of Warwick, Marche, and Salis-
bury, landed from Calais, on the coast of Kent, whence, being
joined by a body of 25,000 men, they marched to London,
July 2, 1460. Henry was then at Coventry with the queen,
who, perceiving the approach of the tempest, prepared to
break its power. A superior force had been collected by the
dukes of Buckingham and Somerset, to oppose to that of the
insurgents. With this army the king advanced towards the me-
tropolis, and encamped near Northampton, along the river
Nen, which he passed in order to engage the enemy. The earl
of Warwick, solicitous to prevent bloodshed, attempted to ne-
gociate: some bishops, whom he sent for that purpose, were,
by the duke of Buckingham, refused access to the royal camp.
A herald at arms, dispatched by the earl on the return of the
bishops, met with the same fate. Warwick, incensed at this
contempt, sent a third message, that he was determined either
to speak to the king by two in the afternoon, or to die in the
field. Margaret, averse to treaties, and intent on giving bat-
tie, for which every thing was prepared, governed the camp,
º while Henry was occupied by his devotions. An engagement
was hazarded, fought, and determined on the side of the
Yorkists: ten thousand men fell in the field, the king was
s taken prisoner, his troops vanquished, and himself once more
condu London by the chiefs of the adverse party. *
rººt ce of York, on the news of the victory, hastened
m Ireland, to avail himself of the advantages ga ned by his
3, #
sº








137
friends. Parliament being then sitting, the duke entered the
house, and placed himself on the throne, to which he declared
his right. Warm disputes ensued. It was at length enacted,
that Henry, during his life, should retain the title of king,
and be served as a monarch; that the crown should descend
to the house of York; and that the duke should, in the mean
time, be acknowledged protector and regent of the kingdom.
The prince of Wales and his posterity were to be wholly ex-
cluded from the succession. z . ; : * g.º.
Margaret, incensed at these proceedings, publicly declared
her resolution to avenge the cause of her son, and to rescue her
husband from captivity; while, possessed of masculine courage
and conduct, she raised, by her spirit and activity, the droop-
ing spirits of her party. Under her auspices a new army was
assembled in the county of York. The duke, with the earls of
Salisbury and Rutland, hastened, to stop her progress, to Sandal-
castle, near Wakefield, where they arrived on Christmas-day,
and began to collect their tenants and friends. Margaret, to
whom the majority of the northern lords adhered, allowed her
adversaries no time to gather strength; but marching directly
from York to Wakefield, encamped with 10,000 men before
the gates of the castle. The force of York amounting but to
half the number of the enemy, a council of war was called.
The officers were of opinion that they should wait the coming .
of Edward earl of Marche, the son of their chief, who, with a
strong body of troops, was approaching to their aid. “What,’
said the duke, “shall it be said that York was blocked up in
his camp by a woman, without daring to fight º' The counsel of
the prudent being thus over-ruled, preparations were made to
risque an engagement. `.
Margaret, who commanded her forces in pe.
them up in order of battle, and animated them by a spe
of courage and fire. The soldiers held up their arms i
of resolution, and replied to their queen in shou tsar d accla
tions. The duke, on his side encouraged his troops by a s
harangue, and led them on to the attack. Margaret
through the battalions, and exhorted the troops to bravery
irmness: the engagement commenced with mutual fury, til
Y. rkists, surrounded on all sides, gave way and fell in

















vid Hall, with many other gentlemen, fell in the field, their
was routed, and their infantry cut in pieces. The vic-
tory of the queen was complete. The heads of the duke, of
Salisbury, and of Rutland, were fixed on poles over the walls
of York: a crown of paper was, by the order of Margaret,
who by this insult on a fallen enemy stained her laurels, fixed.
in derision on the head of York.
The queen, considering her triumph as incomplete while
her husband remained in captivity, marched toward London
to effect his deliverance. At St. Alban’s she met the earl of
Warwick, with reinforcements for the succour of York; and
in whose train Henry was led a prisoner. Margaret immedi-
ately attacked him, routed his forces, and liberated her hus-
band. The enemy, rallying his scattered troops, retreated from
the field, and hastened to join, with the remainder of his army,
that of Edward earl of Marche, who was advancing from
Wales. The chiefs met, agreed to proceed together to Lon-
don, and to sound the inclinations of the people. Henry, ad-
vised of their design, retired to York with Somerset, son of
the deceased minister. - 3.
On his arrival in London, Edward was received with joy
by the people, who crowded in numbers to his banner. Thus
strengthened, he marched with his forces to York. The army
of the king, superior in numbers to that of his adversary, was
composed of 60,000 men. After several skirmishes, a battle
was fought in the fields of Towton. The engagement lasted
ten hours before either party gave way, when some of the
king's troops, falling back, struck terror into those behind, who
fled with precipitation. The king and queen, with some of
their principal officers, made a timely escape. Three-and-
ty thousand men were left dead on the spot. The royal fu-
res fled towards Scotland, and, arrived on its borders, de-
i protection of James III. James, then in his minority, re-
d for answer, by the advice of his guardians, that they
ild find in his territories the safety they asked, and
. y could desire from his crown.
, anable to raise the requisite f
n Edward, her son. Thence
René, her father. Henry, in the mean while, re-
mained in Scotland, to solicit the aid for which he had been
encouraged to hope. *
ce, passed over
le proceeded





















MARGARET OF ANJou. 139.
During these transactions, Edward earl of Marche entered
London in triumph; was acknowledged by the parliament, and
crowned at Westminster, July 27th, 1461.
The troops collected in Scotland by Henry proving insuffi-
cient to oppose to his triumphant adversary, they were com-
pelled to wait the return of Margaret with succours from
France. By Lewis XI. she was furnished with 2000 men;
with these, and the prince her son, she returned into Scotland.
Having made a descent to the north of Tinmouth, and learned
that Edward was marching against her, she again put to sea;
but forced by stress of weather to Berwick, she reached the
shore, and lost her ship. The duke of Somerset, whom the
misfortunes of his master had driven to Flanders, and thence
to France, had obtained also succours of men and money,with
which he returned to England. On his arrival, finding Edward
firmly seated on the throne, and the affairs of Henry in a des-
perate state, his fidelity yielded to circumstances: he aban-
doned Henry to his fate, and submitted to the victor, who
received him with joy, restored to him his estates, and settled
on him, as the reward of his perfidy, a pension of 1000 marks.
To him who deserts a friend or a benefactor in distress, con-
fidence is never due: the affairs of Henry some time afterward
wearing a better aspect, this double traitor reproached him-
self for his conduct, quitted Edward, and returning to Henry,
threw himself at his feet, and professed his readiness to died
for his service. ,
Henry, marching with his army into England, entered
Northumberland, where he was joined by his friends. The
marquis of Montacute, who commanded in the north, advan-
ced to oppose him; and, having routed in his way lord Hun-
gerford and sir Ralph Percy at Heigly-moor, he fell in the
night upon the royal forces quartered at Hexham, which, in
despite of a brave resistance, were beaten and scattered. So-
merset was taken captive, sent to England, and suffered the
recompense of his treachery; the lords Hungerford and Ross
Were also beheaded. Henry saved himself in a fortress in
Wales, and thence escaped to Scotland. Margaret, with her
*son, fled in the confusion of the defeat, and the darkness of the
night, through a thick forest, unknowing whither it led. A
gang of robbers, who infested the wood, met her in its deepe
---. ź










140
recesses, and robbed her of her rings and jewels, her only re-
maining possessions. While they disputed respecting the
division of their booty, and from words proceeded to blows,
the queen escaped, and, bearing the prince in her arms, who
had sunk under the fatigue, continued her flight. Misfortunes
still pursued her; she perceived through the trees, as she
pressed forward, a robber, who had separated from his com-
panions, approaching towards her with his sword drawn. The
queen, having observed him at some distance, stopped and
rallied her spirits: ‘Here, my friend,” said she, as he drew
near, assuming an air of majesty and a tone of command,
“save the son of your king.” The man, struck with awe, sunk
on his knees before her, and bearing the prince in his arms,
conducted the queen in safety to the coast; where she em-
barked and landed at Sluys in Flanders.
Thence she went on to Bruges; and, having left her son,
hastened to Lisle, where she was honourably received by the
count de Charolois. From Lisle she passed to Bethune, to
visit Philip duke of Burgundy, who assisted her with a large
sum of money, and a strong convoy, with which she proceeded
to the dutchy of Bar, belonging to her brother, the duke of
Calabria. Edward, dreading her activity and courage, caused
her motions to be watched.
Henry, in the mean time, weary of remaining in Scotland,
and trusting that his appearance in England would draw num-
bers to his cause, imprudently determined to depart in dis-
guise. He had scarcely reached the borders of the kingdom,
when he was discovered, seized, and carried to London, where
e was, by the orders of Edward, imprisoned in the Tower.
This catastrophe overwhelmed his fortunes, and sunk the spi-
rits of his party. The princes of Lancaster, and the nobles
attached to his interest, quitted the kingdom, and sought re-
fuge in the territories of the duke of Burgundy; where they
suffered the extremities of poverty and want.
Margaret, distressed, but not discouraged, by the fate of
her husband, redoubled her efforts at the court of France.
From her father she received what assistance was in his
ver: Lewis granted to her solicitations the loan of
inty thousand pounds, on condition that Henry should, on his













MARGARET of ANJOU. 141
re-establishment, give the government of Calais to Jasper earl
of Pembroke, and John de Foix of Llandall; also that he should
pay to him the sum of forty thousand crowns.
The new king, during these transactions, called a parlia-
ment, in which those who had appeared in arms against him
were attainted of high treason; while their forfeited lands were
bestowed on his adherents. Still apprehensive of the solicita-
tions of Margaret, Edward sought to strengthen himself by
foreign alliances. With this view he married the princess, his
sister, to Charles count of Charolois, son of the duke of Bur-
gundy: the duke of Warwick was at the same time dispatch-
ed as ambassador-extraordinary to Lewis XI. to demand for
his master, in marriage, the lady Bona of Savoy. During this
negociation, which was conducted with success, the affections
of the youthful monarch became captivated by the charms of
Elizabeth Grey, a beautiful widow, whom he immediately
espoused. Warwick received the news of these hasty nuptials
at the instant the treaty with the lady Bona was about to be
signed: irritated by the dishonourable conduct of Edward,
and his own awkward and painful situation, he returned to
England, and, while he stifled his resentment, brooded in se-
cret over plans of revenge. Having given the king an account
of his embassy, and remained some time at court, he requested
leave, under pretence of indisposition, to retire to Warwick.
Arrived at his country seat, he wrote to his brother, the
archbishop of York, and to the marquis of Montacute, to fa-
vour him with a visit. To them he complained of the conduct
of the king, and the affront he had received; while he pressed
them to espouse the cause of Henry, to deliver him from cap-
tivity, and restore him to the crown.
George duke of Clarence, brother to the king, had receiv-
ed from the throne some occasion of discontent: Warwick,
aware of this circumstance, sought to bring the prince over to
his party. With this view, and to draw the union closer, he
gave him his daughter in marriage. Thus strengthened, the
earl resolved to pass over to Calais, of which he was gover-
nor: a pretence for the voyage was easily found. Before his
*departure, he left orders with his brothers to raise, in his ab-
sence, which would secure him from suspicion, a disturbance



ARGARET of ANiou.
These directions were punctually obeyed. An insurrec.
tion took place, which proceeded to such a height, that the
rebels marched towards London. A force of eighteen thou-
sand men, commanded by the earl of Pembroke, advanced
against them, and attacked them at Northampton, where he
suffered a defeat. The insurgents, enriched by the spoils, re--
turned home to enjoy their victory, and to wait the arrival of
Warwick, who, with the duke of Clarence, soon joined them.
Warwick, after extolling their courage, regaling, and caressing
them, formed them into a regular army. 2.
A new force was dispatched by Edward, who followed, in
person, with a flying camp. Warwick, advertised of their ap-
proach, drew up his troops; the armies met near Banbury:
victory again declared for the insurgents.
On the news of this defeat, Edward advanced; but, doubt-
ful of his strength, endeavoured to negociate. Warwick lis-
tened to his proposals, while deputies passed backward and
forward between the armies: the king, from this conduct, as-
sured of an accommodation, suffered his camp to be negli-
gently guarded. The enemy, informed of this imprudence,
determined to profit by it. Warwick attacked the royal en-
trenchments under cover of the night, surprised the sentinels,
penetrated to the tent of the monarch, and took him prisoner.
Edward was carried to Warwick, and thence removed to
Middleton castle, in Yorkshire. The news of his capture
quickly reached France. Lewis XI. was revenged for the af.
front offered the princess Bona, while the hopes of Margaret
revived. . . . §
In the mean while Edward, by promises and oaths, pre-
led on his guards to suffer his escape, and to accompany
is flight. He reached York in safety, where he was received
h joy. Having collected some troops, he passed, into Lan-
e: thence he proceeded to London, whose citizens received
im with acclamation and triumph. Warwick and Clarence
earned his escape with extreme vexation. &
Patriotic and honest men, who saw with
is which deluged their country with blood, laboured in vain.
re an accommodation. A meeting w cted
grief the dissen-
%
------ ---- º as even effe
tween the contending chiefs, which increased rather than
oftened their mutual animosity. %


















MARGARET of ANJou. 143
Warwick and Clarence once more levied a numerous force:
the king likewise raised an army, and marched to oppose his
adversaries, who, having attacked some troops under the com-
mand of sir Robert Wells, in Lincolnshire, were, by the royal
arms, completely routed. Warwick, after this defeat, dis-
couraged and weakened, resolved to dismiss his army, and to
retire to France. In pursuance of this determination he em- .
barked with Clarence and his family at Dartmouth, and direc-
ted his course towards his government at Calais. As he
approached the coast, Vaucler, the deputy-governor, and the
secret friend of the earl, compelled by motives of policy, poin-
ted the cannon against him. Warwick again put to sea, and,
having landed at Dieppe, proceeded to Amboise; where he was
received by Lewis with honours and professions of attachment.
Margaret hastened to Amboise, to meet a man, who, hav-
ing ruined the fortunes of her husband, was now an exile in
his cause. By the mediation of Lewis, a reconciliation was
effected between them, and cemented by the marriage of the
prince with Anne, second daughter of the earl. The principal
article of this alliance was, “That the duke of Clarence, and
the earl of Warwick, should not lay down their arms till Henry
was restored to the throne: or, in case of his demise, his son,
the prince of Wales; during whose minority the earl and the
duke were to be appointed regents and governors of the king-
dom. Lewis, after the marriage, fitted out a fleet, to assist in
restoring the queen and Warwick to their former estates.
These nuptials were by no means satisfactory to Clarence, who
in the elevation of the house of Lancaster, saw that of York
disgraced and crushed. These ideas, however painful and
humiliating, he determined for the present to conceal. sº
Edward, alarmed at the report of what was passing in
France, vainly endeavoured to divert Lewis from succouring
his enemies. The fleet being equipped, Warwick embarked,
and having landed his men at Dartmouth, proclaimed as he
marched the name of Henry, in whose cause he commanded
his subjects to bear arms against an usurper. His army in-
creased in a few days to sixty thousand men, with whom he
advanced against Edward, and encamped near Nottingham,
within three miles of the enemy. Edward, too weak to en-
counter the earl, was advised by his council to escape to Hol-






land. In the dead of the night he left his camp, and, with an
escort of eight hundred horse, marched into Lincolnshire, and
reached Lynn, where, with his brother, the duke of Gloucester,
and some other nobles, he immediately embarked. Without
train or equipage, money or clothes, excepting the military
habit, the fugitive monarch arrived in Holland. He had nearly
been taken at sea by pirates, who chased him into Alckmaer,
where he landed.
Elizabeth, the consort of Edward, and the original cause
of his misfortunes, remained in London, oppressed with terror
and grief. In the desperate situation of their affairs, she left
the Tower, in which she was lodged, and took refuge in the
sanctuary at Westminster, where she was delivered of a son,
Edward, who became afterwards a victim to the ambition of
the duke of Gloucester, his uncle.
By the flight of the king, Warwick became master of the
kingdom. On his arrival at London, he liberated the unhappy
Henry, and, in the presence of the duke of Clarence, replaced
him on the throne. The king of France received the news with
pleasure, while Margaret was overwhelmed with joy: after
ten years' imprisonment, her husband was restored to freedom
and royalty; while the cloud which overshadowed the destiny
of her son, seemed rapidly dispersing. On the 6th of October,
1471, Henry resumed his functions: a parliament was sum-
moned, in which Edward was declared an usurper, and an
enemy to his country. Warwick and Clarence were at the same
º pointed governor-generals of the kingdom.
£dward, in Holland, was not wanting in measures for the
ablishment of his fortunes: the duke of Bürgundy fur-
ed him with money and ships: his partizans in England
ly looked for his return. Having embarked in Holland,
anded in Yorkshire, and advanced towards London, where
sanctuaries and franchises of the city were devoted to him.
editors also were induced by their interest to espouse
; while the women, with whom he was a general
used in his cause all their influence with their hus-
d friends. Henry, who neither borrowed money nor
:d gallantries, found few adherents in the capital: his
ited to effect his ruin, while the vices of Edward
sº
'd his success.



















MARGARET of ANJou. 145
Warwick advanced towards his adversary, who posted
himself in the town of Barnet, with a strong force. The earl
encamped in the fields without the town, waiting for the
morning, to give battle to the enemy. In the night the duke of
Clarence deserted, and went over to his brother with 12,000
men. Warwick, stunned by a blow so unexpected, was filled
with confusion and surprise. In these circumstances, prudence
dictated that he should wait the coming up of Margaret, who,
bringing with her troops from France, had been kept back by
contrary winds. The prince, her son, with a numerous body of
noblemen and gentlemen, accompanied her enterprise: these,
with the English who joined her on landing, composed a
powerful army. Warwick, betrayed by his impatience, with-
out waiting the junction of this force, determined to fight. He
attacked the enemy in the morning; the battle was long and
bloody, but victory determined in favour of Edward. The
earl perceiving his men give ground, whom he was no longer
able to rally, rushed into the midst of the enemy, and, dealing
death on every side, fell covered with wounds.
Margaret, on this dreadful intelligence, seized with con-
sternation, and giving up all for lost, took refuge with her son
in the sanctuary of Beaulieu, in Hampshire, with a design to
get back to France, and wait a more favourable juncture. The
duke of Somerset, with the other noblemen, opposed her in-
tention, and pressed her once more to hazard a battle. The
unfortunate queen followed this counsel. The armies met,
May 4th, near Tewkesbury, in Gloucestershire; an engage-
ment took place; the Lancastrians were defeated, and Marga-
ret with her son captured by the enemy.
‘How dared you,” said Edward to the prince, who was
brought before him, ‘how dared you to enter my kingdom in
arms, and raise in it disturbances and insurrections?’ ‘I came,’
replied the prince, with firmness and spirit, “to recover the
crown of my fathers, as their true and rightful successor.”
Edward made no answer, but motioned with his hand that
they should take the prisoner from his presence. Scarcely was
this done, when the dukes of Gloucester, of Clarence, and
lord Hastings, fell upon the youth, whom they basely stabbed
with their daggers: an inhuman and dastardly act, which no
VoI. I. T * ºg



one applauded. The corpse of the murdered prince was car-
ried to a benedictine convent, and interred with those of the
nobility and gentry who suffered on this occasion.
Margaret was conveyed a prisoner to London, where
new subjects of grief awaited her. That very night, Henry,
her husband, was stabbed in the Tower by the ferocious Glou-
His body was buried in a monastery at Chertsey, with-
Cester. H.
out funeral solemnities, after a stormy reign of thirty-eight
years. His remains were afterwards removed to Windsor, and
deposited in the royal chapel. .
º Margaret, who had shared all the misfortunes of her hus-
band, was now to suffer the same captivity, from which, except
by a similar fate, she had little prospect of being freed. René,
her father, the titular king of Sicily, was not in a condition to
ransom his daughter: neither had he cause to expect from
Lewis the XIth any friendship or generosity. It was by pur-
chase only he could hope to liberate the captive queen: he ac-
cordingly gave as the price of this favour the succession of
Provence to the king of France. Lewis and René met on this
occasion at Lyons, in 1475, where, by an irrevocable act, René
declared the king of France heir to the country of Provence,
on condition “that Lewis should pay to the queen of Sicily,
the second wife of René,” should she survive him, “a reason-
able and sufficient dower to procure the freedom of his daughter
Margaret queen of England, and to assign to her, for the sup-
port of her rank, an annual pension in France.”
Lewis, in consequence of this engagement, treated with
Edward for the ransom of Margaret, which was settled in the
same year. Fifty thousand crowns of gold were to be paid by
he king of France to England. Margaret was also to renounce
ery claim to which she might conceive herself entitled on
count of her marriage with Henry. 3.
On the conclusion of the treaty, Margaret was delivered
up, January 29th, by the ambassadors of Edward to those ap-
pointed by Lewis to receive her at Rouen. At the same time
she renounced in form her dower, with every claim on England.
On the 1st of March following she ceded to the king of France,
nsideration of his services, all the rights she had, or might
:o the dutchies of Anjou, Lorrain, Bar, and Provence.
us divested of power and possessions, and hopeless of











ISABELLA OF ARRAGON. 147
any reverse of fortune, she retired to Anjou, to pass the
remainder of a disastrous life. After the death of her father,
being his only surviving issue, she made, in 1480, a second
cession to Lewis of her territories. She expired, at length, a
victim to sorrow, in the parish of Dampierre, near Saumur, in
1482, and was interred in the magnificent tomb of her father,
without any particular memorial. On the feast of All-Saints,
the chapter of St. Maurice made, annually, after vespers of
the dead, a semicircular procession about her tomb, singing a
subevenite to the manes of the unfortunate Margaret.
Biographium Formineum—The Female Worthies—Hume's Hist, of Eng.
ARN AUDE DE ROCAS.
ARN AUDE de Rocas was one of the daughters of Chypriotes,
who, after the taking of Nicosie, in 1570, was carried away
by the Turks, and held in captivity. Arnaude, destined by
her beauty for the seraglio, was, with several of her com-
panions, put into a vessel about to sail for Constantinople.
But, preferring death to dishonour, the heroic maid contrived
in the dead of the night to convey fire to the powder-room, and
perished, amidst the wreck of the vessel, with the victims of
her desperation. r .
. Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées, &c.
ISABELLA OF ARRAGON.
IN reviewing the misfortunes of those who, by their natural
advantages, or elevated rank in life, appear, on a superficial
view, to be exempted from the common ills of humanity, she
who, with less pretensions, and in an inferior station, repines
at the fortune which has fallen to her lot, may learn to derive
consolation, and to acquire fortitude. -
Isabella of Arragon, daughter of Alphonso, duke of Calabria
(son of Ferdinand king of Naples), was distinguished for her
spirit, and the charms of herperson. John Galeazzo Sforza, duke
of Milan, who, yet in his minority, was under the protection of
his uncle, Lewis Sforza, became enamoured of the fair Isabella,

and demanded her of her father in marriage. His proposals
being received with approbation at the court of Alphonso, the
nuptials were celebrated with pomp, in 1489. &
On the arrival of Isabella at Milan, her beauty inspired in
the protector a passion not more fatal to the interests of his
nephew than destructive to the happiness of its object. The
lovers having been espoused only by proxy, Lewis contrived
to keep them asunder, with a view of supplanting the bride-
groom in the heart of his bride. He soon found an opportunity
of discovering to the lady his presumptuous hopes, and of
assuring her, that in an union with him she would experience
greater advantages than in fulfilling her contract with his
nephew, whose minority he was determined to prolong, and
who held under his guidance but the shadow of sovereign
power. Isabella repulsed him with just disdain, resented his
insinuations, and repelled his proposals. High-spirited and
ambitious, she exhorted the duke her husband to throw off the
yoke of his uncle, to assert his rank, and assume his rights.
The protector, artful and politic, irritated by her scorn, and
supported by a strong party, meditated projects the most atro-
cious and ambitious; opposed himself to the just claims of his
nephew, and frustrated all his plans. The completion of the
marriage was by his management still deferred, while, by ne-
gociations with the court of Naples, he thought to annul it, in
favour of his own pretensions. Ferdinand, grandfather to
Isabella, imposed on by the representations of the protector,
inclined to his cause: but Alphonso, her father, with greater
penetration, and more integrity, adhered to his first engage-
ment, and threatened to arm Europe in the cause of the youth-
ful pair. The prefidious Lewis at length found himself com-
pelled to relinquish his hopes, and to restore to his nephew
his betrothed bride. The gross and selfish passion he had felt
for Isabella, was converted by her resistance into a malignant
hatred. He opposed himself on all occasions to her inclinations;
and, by every means in his power, contrived to embitter her
life. With this view he married the princess Alphonsina,
daughter of Hercules d’Este, duke of Ferrara, in whom he
gave to the young dutchess a formidable rival: nor was he
without a hope of securing, by these nuptials, the succession of







The characters of the princesses had in them but too great
a resemblance: Alphonsina, inferior to Isabella only in beauty,
possessed the same haughty spirit, and the same aspiring tem-
per. The wife of the protector became the mother of two sons;
a new source of mortification and jealousy to her rival, who
had at that time borne only daughters. Alphonsina repined at
the beauty of Isabella; who, on her part, sickened at beholding
her privileges invaded, and her honours usurped, by the woman
whom she now had but too much reason to hate. Residing in
the same palace, and eating at one table, hourly provocations
rendered the situation of the dutchess nearly insupportable.
Lewis had managed to keep in his own hands the distribution
of favours; while Isabella, possessing but the pageant of power,
gradually found herself deserted: the courtiers flocked to the
levee of Alphonsina. Unable longer to sustain these humilia-
tions, the dutchess wrote to her father and grandfather, describ-
ing the mortifications she endured, in the splendid captivity to
which they had consigned her; and protesting, if no other me-
thod for her deliverance was devised, she would escape from
her sufferings by relinquishing her life.
These princes were not in circumstances to redress the
grievances of their daughter; they could only express their
sympathy, and exhort her to patience. The dark and crooked .
policy of Lewis had been a means of drawing the French into
Italy; by whom the house of Arragon was speedily overwhelmed.
Not satisfied by the misery he had brought on the dutchess,
whose rank he was impatient to usurp, he meditated the mur-
der of his nephew: this crime only was wanting to fill up the
measure of his guilt. The health of the duke being observed
daily to decline, Lewis eagerly circulated absurd reports re-
specting the cause of his illness, of which few persons in reality
doubted: symptoms of a slow poison were but too manifest:
all Italy seemed to be convinced of the criminality of the uncle,
and the impending fate of the nephew. Theodore of Pavia, a
physician, who attended the duke, scrupled not to ascribe his
disorder to treachery, in the presence of Charles VIII. cousin-
german to his patient, who, passing through Pavia, visited him
in his sickness. John Galleazzo, feeling himself dying, and
doubting not the hand whence the blow had fallen, recommen-
ded, with a flood of tears, his wife and children to Charles: the

1so ISABELLA OF ARRAGON.
dutchess also, throwing herself at his feet, implored his pity
and protection. The presence of Lewis, during this interview,
prevented a fuller explanation.
Galeazzo had scarcely expired, when the party of Lewis,
saluting him duke, accompanied him to the temple of St. Am-
brose, where the bells were ordered to be set a-ringing. Dur-
ing these testimonials of joy, alike indecent and insulting, the
widow, sunk in sorrow, and clad in deep mourning, immured
herself with her children in a dark chamber; where she rumi-
nated in solitude on her forlorn condition. Her husband dead;
her children deprived of their inheritance; his murderer, with
her rival, seated upon the throne, were the subjects of her sad
reflections. The public talked loudly of the murder of their prince;
which a crowd of historians have concurred to establish.
The French having taken Milan, Isabella, overwhelmed
with misfortunes, sought refuge at Naples with the princesses,
her relations; till Naples itself was at length compelled to sur-
render to the conqueror.” Within a few years, this unfortunate
princess wept the loss of her husband, father, grandfather,
brother, uncle, and son; the latter is said, by Paulus Jovius
(by whom the misfortunes of Isabella are eloquently describ-
ed,) to have been taken from his mother, and carried captive
into France, where it was intended to compel him to become a
monk, and where he died by a fall from his horse.
The only consolation which the dutchess experienced in
her calamities, was in seeing their author expiate his crimes,
by a captivity to the power which he had been instrumental
in bringing upon his country. Lewis was carried by the French,
on the seizure of Milan, into France; where he ended his in-
famous life. --
Isabella retired to a town in Naples, which had been as-
signed to her as a dower, and where she still preserved an air
of state and grandeur. She had the satisfaction of seeing her
daughter, Bonna Sforza, married to Sigismund king of Po-
land. Some time previous to her death she made a journey of
devotion to Rome, during the pontificate of Leo the tenth. On
this occasion she walked on foot to the Vatican, attended by a
train of ladies, dressed as in bridal ornaments; the whole
city crowding to behold a procession so unusual and splendid.
• Lewis xii. 1501.








JOAN OF ARRAGON. 151 ,
Isabella, having in her youth preserved an unblemished re-
putation, is accused, in her maturer years, of giving occasion
for censure, by admittiug the attentions and gallantries of Pros-
per Colonna. She died in a dropsy, February 11, 1524.
Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Dictionnaire Historique des
Femmes Célébrées, &c. . . .
JOAN OF ARRAGON.
JoAN of Arragon, daughter of Ferdinand of Arragon, duke
of Montalto (the third natural son of Ferdinand I. king of Na-
ples), was born at Naples, in the sixteenth century, and ac-
counted among the most illustrious women of her times. Con-
temporary writers have been lavish in praise of this lady: the
extravagance of their panegyrics almost expose them to sus-
picion: the poems composed in her honour were collected by
Jerome Ruscelli, and published at Venice, in 1555, under the
title of “A Temple to the Divine Lady, Donna Joanna of
Arragon, erected by the greatest Wits, and in all the principal
Languages of the World.” Joan was poetically deified with
ceremonials bearing a resemblance to the canonization of the
saints. In 1551 it was determined, by her adorers, that a tem-
ple should be raised to her honour: this resolution passed
into a decree in the academy of the Dubbiosi at Venice. It
was then deliberated whether her sister, the marchioness of
Guast, should be a sharer in the honours of Joan, and decided
in the negative. The following curious specimen of the form
of the dedication is recorded in the preface to Ruscelli's col-
lection. x-
“The great merit, worth, and infinite beauty, both of body
and mind, of the most illustrious and most excellent Donna
Joanna of Arragon, being universally, and particularly, known
to every one of the least judgment, all the men of wit unani-
mously agree to dedicate a temple to her, as to a lady entirely
divine, and who, as being the most noble production and re-
semblance of the Supreme Being, deserves to be adored with
tongue and heart, in honour of her great Creator, every one
being capable of judging of the infinite wisdom, power, and
love of God towards us, in condescending to form of our own

4.52 JOAN OF ARRAGON,
species (within the sphere of human capacity) so beautiful,
perfect, and adorable a creature, in this our age.”—“This
lady, being most perfect in body and mind, &c. deserves to be
adored in honour of her Creator; or, that every one ought in
particular to offer up his vows to her, according to the purity
of his affections towards her,” &c. º
Languages the least common, and the least adapted to
poetry, were pressed into the service of this superlative lady:
she was adored in the Sclavonian, the Polish, the Hungarian,
the Chaldaic, and the Hebrew tongues. The philosopher, Au-
gustin Niphus, one of the most zealous of her votaries, dedi-
cated to her his treatise on beauty: and, in opposition to the
ancients, who maintained that there was no perfect beauty in
the universe, insists on the peerless charms of Joan as a con-
futation of their hypothesis: in proof of which he paints the
perfections of his heroine in colours the most vivid and glow-
ing. In the beginning of this treatise appears a letter to the
author, from Cardinal Pompeius Colonna, in which the fair
Joanna is thus described:
“The finer productions of nature are rare and uncommon;
yet this diligent and bountiful mother of all things, in emula-
tion as it were of divinity, and desirous of producing a perfect
and admirable creature, and nearly resembling the immortal
- gods, gave the world Joan of Arragon, of the family of Co-
lonna,” to whom new charms were daily added, from infancy
to her present years, in which she is a model of consummate
beauty, and may justly claim the pre-eminence over every other
woman. Nature likewise adorned her soul with singular gifts
and virtues.” . - -
Some writers have been rendered sceptical by the extrava-
gance of these encomiums, and have suspected that Niphus,
whose quality of physician gave him access to Joan, had be-
come enamoured of her charms, and, to the license of the
poet, had added the enthusiasm of the lover. In objection to
this idea, we are informed, that Niphus, though he had taken
up the degree, had never practised as a physician; also, that he
was attached to a lady of honour in the service of Joan. Chas-
* Joan married Ascanio Colonna, prince of Tagliocozzi,






JoAN OF ARRAGON. 153
tity, courage, prudence, and talents, are likewise attributed to
+he wife of Ascanio Colonna. %
During the pontificate of Paul IV. she shared in the reso-
lutions taken by the Colonnas against the interest of the pope.
On this occasion she was suffered to escape imprisonment in
consideration of her sex and character; but was commanded
not to leave the city. Notwithstanding this prohibition, she
contrived to bribe or elude her guards; the circumstances of
which are thus related by Antony Maria Gratiani : “Joan of
Arragon, mother of Marc. Antony, a lady of masculine resolu-
tion, being present at the consultation held at the house of her
son, was commanded to confine herself within her own palace:
the pope, in respect to her dignity, remitted the sentence of
imprisonment. Joan, perceiving all things tended to a war,
and sensible that the pontifical troops would make their first
attacks upon the towns belonging to her son, disguised herself,
with her daughters, and, early one morning, having corrupted
or deceived the keepers of the gates, fled from Rome, and, on
horses prepared for the occasion, reached Naples,” 1556. This
incident is also mentioned in the history of the duke of Alva:
“The dutchess,” it is said, “ during a truce, went with her
daughters out of Rome, where she was detained as a hostage,
pretending a desire to recreate herself in the vineyards, at some
little distance from the ramparts. Though far advanced in life,
she continued walking till she lost sight of the sentinels who
guarded the gates, when, with her daughters, she mounted on
horseback, and fled to the camp, where the duke of Alva re-
ceived her with joy. “It seems to me,’ said he, addressing her,
‘that I see the famous Clelia, who fled from the camp of the
enemy, not influenced solely by the love of her country, but
impelled by maternal affection.’” -
The dutchess expressed a high sense of the generosity and
gallantry of the Spanish general; but, unwilling to permit her
daughters to remain in the camp, requested leave to retire;
and, accompanied by her son, was escorted by a party of horse
into Campania. a
The pope, piqued at being thus deceived by a woman, was
yet more incensed against the Spaniards, who had counselled .
and aided the escape of the dutchess: exasperated by the va-
rious provocations he had received from the Colonnas, he dis
Vol. I. Uſ




1sº JoAN OF ARRAGON.
patched a monitory to Joan, forbidding her to dispose of her
daughters in marriage without his permission. “In default
thereof, the marriage should be declared void.” Joan, by her
escape, was enabled to assist the enterprises of her son, the
celebrated Marc. Antony Colonna, who acquired so much
glory in the battle of Lepanto. A misunderstanding had oc- .
curred between the father and son; Joan had espoused the in-
terest of the latter, who was the cause of the imprisonment of
his father for offences against the state. It should seem by this
circumstance that the nuptials of Joan were not fortunate. Her
husband, accused of having offered some violence to his credi-
tors, was cited by the procuratorfiscal to give an account of
his conduct; when, not appearing, he was condemned for con-
tumacy, and his lands confiscated. Marc. Antony Colonna
seized this opportunity of possessing himself of the estates,
which he had rescued from the ministers'of justice.
The fortitude and constancy of Joan, on the loss of her
eldest son, have been celebrated by Aretin. Joseph Betussi
published at Florence, 1566, a dialogue, entitled “Statues of
the Temple of the Lady Joanna of Arragon;” a book contain-
ing 121 pages, in which the praises of several ladies are artfully
gled with those of the goddess. Joan died far advanced in
years, in October, 1577. She was a benefactress to the Jesuits,
having rebuilt the church of St. Andrew, presented to them by
the bishop of Tivoli, 1566.
Donna Maria of Arragoº sister to Joan, and wife to Al-
phonso d’Avalos, marquis del Vusto, a valiant general in the
servi
º
rice of Charles V. is also celebrated for her learning and
beauty, which she is said to have retained to an advanced age,
“her autumn surpassing the spring and summer of her con-
temporaries.” She died at Chiaia, November 9, 1658. Jerom
Ruscelli, the panegyrist of Joan, praises her sister in a strain
little less hyperbolical, when he represents her as the ‘arche-
type of beauty,’ other women being fair but in proportion as
they resembled her. Nor was Donna Maria, he declares, less
admirable for her talents than for her beauty. These commen-
dations will, of course, be admitted with caution and deduction.
. Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Les Femmes Célébrées.











# [ 155 J
TULLIA OF ARRAGON.
THIS lady, who lived about the middle of the sixteenth
century, was born at Naples, and educated at Rome. At an
early age she cultivated the belles lettres, and discovered a stu-
dious and poetical turn of mind. Her progress in elegant lite-
rature procured her a distinguished rank among the most il-
lustrious women of her age. She resided many years at Ve-
nice, where she associated with persons of the first families,
learning, and talents. Her poems on various subjects, scattered
through different works, were collected at Venice, by Giolito,
in 1547. .
One of her most celebrated productions, entitled Dell” In-
finita d’Amor," was printed at Venice; where also appeared Il
Meschino, a poetical romance, or species of epic poem, in
which the hero, Guerrino da Durazzo, travels, like Telema-
chus, in the fourth book of the Odyssey, in search of his father.
This work, which passed for a translation from the Spanish,
was but moderately successful. If the original really existed in
Spain, it could have been only in manuscript, the copies of
which must have been rare. It is not enumerated by Cervantes
among the romances in the possession of Don Quixote; neither
by Nic. Antonia, in his account of the library of Spain. The
Meschino is by several of the Italian writers believed to have.
been an ancient Italian romande, composed by Andre Patria, a
Florentine; by others it is thought to have existed prior to
Dante, who owed to it his idea of hell: admitting this to be
true, it might possibly have been translated into Spanish. It is,
however, certain, that a romance of that name was published in
folio at Venice, in 1440, but which has not been identified with
the Meschino of Tullia of Arragon, which probably is a distinct
work. . .
This lady was celebrated by the Italian writers, particularly
by Girolamo Muzio, by whom she was passionately beloved.
In the third book of his Letters, Girolamo expatiates on the
talents and virtues of Tullia: her charms and perfections are
* On the Infinity of Love. . f The Unfortunate.



156 ASPASIA OR MILTO.
the constant theme of his poems, in which he sometimes
praises her under the fictitious appellations of Thalia and
Tyrrhénie. *...
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées, &c.
ARTEMISIA GENTILESCHI.
THE father of Artemisia was a native of Pisa in Italy.
His daughter, celebrated for her talents in history and portrait
painting, resided principally at Naples, where she lived in
splendor. She was not less beloved for the gaiety and vivacity
of her humour, than admired for her talents. She is spoken of
by Graham, as the first paintress of her times, in his Essay to-
wards an English School.
ASPASIA OR MILTO.
MILTo, the beloved mistress of Cyrus, and the daughter
of Hermotimus, was born at Phocaea. Her mother died in
giving her birth, and her father, whose situation was humble,
brought her up in virtuous obscurity. A story, somewhat
marvellous, which appears to owe to fiction its embellishment,
is related of the childhood of Milto. Being afflicted with a
glandular tumor in the throat, aphysician to whom her father
applied on the occasion, refused, on learning the pecuniary
incapacity of Hermotimus, to give assistance to his daughter.
The tumor continued daily to increase, when the young Milto
--- was warned in a dream, by a pigeon sent from Venus, to apply
to the swelling a preparation of dried rose leaves, which had been
previously consecrated to the goddess. This simple remedy
proved efficacious; the tumor was dispersed, and Milto reco-
vered with her health the lustre of her beauty. The most com-
mon and natural circumstances were by the ancients thus
veiled under poetic fables. . .
The maturing charms of Milto exposed her to the licen.
tious despotism of the East: she was forcibly taken, by the
governor of Phocaea, from the house of her father, to be pre-
ented, with other young beauties, to Cyrus, son of Darius








ASPASIA OR MILTO. 157
Nothus, the Persian monarch. Accompanied by three Greek
virgins, Milto was brought into the presence of the prince, as
he rose from table; and, by her artless charms, her simple
modesty, her unaffected grief, contrasted with the vanity and
coquetry of her companions, attracted his particular attention.
Menaces and even blows had been found necessary to compel
her to exchange her humble garb for the splendid robe pre-
pared for her presentation to Cyrus. In the presence of the
prince, without raising her eyes, she continued to weep, refu-
sing to be seated, and resisting his blandishments. The capri-
cious passions of a master, unaccustomed to repulse, were
captivated by this sorrow and resistance: having purchased her
of the governor, he attached himself entirely to her. Her pru-
dence and capacity completed her ascendency over the mind
of her lover: consulted by him on the most important affairs,
the talents and sagacity which she displayed justified his con-
fidence and secured his attachment. Esteemed by Cyrus as a
friend, respected as a wife, and beloved as a mistress, she em-
ployed her influence only for the honour of the prince and the
welfare of the provinces. : -
By the propriety and disinterestedness of her conduct, she
also acquired the friendship of the queen-mother. A set of
rich jewels, destined by Cyrus for his mistress, was, by her
persuasions, presented by him to his mother. Parysatis, when
informed of the generosity of Milto, loaded her in return with
magnificent presents. These she uniformly delivered to the
Prince. “They may be useful to you,” said she, “and are suited
to your dignity; for myself, I desire only your heart!” In ho-
hour of her talents and conduct, Cyrus conferred upon her the
name of Aspasia, the celebrated mistress of Pericles.
Milto employed her power in rendering easy and happy
the last days of her father, and in testifying her gratitude to
Venus, her protectress, to whom she consecrated a statue of
fine gold, placing before it a representation of the pigeon.
ºrnamented with jewels, which had, in her youth, warned her
* a dream of the means of restoring her health and beauty.
Before these symbols she daily performed her vows and
oblations. : N. .
Artaxerxes (the brother of Cyrus), who had succeeded to
Parius, having conceived a jealousy of the prince, attempted

158 ASPASIA or MILTO.
his destruction. But Parysatis, mediating between her sons,
warded off the blow from the younger, for whom she procured
a renewal of his appointment, as governor of the provinces,
which he had received during the life of his father. Cyrus, not
yet appeased, meditated to avenge the indignities he had suffer-
ed, by raising an army against his brother, whom he sought to
dethrone. Hurried away by the ardour of his temper, and a
headlong valour, in an engagement which took place near
Babylon, he exposed his person in the thickest of the fight,
and perished in the field of battle. -
Aspasia, on this fatal catastrophe, overwhelmed with grief,
concealed herself in an obscure retreat, where, after a diligent
search, she was discovered and carried before the conqueror.
Her fidelity to his brother, her tears, and her despair, interest-
ed the tenderness of Artaxerxes, who left no means unessayed
to console her; and, at length, when time had subdued her
sorrow, gradually succeeded to his brother in her affections.
By Artaxerxes she continued to be cherished and beloved:
the decay of her beauty, which she retained to an advanced
age, was compensated by the qualities of her heart and under-
standing.
- To this narrative, simple and not improbable, the following
incident, involved in chronological difficulty is added by Plu-
tarch. Some years before the decease of Artaxerxes, his son
Darius was nominated his successor. By the Persian laws, the
heir, on these occasions, was allowed to demand of his father
a boon or gift. Darius, availing himself of this privilege, de-
manded Aspasia, the favourite mistress of his father, of whom
he had become enamoured. Artaxerxes referred the decision
to the lady whom he was unwilling to relinquish, and on whom
he declared no restraint should be imposed. Aspasia having
determined in favour of the younger lover, was immediately
delivered into his hands; but the disappointed monarch found
means, by a stratagem, to avenge himself of the levity of his
mistress, and to defeat the hopes of his presumptuous rival. By
the orders of Artaxerxes, it was secretly contrived, that As-
º sia should be elected a priestess of Diana, to whose chaste
service she was accordingly devoted. In revenge, Darius con-
spired against his father and involved himself in destruction.
# º …



ISABELLA OF BAVARIA. 1.59
This story, but little to the honour of the heroine, appears
very questionable, when it is computed by Bayle, that, at the
period of the contention between the father and son, the fair
object of their rivalry must have been at least in her seventy-
sixth year. -
Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Les Femmes Célébrées.
ISABELLA OF BAVARIA,
Is ABELLA of Bavaria, wife to Charles VI. of France, was
skilled in the arts of intrigue, while, to uncommon personal
beauty, she added the most captivating address. Fond of
pleasure, she sacrificed to it without restaint; nor was her
thirst of power less insatiable. Violent, implacable, and vin-
dictive, she was capable, in the pursuit of a favourite point, of
actions the most perfidious and cruel. She involved the king-
dom in war and tumult, and violated the parental feelings by
disinheriting her offspring. She lived to become odious and
despicable, even to the party for which she had sacrificed hu-
manity and the public good. After the frenzy which seized her
husband, she leagued with the duke of Orleans, with whom
she was suspected of holding a criminal intercourse. She
survived the king about thirteen years. X.
John Boucher, a writer not far removed from her times,
circumstantially relates her death in his Annales d’Aquitaine.
“Presently after the treaty of Arras, between Charles VII.
and Philip duke of Burgundy (who, having long fluctuated
between the two parties, yielded at length to a generous for-
giveness, and gave a mortal blow to the interests of England),
Isabella, widow of Charles VI. who had been for some time
in the hands of the English, in great indigence and poverty,
expired, on the unwelcome news, with consternation, and
grief. Her corpse was carried, in a small boat, on the Seine,
to St. Denis, and interred, near that of her deceased husband,
in the king's chapel. Four persons only attended the funeral:
the prior of St. Denis performed the service; not a prelate
was present, nor were any solemnities paid to the remains of
the queen. Her son Charles VII, being born during her inti-
macy with the duke of Orleans, some probability was given to


160 FRANCES BERTAUT. *
the report, that he was the offspring of his mother's amours,
Even the English whom she served at the expense of nature,
honour, and affection, reproached her with this circumstance,
Her death was hastened, if not caused, by the successes of
her son. %
History of France, &c.
FRANCES BERTAUT,
IM. A. DAME DE MOTT E VILLE,
FRANCEs, daughter of Pierre Bertaut, a nobleman of Noisy,
and gentleman of the bed-chamber to the king, was born in
Normandy, 1615. Distinguished for the elegance of her per-
son, the purity of her manners, the charms of her conversa-
tion, and the cultivation of her mind, she succeeded her
mother in the friendship and confidence of Anne of Austria,
wife of Lewis XIII. The favourites of the queen being ob-
noxious to the minister, this lady was involved in their dis-
grace, and compelled to retire from court. On her return to
her native country, she espoused Nicolas Langlois, lord of
Motteville, a rich and respectable magistrate, who survived
his marriage but two years. z .
º After the death of cardinal Richelieu and of Lewis XIII.
madame de Motteville was recalled by the queen-regent, and
retained constantly near her person. In this situation she be-
came affectionately attached to her royal mistress, and occupied
her leisure by compiling Memoirs of the regency. Her work
contains, with the most remarkable events of that stormy
period, a history of the administration of cardinal Mazarine,
and a delineation of the character and conduct of the queen-
mother. The portrait of Anne of Austria, by her favourite,
bears the marks of partial friendship and personal attachment.
Madame de Motteville also enjoyed the favour and con-
fidence of the unfortunate Henrietta of France, consort to
Charles I. and queen of Great Britain. In the Memoirs of the
regency, a sketch is given of the misfortunes of this princess,
and the transactions in England during the civil wars.
When Anne of Austria and her court took shelter at St.
Germain, and the royal army laid siege to the capital, madame
º


ELIZABETH FREDERICA. 16
de Motteville remained in Paris, where, as a partizan of the
court, she narrowly escaped a violent death. - ,, . . . ;
This lady, who appears to have been no less respected for
her irreproachable conduct than admired for her talents, sur-
vived her mistress, and died at Paris, at the advanced age of
seventy four. Her memoirs, the style of which is prolix and ob-
scure, contain a faithful relation of facts. The character given by
her of cardinal Mazarine is summed up by observing, that he
was not worse than men are, and must be, in his station. “It
is impossible,” adds the writer, who was no stranger to courts,
“for a great minister to have either private religion, public
virtue, humanity, or morality.” .
Dictionnaire Historique—Anne Thicknesse's Sketches of the Lives
and Writings of the Ladies of France.
ELIZABETH FREDERICA,
OF B O HEMIA,
FREDERIC V., elector palatine of the Rhine, was chosen
king of Bohemia in 1619. Elizabeth, his daughter, illustrious
for her talents and learning, renounced the most advantageous
alliances, to deliver herself up to her taste for study and the
sciences, in which she made a singular and rapid progress.
She was particularly attached to the philosophy of Descartes,
who, in the dedication of his Principia to this princess, tells
her, that she was the only person whom he had ever met with
that perfectly comprehended his works. Christina queen of
Sweden is said to have envied the reputation of Elizabeth,
and to have treated her on several occasions with marked dis-
respect. William Penn, the legislator of Pennsylvania, held
with her several conferences on the principles of his sect, for
which she entertained a predilection. He published some of
her letters to him in his Travels. .
Elizabeth is sometimes styled the abbess of Hervorden, a
title taken from a protestant monastery, or academy, in Ger-
many, over which she presided. This monastery was a kind
of philosophical institution, for persons of both sexes, into
wº who possessed talents and merit were received, with-
Vol. I. X “
* : *




šº - * - -
§ R O º
ENRIETTA of Bot
out distinction of sects or opinions. Elizabeth died in 1680,
at sixty-one years of age. *
%
* Her sister, the princess Louisa, was not less distinguished
for her taste in the arts: her paintings are preserved, with those
of the first masters, in the cabinets of the curious, by whom
they are greatly esteemed. The queen of Bohemia and her
family received instructions in the art of painting from Gerard
Honthorst: among the princesses, Louisa and Sophia made,
under his tuition, the greatest progress. f
In 1664, Louisa made profession of the Romish faith, and
was elected abbess of Maubuisson, at Ponthoise, near Paris.
She died in 1709, aged eighty-six. There is a portrait of her
at Wilton, by Gerard Honthorst. Sophia, the daughter and
mother of a king (George I.), was sensible and highly accom-
plished. It was observed of these sisters, that the first was the
most learned, the second the greatest artist, and the third the
.*, *::8% accomplished lady, in Europe. -
Dictionnaire Historique.
HENRIETTA of Bourbon,
MADEMoise LLE DE MONTPENSIER.
MADEMors ELLE DE MonTPENSTER, daughter of Gaston
duke of Orleans (brother to Lewis XIII.), and of Marie de
Bourbon Montpensier, was born in Paris, 1627. Her parents
leaving France during her childhood, she was committed to
the charge of her grandmother, the queen-regent, who appoint-
as her governess madame de St. George, a woman of dis-
guished learning. To a taste for literature, mademoiselle
added a singular passion for military exercises. During the
civil dissensions in France, in the disputes of the Fronde, the
town of Orleans, belonging to the duke her father, was on the
t lligence, immediately quitted Paris, and, marching in
person at the head of a small number of troops, forced the in-
bitants to open their gates and join the parliament, whose
use her father had espoused. Mademoiselle had probably
been provoked to oppose the court in resentment for a recent
rtification: suspected of a secret matrimonial negocia-
*
point of submitting to the party of the king. Mademoiselle, on
























HENRIETTA of Bourbon. 163
tion with the archduke, she had been publicly reprimanded
by her grandmother in the council-chamber, whence she
retired full of indignation, and meditating vengeance for the
affront she had received. - º gº
Having returned to Paris after her martial exploit, she
passed thence to Etampes; where, having reviewed the par-
liament troops and those of the prince of Condé, she gave
battle to marshal Turenne, who commanded the royal army.
In this engagement, perhaps too unequal, she suffered a defeat.
Disconcerted by this blow, she negociated for assistance with
Spain; and, advancing at the head of 6000 Spaniards, encamp-
ed close to la Porte St. Antoine, one of the gates of Paris, de-
fended by the forces of the king. At the head of her troops,
mademoiselle ascended the Bastille, and, seizing the cannon
placed on the ramparts, turned them against the enemy, whom,
having drove back, she entered the city in triumph. z
Cardinal Mazarine, who knew the ambition of mademoi-
selle to espouse a soyereign prince, said on this occasion, in
his bad French, Ellea tuté son mari,” a prediction which he
took care should be verified.
Our heroine was at length obliged to resign her laurels,
and submit to a stronger power. Banished by the king to her
estate at St. Fargeau, she passed some years in discon-
tent, disgraced at court, and involved in a contention with
her father respecting her mother's property, a part of which she
had been entitled to on coming of age. These differences being
at length accommodated, she returned to court, and was well
received. Disappointed in her hope of marrying the archduke,
she rejected the kings of Portugal and of England, with.
several other princes, who solicited her alliance. At the age
of forty-five she became attached to monsieur De Lauzan,
captain of the king's garde de corps, whom she was desirous.
to espouse, and obtained the consent of Lewis XIV. to the mar-
riage. Mademoiselle and her lover received the compliments of
all France on this occasion: the contract was drawn up, and
magnificent preparations made for the nuptials, when the
king, on the representations of the princes of the blood, who
considered this alliance as humiliating, was induced to retract
his consent, and to refuse his signature to the contract,
* She has killed her husband.






Mademoiselle was sensibly affected by the dissolution of
the engagement, and the failure of her hopes, while De Lau-
zan, who lost a princely fortune, loudly complained. It was the
opinion of many, that the lovers had concluded a secret mar-
riage, when, a short time after, De Lauzan was precipitated
From the favour of the king, and thrown into prison, where he
remained ten years. His liberty was then obtained through
the intercession and sacrifices of mademoiselle; who pur-
chased his freedom by the surrender of a large part of her
estates to the duke Du Main, natural son of Lewis XIV. and
of madame De Montespan. Monsieur de Lauzan ill repaid
his benefactress for her generosity and constancy. He assumed
on his liberation the authority of a husband, and treated the
princess with tyranny and hauteur. The affection of Mademoi-
selle for this ungenerous man enabled her for some time to
endure his imperious manners, till, with the insolence and
ingratitude of a vulgar mind, he exceeded the limits of her for-
bearance, and converted her attachment into disgust. Return-
ing one day from the chace “Henrietta de Bourbon, exclaimed
he, arrogantly, “come and draw off my boots.” The unfortu-
nate Henrietta remonstrating on the impropriety and cruelty of
his conduct, he made an effort to strike her with his foot. This
insult was not to be borne: Mademoiselle, resuming, with the
pride and spirit which belonged to her character, the privileges
of her birth and rank, insisted on his withdrawing from her
presence, and forbade him to see her again. *
Justified by her birth, her fortunes, her connexions, and
her talents, in the most aspiring views, the life of Henrietta of
Bourbon exhibited a series of vexations, disappointments, and
mortifications. She died in 1693, leaving Memoirs of her own
life and times, in six volumes, with other writings, principally
on subjects of religion and morals, composed at an advanced
period of life. Her portrait and character are drawn, in the
fashion of the times, by her own pen, with apparent truth and
ld wish,” said she, “that I had been more
* and less to art: I am sensible that my de-
* ź speak of myself with a sin-
:h, I trust, with my friends will in some degree
* them. It would hurt me to be pitied, therefore I ask it
lery would be more agreeable to me, of which envy i.




















HENRIETTA of Bourbon. 165
often the source, and which is seldom used but against persons:
of merit. Called upon by my friends to draw my own charac-
ter, I will begin with my exterior. My shape is good and
easy; my aspect open; my neck rather handsome; good hands
and arms, but not fine. My legs are straight, and my feet well
made. My hair a fine ash-colour; my face long; my nose large
and aquiline; my mouth neither large nor small, but well pro-
portioned, with lips of a good colour. My teeth, though not
fine, are far from bad. My eyes are light blue, clear and spark-
ling. My air stately but not haughty. I dress negligently, but
not slovenly, which I abhor: whether in dishabille or magnifi-
cently apparelled, I preserve the same air of consequence.
Negligence of dress does not disbecome me; and I may ven-
ture to say, I disfigure the ornaments I put on less than they
embellish me. I am civil and familiar, but not more so than is
consistent with commanding respect. I talk a great deal, with-
out using foolish, vulgar, or uncouth expressions. By never
speaking on any subject I do not well understand, I avoid the
error of great talkers, who, over-rating their own abilities, are
apt to despise those of others. I confess I love praise, and
seek eagerly occasions to acquire it: on this subject perhaps I
am the most vulnerable to raillery. There is nothing on which
I pique myself so much, as on constancy in friendship: when
I am so fortunate as to find persons who merit my esteem, I
am a real and steady friend. Nothing can equal my fidelity
towards those I have professed to love: would to God I had
found in others the same sentiment!“. From this disposition I
bear impatiently the levity of my acquaintance. To repose
confidence in me, gains above all things upon my regard: I -
consider confidence as the highest mark of esteem; and I am
secret to excess. I am a dangerous enemy; I resent warmly,
and do not easily pardon. This vindictive temper, joined to
my influence and high station, has made my enemies tremble:
but I possess also a noble and an upright mind, incapable of
base or criminal actions. I am of a melancholy turn of mind,
and prefer solid and serious books to lighter compositions
which soon weary me. My judgment of the merit of an author
is perhaps not less just than that of those who boast more
* Mad moiselle here obviously alludes to the conduct of M. de Lauzan. .





HENRIETTA of Bourbon.
tning. I love the conversation of men of sense, and can en-
ure without lassitude those who are less entertaining, since
my rank imposes on them some constraint. Though not always
amused, I am seldom offended. I discern and esteem all per-
sons of merit, of whatever profession, but I greatly prefer mi-
litary men. On the subject of war I converse with pleasure ;-
for, with great personal courage, I have much ambition. My
resolutions are suddenly taken and firmly kept. \ I feel so
much indifference for some things in the world, so much con-
tempt for others, and entertain so good an opinion of myself,
that I would choose rather to pass the remainder of my life in
solitude, than impose the least constraint on my humour,
however advantageous it might be to my fortune. I love best
to be alone. I have no great complaisance, though I expect a
great deal. I love to provoke and irritate, though sometimes I
can oblige. I am not fond of diversions, neither do I trouble
myself to procure them for others. Of all instruments of mu-
sic, I prefer the violin. I did love dancing, and danced well.
I hate cards; love games of exercise; am a proficient in all
kinds of needle-work; and am fond of riding on horseback. I
am more sensible to grief than to joy, possibly from having had
more acquaintance with the former, but it is difficult to dis-
tinguish with which I am affected; for, though no comedian, I
am too much mistress of my looks and actions to discover to
those about me more than I choose they should know. I am
at all times self-possessed. The vexations and chagrin which I
have suffered, would have killed any other than myself; but
God has been merciful and good in endowing me with suf-
ficient strength to sustain the misery which he has allotted to
me. Nothing fatigues, dejects, or discourages me. Though I
sincerely wish to be so, I am not devout: though indifferent to
the world, I do not, I fear sufficiently despise it, wholly to de-
tach myself from it; since I have not enrolled myself among
the number of those who, by quitting it, prove their contempt.
Self-love is not requisite to become devout. I am naturally
distrustful and suspicious. I love order even in the minutest
article. I know not whether I am liberal, but I know well tha
I love magnificence and pomp, and give generously to men of
erit and to those whom I regard: but, as on these occasions
uided by my fancy, I know not whether the term liberal











MARY BRUNEAU DEs Loges. 18,
would be properly applied to me: however, I feel a pleasure in
doing every thing of this kind in the handsomest manner. I
have no inclination for gallantry, nor do I possess any great
tenderness of soul; I am less sensible to love than to friend-
ship. I like to know what passes in the world, without the
trouble of mixing with it.! I have a great memory, and form a
tolerably good judgment of most things. No one will, I hope,
be so rash as to attribute to a defect of judgment the mis-
fortunes I have suffered: were fortune guided by judgment or
justice, she would certainly have treated me better.”
This lady's confessions, though not free from contradiction,
have an air of ingenuousness. Her love of “pomp and magni-
ficence” was probably her real character; her indifference and
contempt for the world the offspring of disappointment.
Dictionnaire 'Historique—Anne Thicknesse's Sketch of the Lives and
Writings of the Ladies of France.
MARY BRUNEAU DES LOGES.
MARY BRUNEAU Des Loges was born in France, towards
the latter end of the sixteenth century. In 1599, she married
Charles de Rechigny Voisin, lord des Loges, who was after-
wards appointed gentleman in ordinary of the king's bed-
chamber, and to whom she bore nine children. She was
distinguished for her talents, and her zeal for the protestant
religion. Towards the latter periods of her life, she experien-
ced many domestic afflictions, which she supported with ex-
emplary fortitude. º :
She was greatly esteemed by Malherbe, who was accus-
tomed to visit her every other day, and who is mentioned by
Bayle as one of the first and greatest critics of the age, who
formed the taste and gave the tone to the French nation; also,
as peculiarly fastidious, and reluctant to acknowledge merit.
Balzac, likewise, who was not inferior to Malherbe, and who
contributed still more to give to the French character its high
polish, was an admirer of madame des Loges, of which he af.
forded a testimony in the letters which he addressed to her.
In his writings he declares, that had she not restrained him, he
should have been still more lavish in her praise, “The good





dame des Loges,” says he, “gave me some terrible repri.
mands, some time before her death, upon this subject. She
upbraided me for lavishing my praises upon all those who
made any show of worth, and reproached me for giving too
easy credit to the bare appearance of virtue.” Again, in con-
temning a burlesque style of conversation that had become.
fashionable, he quotes in support of his own the opinion of
madame des Loges. “This kind of badinage,” says he, “sa-
vours of comedy rather than of conversation, or, to speak
more properly, of farce. It resembles not the raillery of gen-
tlemen. Madame des Loges was accustomed to observe, that
to see a drunkard or a bravo acted, would give her as much
pleasure. Such jargon, she declared, appeared to her equally
witty as a man with a wooden sword by his side, and his face
daubed with meal.” %
Great princes also united in her praise, “If,” says Balzac,
addressing M. Menage in his Lettres Choisies, “If you knew
not Urania, the nymph I have so highly extolled, and whose
loss I so bitterly lament, suffer me to inform you, that it is my
amiable, deceased, friend, madame des Loges, who was cele-
<- brated during her life by more than one academician, as the
celestial, the divine, the tenth muse; and who was esteemed,
both at home and abroad, by crowned heads and the demi-
gods of the age, by the king of Sweden, the duke of Orleans,
the duke of Weimar, &c. It was observed by M. de Wicque-
fort, that madame des Loges possessed great influence over
the mind of the duke of Orleans, for which reason the as-
semblies held at her house were prohibited.
She died June 7th, 1641, and was interred in a spot made
choice of by herself, two hundred paces distant from la Pleau,
a house in Limosin. º
Bayle's Historical Dictionary–The Female worthies"
º
LEo NORA BARONI. . . .
RA BARON1, celebrated for her vocal powers, and ac-
ne of the finest singers in the world, was born at
send of the Socrate chrétien, p.175.



















# ; LEONORA BARON I. 169
Naples, but passed the greater part of her life at Rome. She
was the daughter of the fair Adriana of Mantua, in the praise
of whose beauty and accomplishments innumerable panegyrics
were composed. Leonora, with fewer personal charms than
her mother, was not less distinguished for her wit, her profound
knowledge of the science of music, and the sweetness and
compass of her voice. To these qualities shº, added a happy
facility in poetical composition, amiable mäß, and a con-
duct without reproach. # 3. %
In 1639, a volume of poems, in Latin, Greek, French,
Italian, and Spanish, was printed at Rome, entitled “Applaus,
Poetici alle Glorie della Signiora Leonora Baroni.” Some poems
of Leonora are scattered in different collections.
The following account of the vocal powers of Leonora
Baroni, is taken from a treatise on Italian music, printed at
Paris, 1672, 12mo, at the conclusion of which it is thus written:
“This discourse was composed by M. Maugars, prior of St.
Peter de Mac, the king’s interpreter of the English language,
and so celebrated a performer on the viol, that the king of
Spain, with several other princes of Europe, were desirous of
hearing him.” M. Maugars, in this treatise, thus speaks of
Leonora: “She is endowed with superior talents, and has an
exquisite and distinguishing judgment in music; which she
not only understands perfectly well, but also composes, which
makes her an absolute mistress of what she sings, and enables
her to give the most exact pronunciation and expression of
the sense of her words. She makes no pretensions to beauty,
nor is she a coquet. She sings with boldness, yet with an in-
genuous modesty, and a pleasing gravity. Her voice, the com-
pass of which is extensive, is correct, loud, and harmonious:
she softens and raises it without straining or grimace. Her
sighs and raptures are not licentious, her looks are not im-
modest, nor does she transgress in her gestures against a vir-
gin purity. She sometimes exhibits, in passing from one key
to another, the divisions of the enharmonic and chromatic
kind, with so much art and sweetness, as to enchant every one
who hears her with that fine and difficult mode of singing.
She accompanies herself perfectly well with the theorbo or the
viol, and requires no assistance from others. I have had the
good fortune, several times, to hear her sing above thirty dif.
VoI. I 3. Y 3.
*


*nt airs, with second and third stanzas of her own compe-
on. Nor must I omit to tell you, that I was one day favour-
ed with hearing her sing, accompanied by her mother and
sister. Her mother played on the lyre, her sister on the harp,
and herself on the theorbo. This concert, composed of three
fine voices, and of three different instruments, so powerfully.
transported my senses, and threw me into such an ecstasy, that I
forgot I was mortal, and thought myself already among angels,
enjoying the felicity of the blessed.” --->
Dictionnarie Historique des Femmes Célébrés—Bayle's Historical
Dictionary, &c.
%
BASINE, or BAZIN.
CHILDERIC, king of France, driven by the people from his
dominions, sought an asylum with the king of Thuringia.
Basine, the wife of his benefactor, conceived a passion for
the royal fugitive; or, according to some historians, suffered
her affections to be seduced by him. Childeric, at length, was,
by the fidelity of Videmate, a confidential friend, restored to
his kingdom, and reinstated in his authority. A short time
after, he beheld with surprise, the queen of Thuringia appear
before him. Having demanded of her the occasion of this visit,
“I had no other motive,' replied Basine, “for the step I have
taken, then the esteem which I have conceived for your valour,
and the inclination with which your merit and your accom-
plishments have inspired me. Did I believe, that by travelling
to the end of the earth, I should find a prince more amiable
and more worthy than you, I would go there in search of him.”
Shilderic was not insensible to the gallantry of the queen,
whom he consented without reluctance to espouse, and by
whom he became the father of Clovis, the first christian king
of France. . . . &
To the preceding account, a legend somewhat marvellous
is added by ancient historians. On the night of the royal nup-
ls, say they, Basine prayed her new spouse to arise and go
oor of his palace, and on his return, to tell her what
here behold. Childeric, having suffered himself to
ed on to comply with this extraordinary request,

















ANNE BAYNARD. 171
came back, filled with consternation, to report to his bride that
he had seen lions, leopards, and unicorns. “Go again,” said Ba-
sine, with the tone of an oracle, ‘and return to the gate of the
palace.” The astonished monarch obeyed; and saw there, a
second time, wolves and bears. A third time he was sent by
the queen, when he found only dogs and other small animals,
who were tearing each other in pieces. He demanded of Ba-
sine an explanation of this mystery. “You shall be instructed,”
said she to him ; “but it is first necessary to pass the night de-
voutly, and at the dawn of day you will be informed of what
you wish to learn.” Childeric observed all that Basine had dic-
tated, and early in the morning reminded her of her promise.
“Be not uneasy, my dear spouse,” replied she, “but listen atten-
tively to what I am about to say. The prodigies which you
have seen are allegorical of the future: they represent the
manners and characters of our posterity. The lions and the
unicorns are a symbol of the sons which shall be born to us.
The wolves and the bears are their children; princes vigorous
and rapacious of spoil. The dogs and animals blindly deliver-
ed up to their passions, pourtray the last kings of our race.
Those little animals which you beheld with the dogs, are the
people, indocile to the yoke of their masters, revolting against
them, abandoned to ferocious passions, and the unfortunate
victims to each other.’ ź
“The first kings of our race,” observes the author of the
Anecdotes of the Queens of France, “cannot be better charac-
terised; and, if the legend be merely a fiction, it is ingenious
and well imagined.” It may be added, that persons fond of
discovering prophecies, may find in the latter part of this vision
no unapt similitude to the circumstances of the French revolu- ~
tion.
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées—Bayle's Histori.
cal Dictionary, &c. Ž
*
ANNE BAYNARD.
Asse, only daughter of Dr. Edward Baynard, a gentle.
man of a respectable and ancient family, and fellow of th e Col-
lege of Physicians in London, was born at Preston in Lan-


172 > ANNE BAYNARD.
cashire, in 1672. Her mother was the daughter of Robert
Rawlinson, Esq. of Corke in the same county. Dr. Baynard
perceiving in his daughter the promise of superior talents, as-
sisted their development by a liberal education. The rapid
progress and improvement made by Anne in different branches
of science and learning, did credit to the judgment of her.
father, and justified the promise of her early years. She died
prematurely, in the twenty-fifth year of her age, June 12th,
1697. The following particulars of her character and endow-
ments are extracted from the introduction to her funeral ser-
mon, preached by John Prude, M. A. at the parish church of
Barnes. -
By this gentleman we are informed, that she was well ac-
quainted with philosophy, with astronomy, mathematics, and
physics. That she was “not only conversant with these
sciences, but a mistress of them, and that to such a degree as
few of her sex had ever attained.” That she was familiar with
the writings of the ancients in their original languages. “At
the age of twenty-three,” says he, “she had the knowledge of
a profound philosopher.” In metaphysical learning, we are
also told “she was a nervous and subtle disputant.” She took
great pains to perfect herself in the Greek language, that she
might have the pleasure of reading in their native purity the
works of St. Chrysostome. Her compositions in the Latin,
i were various, were written in a pure and elegant style.
She possessed an acute and comprehensive mind, an ardent
thirst of knowledge, and a retentive memory. She was accus-
toined to declare, ‘that it was a sin to be content with a little
º tnowled ge .” . .
To the endowments of the mind she added the virtues of
the heart; she was modest, humble, chaste, and benevolent, ex-
mplary in her whole conduct, and in every relative duty. She
was pious and constant in her devotions, both public and pri-
vate; beneficent to the poor; simple in her manners; retired,
and perhaps somewhat too rigid in her notions and habits. It
a. .
improvement of those within her circle and influence.
was her custom to lay aside a certain portion of her income,
which was not large, for charitable uses; to this she added an
‘de ire and strenuous efforts for the mental and moral








ANNE BAYNARD. 173
About two years previous to her death, her spirits seem to
have been impressed with an idea of her early dissolution; a
sentiment which first suggested itself to her mind while walk-
ing alone, among the tombs, in a church-yard; and which she
indulged with a kind of superstitions complacency. On her
death-bed, she earnestly entreated the minister who attended
her, that he would exhort all the young people of his congre-
gation to the study of wisdom and knowledge, as the means of
moral improvement, and real happiness. “I could wish,” says
she, “that all young persons might be exhorted to the practice
of virtue, and to increase their knowledge by the study of phi-
losophy; and more especially to read the great book of nature,
wherein they may see the wisdom and power of the Creator,
in the order of the universe, and in the production and preser-
vation of all things’ “That women are capable of such im-
provements, which will better their judgments and under-
standings, is past all doubt, would they but set about it in ear-
nest, and spend but half of that time in study and thinking,
which they do in visits, vanity, and folly. It would introduce
a composure of mind, and lay a solid basis for wisdom and
knowledge, by which they would be better enabled to serve
God, and to help their neighbours.” 2. #
The following character is given of this lady in Mr. Col-
lier's Historical Dictionary. “Anne Baynard, for her pru-
dence, piety, and learning, deserves to have her memory per-
petuated: she was not only skilled in the learned languages,
but in all manner of literature and philosophy, without vanity
or affectation. Her words were few, well chosen and expres-
sive. She was seldom seen to smile, being rather of a reserved
and stoical disposition; their doctrine, in most parts, seeming
agreeable to her natural temper, for she never read or spake of
the stoics but with a kind of delight. She had a contempt of
the world, especially of the finery and gaity of life. She had a
great regard and veneration of the sacred name of God, and
made it the whole business of her life to promote his honour
and glory; and the great end of her study was to encounter
atheists and libertines, as may appear from some severe satires
written in the Latin tongue, in which language she had great
readiness and fluency of expression; which made a gentleman
of no small parts and learning say of her,

MARY BEALE.
“Annam gens Solymea, Annam gens Belgica jactat,
At superas Annas, Anna Baynarda, duas.”
* Fam’d Solyma her Anna boasts,
In sacred writ renown'd ;
Another Anna's high deserts,
Through Belgia’s coasts resound :
But Britain can an Anna shew,
That shines more bright than they;
#º º Wisdom and piety in her
Sheds each its noblest ray.’
Anne Baynard died at Barnes, in the county of Surrey, in
1697, and was buried at the east end of the church-yard, where
a small monument is erected to her memory, bearing the fol-
lowing inscription:
. Ann Baynard obiit,
Jun. 12. Ann: AEtat. Suae 25.
Christi 1697.
O mortales' quotusquisque vestråm cogitat,
Ex hoc momento pendet aeternitas'
A copy of Latin Alcaic verses was written to her memory
a Mr. Brown.
Ballard's British Ladies—Biographium Foemineum—Gibbon’s
Memoirs of Pious Women, &c.
MARY BEALE.
THE profession of the elegant and imitative arts, appears
to be singularly appropriate to the delicacy of the female
frame, to the sedentary habits of female life, and the culture of
the taste and imagination, to which the education of women is
peculiarly directed. .
Mary Beale, a portrait painter in the reign of Charles II.
was the daughter of Mr. Cradock, minister of Walton-upon-
Thames, and born in Suffolk, in 1632. She is said to have
been taught the rudiments of painting by sir Peter Lely, but
this is doubted by Horace Walpole, from a circumstance noted
in the journal of her husband, of which the following is an ex-
tract: “August 1st, 1672. Dr. Tillotson sat to Mr. Lely
three hours, for the picture doing for me: this is the fourth
time. His manner in the painting differs from his former












MARY BEALE. 17s
manner of painting for us; more concealed and mysterious,
less open and free; more formerly to be learnt from him than
*
now.” Mr. Walpole infers from the above, that Mrs. B. was.
not a scholar to Lely, a circumstance which is not hinted by
her husband: it appears, on the contrary, that they procured
their friends to sit to sir Peter, in order to learn his method of
colouring, of which the artist seems to have been aware.
Mrs. Beale, however, copied the works of that great mas-
ter, and also those of Vandyke. She painted in oil, water-
colours, and crayons, and was in great repute. Her portraits
were in the Italian style, which she acquired by copying se-
veral pictures and drawings, borrowed from sir Peter Lely’s
and the royal collections. By the author of the “Essay to-
wards an English School of Painting,” Mrs. Beale is said to
have been “little inferior to any of her contemporaries, either
for colouring, strength, force, or life; insomuch that sir Peter
was greatly taken with her performances, and often acknow-
ledged, that she worked with a wonderful body of colours, and
was exceedingly industrious.”
Many of the most eminent among the clergy of the times,
esteemed and encouraged this female artist: her husband was
also greatly respected. The portraits of Tillotson, Stillingfleet,
Cradock, Patrick, Wilkins, Outram, &c. were painted by Mrs.
Beale: five pounds was her price for a head, and ten pounds
for a half-length in oil, her most common method of painting.
We are informed by Mr. Walpole, that her portraits of Dr.
Tillotson, Pierce, Cradock, Stillingfleet, and four others, are
yet remaining at the earl of Ilchester's, at Melbury, in Dor-
setshire, “each head enclosed in a frame of stone-colour; a
mark that generally distinguishes the works, of Mrs. Beale.”
In a pocket-book of her husband’s for 1672, is the following
memorandum: “Received this year, for pictures done by my
dearest heart, 2021. 5s.” In 1674, her pictures produced 2161.
5s; in 1677, 4291. It was a rule with Mr. and Mrs. Beale, to
allot two shillings in the pound out of their income to benevo-
lent purposes.
Among other portraits drawn by this lady, were those o
the earl of Clarendon, lord Cornbury, the countess of Derby,
sir Stephen Fox, the duke of Newcastle, lady Scarsdale, the
of Bolingbroke, lady Dorchester, lady Stafford, and the
earl



476 MARY BEALE.
earl of Clare. It appears by the journal of her husband, April
20th, 1672, that sir Peter Lely, who was much pleased with
her performances, particularly commended a copy, after Anto
da Corregio, of Jesus Christ praying in the garden; also a
copy in little, after Endymion Porter, his lady and three sons,
which was said by sir Peter to be ‘painted like Vandyke him-
self in little, and the best copy he had ever seen of Vandyke.'
Other copies from the life, painted by Mrs. Beale, were also
praised by Lely. Probably the candour and approbation of this
eminent artist gave rise to a report, that he was tenderly at-
tached to the lady; few people have sufficient delicacy to com-
prehend the existence of a disinterested friendship and admi-
ration between two persons of different sexes, founded on
congenial talents and virtues: but calumny itself presumed not
to attack the reputation of Mrs. Beale.
In the manuscript of Mr. Oldys, she is celebrated for her
poetical talents, and styled “that masculine poet and painter,
the incomparable Mrs. Beale.” In a translation of the Psalms
by Dr. Woodford, is preserved versions of particular psalms
by this lady, whom the doctor calls, in his preface, “an abso-
lutely complete gentlewoman.” Further, it is added, “I have
hardly obtained leave to honour this volume of mine with two
or three versions long since done by the truly virtuous Mrs.
Mary Beale; among whose least accomplishments it is, that
she has made painting and poesis, which in the fancies of
others had only before a kind of likeness, in her own, to be
really the same. The reader, I hope, will pardon this public
acknowledgment which I make to so deserving a person, when
I shall tell him, that while, as a friend and one of the family,
I had the convenience of a private and most delightful retire-
ment, in the company of her worthy husband and herself, I
both began and perfected this paraphrase.” .
x- Mrs. Beale died in the sixty-sixth year of her age, De-
cember 28th, 1697, and was interred under the communion-
table in St. James's church. She bore two sons, Charles and
Bartholomew, who both exercised the profession of painting.
Charles, born in 1660, painted in oil and in water-colours: the
weakness of his sight compelled him, in a few years, to resign
the pallet. He resided opposite St. Clement's church in the
Strand, at the house of Mr. Wilson, a banker, where he also





JOAN BEAUFORT. 177
died. Mr. Wilson, with whom he had contracted a debt, be-,
came in consequence possessed of several of his pictures, par-
ticularly a double half-length of his father and mother, also
a single one of his mother, both by sir Peter Lely.
Bartholomew appeared but little attached to the profes-
sion, which he relinquished for that of physic: he studied
under Dr. Sydenham, and practised at Coventry, where he
died. There is an engraving, by Chambers, of a portrait of
Mrs. Beale and her son Charles, from a painting done by
herself.
Biographia Britannica—Walpole's Anecdotes of Painting in England.
JOAN BEAUFORT,
QUEEN OF scot LAND.
JoAN BEAUFORT, the date and place of whose birth is un-
certain, was the eldest daughter of John Beaufort, earl of So-
merset (son of John of Gaunt), and of Margaret, daughter of
Thomas lord Holland earl of Kent: her uncle was the cele-
brated Henry Beaufort, cardinal of St. Eusebius, and bishop
of Winchester. In February, 1423, Joan was married, in the
church of St. Mary Overry, Southwark, to James I. king of
Scotland, who had been a prisoner in England since March
30th, 1404. The circumstances attending his captivity had
stained the English name, and covered the court with dis-
honour. - 3.
Robert III. of Scotland, whose character was feeble, suf-
fered himself to be governed by an ambitious brother, the duke
of Albany, who, aspiring to the crown, had cruelly caused
David, the eldest son of Robert, to perish for want of suste-
nance. The weak king, without spirit or ability to assert his
rights and punish the murderer, to save his younger son James
from the fury of his uncle, had him secretly conveyed on
board a vessel, with a view of sending him to be educated in
France. The prince, on his voyage, being afflicted with sea-
sickness, landed for refreshment on the coast of Norfolk, near
which the ship had steered its course. He was here seized by
some mariners of Clay, carried forcibly to the king (Henry
IV.), and confined by him in the tower. James had been
VoI. I. . Z.

its JoAN BEAUFORT.
furnished with a letter from his father, to be delivered tº
Henry, should accident throw him on the English coast. It
was in vain that he gave in his credentials, and pleaded the
law of nations. Henry, resolved on detaining him, added in-
sult to injustice, by observing, ‘that as he himself understood
the French language, and would teach it to the prince, there
could be no necessity for his proceeding to Paris.’
The king of Scotland survived not long the captivity of
his son: the regency falling into the hands of the duke of Al-
bany, he found too many advantages in the absence of the
heir, to take any serious measures for his ransom. To preserve
appearances, ambassadors were annually sent in form to Eng-
land, under pretence of soliciting the freedom of the prince:
the two courts understood each other, and James continued to
languish an alien in a foreign land. º
On the 3d of August, 1413, the royal prisoner was remov-
ed to Windsor castle, and, in 1416, received permission, on
giving security for his return, to visit his native country. After
a short stay in Scotland, he returned to England. In 1419 he
accompanied Henry V. to France, for the purpose of sending
back 7000 Scots, who assisted the French in opposing the
English arms. The Scots, probably suspecting the constraint
under which their king acted, refused on this occasion to obey
his or ders. $%
In 1423, divisions and troubles having arising in Scotland,
the states determined to treat for the ransom of James, who,
on engaging to pay 40,000l. to the English court, received his
liberty. Ten thousand marks were to be paid by Scotland
within six months after the return of their king, and the same
sum annually, till the whole was discharged. But in considera-
tion ofhis marriage with Joan of Beaufort, 10,000 marks were
deducted from the ransom. Notwithstanding the injustice he
had suffered from Henry, the education of James had not been
n glected: instructed by the first masters in the sciences and
to S
º 1 I arts, his attainments reflected credit on his preceptors.
ºr arriage of Joan with the captive prince, had been pro-
the cardinal her uncle, who, by this alliance, sought
rengthen the interest of his family.
Joan, having received as her portion 40,000 marks, pre-
red to accompany her husband to Scotland, in March, 1423-4.







JoAN BEAUFORT. 179
Her father and her uncle attended her to Berwick, whence she
proceeded to Edinburgh, and was crowned with her husband,
May 22d, 1424." > N. .”
In 1427, Alexander, lord of the Isles, convicted of acts of
hostility, and Archibald, earl of Douglass, suspected of trea-
son, were pardoned by James through the intercession of the
queen. 3. *
October 16th, 1430, Joan was delivered, at Stirling, of
twin sons, who received at their baptism the names of Alexan-
der and James: Alexander died young, James succeeded his
father. § .
In 1437, the queen received information of a conspiracy
formed against the life of her husband, then at Roxburgh, to
whom she immediately hastened to warn him of his danger.
Walter, earl of Athol, uncle to the king, and eldest son of
Robert II. (by a second marriage), a cruel and licentious cha-
racter, was told by a necromancer, whom, in the spirit of a barba-
rous age, he had consulted, ‘ that before his death, he should be
crowned amidst a concourse of people.” Like his countryman,
Macbeth, this prediction roused his ambition, and stimulated
him to crimes. To accomplish his destiny, he determined on
poisoning the king, and seizing the government. Thus the ora-
cle, a circumstance by no means singular, prepared the way for
its own fulfilment. The plot being discovered to James by the
queen, he suddenly quitted the siege of Roxburgh, in which he
was engaged, and repaired, accompanied by Joan, to Perth,
where, for the greater security of his person, he lodged near
the walls of the town, in the dominican abbey. Walter, who
had watched the motions of the king, bribed a domestic of the
abbey to admit him, with an accomplice, into the chamber in
which the royal guests were lodged. The queen, as the ruf-
fians rushed into the room, threw herself between their wea- -
pons and the body of her husband; but her interposition was

vain: having received two wounds, she was torn from the arms
of the unfortunate monarch, who fell a victim to his merciless
assassins. James expired in the thirteenth year of his reign,
February 21st, 1436-7, and was interred at Perth, in the
Charter-house, which he had founded. . §
The murderer fulfilled the prediction which led him to his
fate, and hörribly expiated his crime. His punishment was,
180 MARGARET BEAUFoRT.
with savage ingenuity, protracted three days: on the first his
bones were disjointed by an engine fixed on a cart; on the
second, being elevated on a scaffold, resembling a throne, a
crown of iron, heated red-hot, was fixed on his head, with the
following inscription, “The King of all traitors,” on the third,
after having been dragged through the streets on a hurdle, he
was bowelled, beheaded, and quartered.
Joan married, a second time, James Stewart, called the
Black Knight, son to the lord of Lorne, to whom she bore a
son, afterwards earl of Athol. She died in the year 1446, and
was buried at Perth, near the remains of the king, her first
husband.
Biographia Britannica, &c. &c.
MARGARET BEAUFORT.
MARGARET BEAUFoRT, daughter and heiress of John Beau-
fort, duke of Somerset (grandson of John of Gaunt, duke of
Lancaster), and of Margaret Beauchamp, * was born in 1441,
at Bletshoe in Bedfordshire. .
In the fifteenth year of her age, she was given in marriage
to Edmund of Hadham, earl of Richmond, to whom she bore
a son, Henry, afterwards (by the union of the houses of York
and Lancaster) king of England. On the decease of the earl
of Richmond, who survived the birth of his son only fifteen
weeks, his widow espoused sir Henry Stafford, second son to
Henry duke of Buckingham, who left no issue: and, after his
death, in 1481, she took for her third husband, in the first
year of the reign of her son, Thomas lord Stanley, afterwards
earl of Derby, who dying also in 1504, she became again a
z. º .
widow. .
d stress
A volume (it is said by Stow) would scarcely suffice to
ain a detail of this lady's munificent and noble actions. …
is the rewarder of merit, and the benefactress of the
ed. She allotted a residence under her own roof to
. * Margaret, daughter of sir John Beauchamp of Powick, knight, and sis-
r and heiress to John Beauchamp, first married sir Oliver St. John of Blet-
e, knight; her second husband was the duke of Somerset; and her third,
i.eonard ºrdweis,






MARGARET BEAUFoRT. 181
ment. She was a patroness to learning, and to learned institu-
tions. September 8th, 1502, two perpetual public lectures in
divinity were founded by her in the universities of Cambridge
and Oxford, each being endowed with twenty marks per
annum. The endowment at Cambridge was augmented, July
5th, 1566, to twenty pounds per annum; and August 26th, 1605,
the rectory of Terrington in Norfolk was, by James I. annex-
ed to the gift. The professors were chosen by the doctors and
bachelors of divinity, in full convocation, every two years. In
1504, on the 30th of October, a perpetual public preacher was
instituted by her at Cambridge, the salary ten pounds per
annum, the duty to preach at least six sermons annually, in the
dioceses of London, Ely, and Lincoln. By a royal dispensa-
tion, the labour has since been abridged, from six sermons, in
three several dioceses, to one, delivered at the commencement
of the Easter term, before the university. ź.
A perpetual chantry was also founded by Margaret in the
church of Winburneminster, in Dorsetshire (where her parents
were interred), that grammar should be taught free, by a
priest, to all who should demand it, while the world endured:
the stipend to the teacher ten pounds per annum.
But the noblest foundations of this lady were the colleges
of Christ and St. John’s, Cambridge: the former, instituted in
1505, for one master, twelve fellows, and forty-seven scholars,
was erected in the place where stood God’s House, a small
hotel built by Henry VI. containing four fellows, which it had
been purposed to increase to sixty. The countess endowed her
college with the manors of Malton, Meldred, and Beach, with
other lands and rents in Cambridgeshire; the manors of Dites-
worth, with its lands and tenements, Kegworth, Hathern, and
Wolton, in Leicestershire; the abbey of Creke in Norfolk; the
manor of Roydon in Essex, afterwards exchanged with Edward
VI. for the revenues of Bronwell abbey: also the impropriation
of Manibere in Wales. Another fellowship was added to this
college by Edward VI. from a scruple lest the master and
twelve fellows should be thought to bear an allusion to Christ
and his apostles. Edward likewise added, by the benefactions
of J. Fisher bishop of Rochester, sir Walter Mildmay, Richard
Bunting, &c. three scholarships. Christ's college contains, at
present, fifteen fellows and fifty-six scholars. - *...


482 MARGARET BEAUFoRT.
St. John's college was founded in 1508, for a master and
fifty fellows and scholars, being built where formerly stood an
hospital, for canons-regular, erected by Nigel, second bishop
of Ely, in 1134, and converted by his successor, Hugh de
Balsham, into a priory, dedicated to John the Evangelist. St.
John was, by will, endowed by the foundress with the issues,
profits; and revenues, of her estate and lands in the counties
of Devon, Somerset, and Northampton, to the amount of up-
wards of 400l. per annum; also with the revenues of the priory
on which it was built, value 80l. 1s. 10d. ob. per annum; and a
Hicense of mortmain for fifty pounds annually. The king, as
heir at law, afterwards suing for and recovering the estate of
the foundress, the original foundation of St. John’s consisted
only of a part of the estate of the countess at Fordham, in
Cambridgeshire, the revenues of the priory, and the hospital
of Ospring in Kent, valued at seventy pounds per year, pro-
cured by bishop Fisher. The expenses attending the rebuild-
ing of the college amounted to between four and five thousand
pounds. St. John's, small in its beginning, became, by the
munificence of its benefactors, among whom archbishops Mor-
ton and Williams are distinguished, one of the largest and
most considerable in the university. It consists at present of
fifty-nine fellows, and one hundred and fifteen scholars. This in-
stitution, begun, or rather planned, during her life, was comple-
ted by herexecutors, of whom John Fisher, bishop of Rochester,
was the principal. The charter of the foundation is dated April
9th, 1511. The college was opened July 29th, 1516.
--- During her residence at Torrington in Devonshire, the
countess having observed that the distance of the parsonage
from the church occasioned great fatigue to the minister,
transferred to him and his successors the manor-house which
lay contiguous to the church, with the lands belonging to it.
ºš..º.º. | She also founded an alms-house, for poor women, near West-
2^ minster abbey. * ... ". -
The countess, not less eminent for piety than for her mu-
nificence, practised, in the spirit of the times, a rigid discipline:
rising at five in the morning, she passed the hours till ten in
prayer and meditation, when she quitted her closet to dine,
and afterwards again resumed her devout abstraction: she
occasionally occupied herself in translating from the French,




MARGARET BEAUFORT. 183
books of devotion. She performed with ardent zeal the rites
appointed by the papal church. The austerity of her life, the
length and frequency of her devotional exercises, both private
and public, affected her health, and weakened her frame. She
was admitted into the fraternity of five religious houses, West-
minster, Crowland, Durham, Wynburne, and the Charter-
house, London, which, at the same time that it gave an
increase to her reputation for piety, afforded her further
opportunities of extending her benefactions, by joining in the
acts of the societies. Horace Walpole observes of this lady, in
his catalogue of royal and noble authors, ‘that she employed
herself in founding colleges, and in acts of more real devotion
and goodness than generally attend so much superstition.’
She is praised for her conjugal affection and fidelity. Some
years previous to her death, she took upon her with the consent of
her husband, a vow of chastity, from the hand of bishop Fisher,
the form of which is yet extant in the registers. Probably, incon-
sequence of this engagement, her portrait is usually drawn with
the veil and habit of a nun. Certain days in every week, when her
health would admit of the absurd and piteous penance, she
wore next her skin, by which it was scratched and lacerated, ź
garments and girdles of hair-cloth. She was frequently accus-
tomed, in proof of her humility and zeal, to declare, that would
the princes of christendom combine in another crusade, against
their common enemy the Turks, she would cheerfully follow
the camp, in the capacity of a laundress. When folly and mis-
chief, assuming the venerable garb of religion and virtue, im-
pose on the purest minds, and pervert the noblest characters,
reason blushes, and humanity droops a tear. §
A curious story" is related by Mr. Walpole of the motive
which influenced this lady to resolve on her first marriage.
While yet in early youth, and a great heiress, she was sought
by the duke of Suffolk, minister to Henry VI. in marriage for
his son; the king also solicited her for his half brother, Edmund.
The young lady, wavering between the noble alliances which
courted her acceptance, in her perplexity, requested the judg-
ment of an elderly gentlewoman, her friend. The matron sage-
ly recomended her, not to consult her heart on this occasion,

* This story is gravely recorded both by sit Francis Bacon, and Dr. Fisher,
who received it from the lady herself.
184 MARGARET BEAUFORT.
but St. Nicholas, the patron of virgins, who appearing to her,
whether when sleeping or waking is not determined, in episco-
pal robes, decided in favour of Edmund.”
~ In the choice of her second and third husband, it is ob-
served by Mr. Walpole, that the saint does not appear to
have been consulted. Sir Henry Stafford, to whom she gave her
hand after the decease of the earl of Richmond, bequeathed to
his son-in-law, Henry VII. “a trappur of four new horse
harnish of velvet.” His mother, the dutchess of Buckingham,
“in consideration of the lady Margaret's love of literature,”
left her the following legacy: “A book of English, being a
Legend of Saints; a book of French called Lucan; another
book of French, of the Espistles and Gospels; a Primmer,
with clasps of siver gilt, covered with purple velvet.”f
It is related by bishop Fisher, that the countess was ac-
customed to “visit, comfort, and administer,” in their sick-
messes, to the twelve poor persons whom she kept in her house;
that she was uniformly present at their deaths, attentively ob-
serving them, “that she might learn how to die,” and attended
them to the grave. .
She has incurred some censure for recommending to the
bishopric of Ely, James Stanley, son by a former wife to the
earl of Derby, her third husband. An application was made to
Erasmus to qualify, by his instructions, this young gentleman
for the prelacy. This circumstance is thus alluded to by Dr.
Jortin: “At this time (1496), I suppose Erasmus refused a
large pension, and larger promises, from a young illiterate
Englishman, who was to be made a bishop, and who wanted
to have him for a preceptor. He would not (as he says) be so
hindred from prosecuting his studies for all the wealth in the
world.” “This surely (it is observed by Knight, adverting
to the same circumstance) was the worst thing she ever did;
and indeed if it be the catholic, it is not the apostolic, method
&
rics.” It appears, however,
hat he did not mean to be
of bestowin g and of obtaining bishol
in favour of the young gentlema
• By this marriage and by birth she was allied to thirty kings and queens,
within the forth degree of blood or affinity, beside earls, dukes, princes, &c.
since her death, in her posterity (it is observed by Mr. Baker,) she has been
*d to thirty more,
This legacy was by no means inconsiderable, in the dawn of the art of
ng, when few women were taught to read.








MARGARET BEAUpoRT. Iss
an idle shepherd in the fold, but was laudably desirous of ac-
quiring the qualifications suited to the station he solicited.
Our modern bishops, perhaps, are not always deserving even
of this praise. .
After a useful and exemplary life, the countess expired at
Westminster, June 29th, 1509, aged sixty-eight years. She
had just lived to see her grandson, Henry VIII., seated on
the throne. &
She was interred in the south aisle of the beautiful chapel
erected by her son Henry VII. adjoining to Westminster
abbey. On her monument of black marble and touch-stone,
was laid her effigy of gilt copper, in robes doubled with ermine,
the head encircled with a coronet. On a fillet of brass, round
the verge, is a Latin inscription, composed by Erasmus, to the
following purport: w * . . ."
“To the memory of Margaret, countess of Richmond,
mother of Henry VII. and grandmother to Henry VIII. who
revenues for the maintenance of three monks, in this
º stery, to pray for her soul: also, for a school-master at
Wymborn, and a preacher of the word of God throughout
England: likewise, for two interpreters of the Holy Scriptures,
one at Oxford, the other at Cambridge, where also she found-
ed two colleges, dedicated to Christ and his disciple St. John. *
She died in the year of our Lord 1509, on the 29th of June.”
“She possessed (says Dr. Fisher, her confessor) a tena-
cious memory, a piercing wit, and singular sagacity. Her tem-
per was equal; she sustained with firmness the vicissitudes of
fortune: her most lively sentiment appeared to be tenderness
for her son, whose exile, advancement to the crown, and death,
she witnessed. She survived him only three months.”
She left a fine library of books, in the English, French, and
Latin languages. Of the French language she was a competent
mistress; she had also some skill in the Latin, which she was lº
taught in her youth, and in which she was accustomed to
lament, that she had not made a greater progress.
The works attributed to her by H. Walpole, are, “The
Mirror of God for the sinful Soul” (from a French translation
of “Speculem auteum Peccatorum’), printed by Richard P.
4to, with cuts in vellum. A translation of the fourth b
Dr. J. Gerson's treatise “On the Imitation an *
Vol. I. - 2 A
















186 E BEctoz. .
blessed Life of our most merciful Saviour Christ,” printed at
the end of Dr. William Atkinson's English translation of the
three first books, 1504. A letter to her son is published in How-
ard's Collection of Letters. Also, by her son's command and
authority, she made “the orders (yet extant) for great estates
of ladies and noble women, for their precedence, attires, and
wearing of barbes at funerals over the chin, and under the
same.” “Waltere Hyltons Scala Perfectionis was englished and
printed by command of Margaret countess of Richmond and
Derby in William Caxton's house by Wynkyn de Worde, Anno
Salutis, 1584.” Likewise, “An Exposition of the seven pene-
tential Psalms, compyled by the Right Reverend Fader in
God, John Fisher, D. D. &c. Bishop of Rochester, at Exhor-
tation and Stourying of the most excellent Princese, Margarete,
&c. imprented, &c. the 7th of August, 1510.”
A Latin elegy, on her death, was written by John Skelton,
the poet-laureat, and inscribed on a tablet near her monuſ
* Ballard's Ladies of Great Britain—Biographia Britannica
CLAUDE DE BECTOz.
CLAUDE DE BEctoz, descended from an illustrious house in
Dauphiny, and abbess of St. Honoré de Tarascon, made a
considerable progress in the Latin language, and in several
ranches of science, under Denais Fauchier, a learned monk.
he also applied herself to poetry and the belles-lettres, and
composed several poems in the Latin and French languages.
ncis I. went from Avignon to Tarascon for the purpose of
onversing with Claude, and carried about with him her letters,
models of fine composition. The queen of Navarre, his
likewise greatly distinguished the abbess of Tarascon.
ation passed into Italy, where she was made the
ºulogium by Ludovico Domenichi, and Francis-
surpass in knowledge
times, and to equal the
correspondence with s


































APHARA BEHN.
This lady, more celebrated for her wit and dramatic
powers, than for the scrupulous delicacy of her productions,
descended from a reputable family of Canterbury, and was
born some time in the reign of Charles I. Her father, whose
name was Johnson, being appointed (through the interest of
lord Willoughby his relation) lieutenant-general of Surinam,
in the West Indies, embarked, with his family, to take posses-
sion of his government, and died during the passage. The fol-
lowing description of the situation of the family, on landing at
Surinam, is given by Mrs. Behn in her History of Oroonoka:
“As soon as we came into the country, the best house in it
was presented to us, called St. John's Hill. It stood on a vast
rock of white marble, at the foot of which the river ran a great
pth down; the little waves dashing and foaming over the
of the rock, made the softest murmurs and purlings in the
The opposite bank was adorned with a quantity of dif-
flowers, eternally blowing, every day and every hour
new, fenced behind with lofty trees of a thousand rare forms
and colours. The prospect was the most ravishing that hands
can create. On the edge of this white rock, towards the river,
was a walk or grove of orange and lemon trees, about half the
length of the Mall in St. James's park, whose flowery and
fruit-bearing branches met at the top and intercepted the fierce
rays of the sun. A cool air that came from the river at the
hottest hours of the day, made it not only a delightful retreat,
but, refreshing the blossoms, made them ever fragrant and ,
blooming. The boasted gardens of Italy cannot excel this
grove, which art and nature had combined to adorn. It was
wonderful to observe trees, equal in size to the English oak,
take rooting in a solid rock, with but a scanty covering of
Mrs. Behn speaks with rapture of the whole country of
Surinam, expressing her surprise that it had been yielded by
the king so readily to the Dutch. It was at Surinam that she
became acquainted with the celebrated Oroonoka, an A
prince, whose interesting story afforded her material
novel. The prince, with his wife Clemene (or Imoinda
frequently at her house; charmed with the heroic












of Oroonoka, of whose singular virtues and qualities she was
herself a witness, and interested by his tenderness for his Cle-
mene, she delighted in shewing them every attention in her
power, that might tend to ameliorate their fate. The prince
listened to her accounts of the great characters and achiev-
ments of antiquity with ardour and avidity, while she instruc-
ted and assisted his wife in ingenious works. By her kindness
and zeal, she acquired a powerful ascendency over the mind
of the hero, who was accustomed to call her his “great mis-
tres .” Calumny did not fail to comment on their intercourse;
reflections from which the writer of the life of Mrs. Behn,
prefixed to her works, labours to exonerate her. The great
qualities of Oroonoka, and the romantic interest attached to
his story, justified her esteem for him; while the heart of the
prince appeared too fervently devoted to his wife, to be suscep-
tible to the fainter charms of European beauty. Her family, it
is also observed, kept a watchful eye over her conduct.
On her return to England, she gave her hand to M
a merchant of London, but of Dutch extraction. Becom
what period is uncertain) a widow, by the decease o
gentleman, she was considered by Charles II. to whom she
had given an account of the colony of Surinam, as a proper
person to be entrusted with the management of some impor-
affairs during the Dutch war. On being sent into Fian-
, for this purpose, she fixed her residence at Antwerp,
her intrigues, in 1666, she discovered a design
the Dutch, of sailing up the Thames, and setting
English ships in their harbours. Her intelligence
quired through Vander Albert, a Dutchman, who had
ormerly her lover, and who, on her arrival at Antwerp,
he scrupled not to betray to her the cause of his country.
is plot, concerted by Cornelius de Wit and admiral de
intelligence was, by its female emissary, immediately
he English court. The information, though but
isted with the contempt which this conduct




































A. • >HA A . BEH N. 1. so .
A humourous account is given in one of this lady’s letters,
of a new lover, whom her charms had captivated, a kinsman
to Albert, whom she calls Van Bruin. This Dutch gallant had
been introduced by Albert to Mrs. Behn, with a commission
to furnish her, in his absence, with money, or any other ac-
commodation for which she might have occasion. Van Bruin,
of whom a curious description is given, conceived the idea of
supplanting his kinsman, during his absence, in the affections
of his fair mistress, whose heart he assails in an epistle too
characteristic to be omitted: “He had often strove (he says)
to tell her the tempests of his heart, and with his own mouth
to scale the walls of her affections; but, terrified with the
strength of her fortifications, he concluded to make more re-
gular approaches, and first attack her at a further distance, and
try what a bombardment of letters would effect; whether these
es of love, thrown into the sconces of her eyes, would
ato the midst of her breast, bear down the courtguard
version, and blow up the magazine of her cruelty,
might be brought to a capitulation, and yield upon
lable terms.” He then considers her ‘as a goodly ship,
under sail; her hair as the pennants, her forehead the prow,
her eyes the guns, her nose the rudder, &c.’ He desires to be
‘the pilot to steer her, by the cape of Good Hope, for the In-
dies of love.’ 3. . . . . . . . .
%
To this gallantry a suitable reply is returned by the lady,
who rallies her lover on his setting out on a voyage so unpro-
fitable, the expenses of which she humourously enumerates:
“Ribbands and hoods for her pennants; diamond-rings,
lockets, and pearl neck-laces, for her artillery of offence and
defence; silks, holland, lawn, cambric, &c. for her rigging.”
The gallant Van Bruin, not thus to be discouraged, offers her,
in return, a carte blanche, and proposes a visit to her the same
evening, to sign articles of capitulation. His dulcinea, to avert
the threatened interview, writes him a second billet, and,
while she affects not to discourage his attack, tells him,
that, “though she fears his deluding tongue will remove all
her objections, yet she must defer the settling of articles till
their plenipotentiaries can meet, and proceed regularly on
preliminaries at the place of conference, &c.” The rem
of this singular warfare is thus ludicrously described:













gine to yourself,” says she, in a letter to a friend, “an old,
overgrown, unwieldy Dutchman, playing over awkwardly all
that he supposed would make him agreeable to me; endea-
vouring to conceal his age by dress, peruke, and clumsy.
gaiety : expressing his respect with such comic cringes 5. strange
gling, and fantastic address, that, say what he would, it was
Og
impossible to assume a serious aspect; his person and manner
turned everything into farce. There was no gallantry per-
formed by the young men of the city that he did not affect;
even poetry, which might, for aught I know, being in his own
language, be very extraordinary.” - x
Mrs. Behn, having for some time amused herself with this
uncouth Corydon, began to find at length, from the presump-
tion of her swain, that she had carried the jest a little too far.
No circumstance of personal ridicule can be an excuse for
sporting with the feelings of another. The lady found
compelled to disclose the frailty and treachery of his
Albert, whom (incensed at the presumption of his fo
. rival) she found some difficulty in appeasing : Van I
fused to relinquish his pretensions, and challanged F
man, in high language, to snickor-snee; nor could he be qui-
eted till dismissed in form by the fair object of their conten-
It is asserted by the writer of Mrs. Behn's Memoirs, that
she contrived to shew her gratitude to Vander Albert, for his
services, by an ingenious stratagem, without injury to her
honour. She had been warned of the levity and instability of
her lover by a lady of Antwerp, whom he had married, and
eserted on the day of his nuptials: availing herself of the
wledge of this circumstance, Mrs. Behn substituted the
aken bride, Catilina, in a private interview which she had
o the solicitation of the capricious bridegroom. The
eding, the meetings were repeated, till the deception
d; when a scheme of revenge, not less delicate and
f kindness and benevolence, had
with whom she sometimes
ewoman was bribed by Al
ight-clothes, to usurp I
ointed for the execution of the en-
Mrs. Be fro º
an old lady t
13

































terprise, Mrs. Behn had engaged to sup at the house of a mer-
chant in the city. The son of her host, with his two sisters, at-
tended her on her return home, when, the spirit of frolic seiz-
ing the party, it was proposed by the brother to place himself
in the bed of his fair friend, by the side of the old lady, where
his gay companions, entering with lights, were to affect to
surprise him. The consequences, and mutual discoveries, may
be conjectured: the adventure terminated in the disgraceful
dismission of the matron, and a compromise between the
mortified lover and Mrs. Behn; who promised, it is said, to
recompense his fidelity and disappointments on her return to
England, by giving him her hand at the altar. What was to
become of the former marriage on this occasion, or how a
dispensation was to be obtained, we are not informed. But
these difficulties were obviated by the subsequent fate of
; who, returning to Holland, to prepare for his voyage,
zed with a fever, of which he expired at Amsterdam.
Behn, embarking at Dunkirk for England, escaped
culty a catastrophe no less tragical; the ship, driven
oast, foundered in the sight of land: the passengers
being saved by boats from the shore, our heroine arrived safe
in London, where the remainder of her life appears to have
been devoted to pleasure and the muses.
Three volumes of miscellaneous poems were published by º
Mrs. Behn: the first in 1684; the second in 1685; the third
in 1688. In these volumes, mingled with her own productions,
were songs, and other light pieces, by the earl of Rochester,
sir George Etherage, Mr. Henry Crisp, &c. Annexed to the
second volume, is a translation of the duke de Rochefoucault’s
“Moral Reflections,” under the title of “Seneca Unmasked.”
Mrs. Behn was also the author of seventeen plays: viz. “The
Rover, or the Spanish Cavalier,” in two parts, comedies, acted
2 . º 2 y "2 &
at the Duke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1677 and 1681. These º
comedies are taken in part from Killigrew’s “Don Thomaso,
or the Wanderer.” “The Dutch Lover,” a comedy; printed
in 4to, 1673; acted at the Duke's theatre: the plot founded
on a Spanish romance, entitled “ Don Jenise,” by don Fran-
cisco de las Coveras. “Abdelaza, or the Moor's Revenge,” a
agedy, acted at the Dºke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1
from an old play of Marlo's, printed in 1661, entit











inion, or the Lascivious Queen,” a
“Lust's Dom
-- > 3. a tragedy. “The
e,” a tragi-comedy, acted at
wºva cº-vvai ivºry 5 wºuvu the
Duke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1683, dedicated to a friend,
under the name of Philaster: the design taken from the story
of Alcamenes and Menalippa, in Calprenede’s “Cleopatra.”
“The Round-heads, or the good old Cause!” a comedy, acted
at the Duke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1682; dedicated to
Henry Fitz Roy, duke of Grafton: part of the dialogue
borrowed from John Tateham’s “Rump, or a Mirror of the
Times.” “The City Heiress, or Sir Timothy Treatall,” a co-
medy, acted at the Duke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1682; dedi-
cated to Henry earl of Arundel, and lord Mowbray: the
characters principally taken from Middleton’s “Mad-world,
my Masters,” or from Massinger's “Guardians.” This play
was well received. “The Town Fop, or Sir Timothy Taw-
dry,” a comedy, acted at the Duke's theatre; printed in 4tg
1677: founded on a comedy by George Wilkins,
“The Miseries of enforced Marriage.” “The Fals
or a New Way to play an Old Game,” a comedy, act
• Duke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1682: partly taken from Mo-
liere’s “Precieuses Ridicules.” “The Lucky Chance, or an
Alderman's Bargain,” a comedy, acted by the King's company;
printed in 4to, 1687; dedicated to Hyde, earl of Rochester.
This play incurred the censure of the critics. “Forced Mar-
riage, or the Jealous Bridegroom,” a tragi-comedy, acted at
the Duke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1671. “Sir Patient Fancy,”
a comedy, acted at the Duke's theatre; printed in 4to, 1678:
the character of sir, Patient from Moliere’s “Malade Imagi-
naire.” “The Widow-ranter, or the History of Bacon in Vir-
ginia,” a tragi-comedy, acted by the King's company; printed
in 4to, 1690: the catastrophe founded on the story of Cassius,
who died by the hand of his freed-man. Published after the
death of Mrs. Behn, by G. J. a friend. “The Feigned Cour-
tezan, or a Night's Intrigue,” a comedy, acted at the Duke's
theatr inted in 4to, 1679; dedicated to the celebrated
Eleanor Gwin, the mistress of Charles II. This wº sº º 'º º
icted at the Queen's theatre; printed in 4to







































APHARA BEHN. . 193
alans le Monde de la Lune; acted at Paris more than eighty
nights successively. “The Amorous Prince, or the Curious
Husband,” a comedy acted at the Duke’s theatre; printed in
4to, 1671: taken from the “Curious Impertinent,” a novel, in
Don Quixote. “The Younger Brother, or the Amorous Jilt,”
a comedy; published by Mr. Gildon, after the author’s death:
taken from a story founded on fact. These plays, excepting
the last, were collected and published in two vols. 8vo, and a
later edition, including the “Younger Brother,” in 1724, in
in four vols. 12mo.
Mrs. Behn also wrote several histories and novels, in two
vols. 12mo: the eighth edition, published by Mr. Charles
Gildon, London, 1735, dedicated to Simon Scroop, esq. To
these volumes is prefixed the memoirs of the author, written
by a lady. In this publication is her “History of Oroonoka,
or the Royal Slave,” founded on facts which occurred during
residence of the writer at Surinam. From this story
rne took his celebrated play. In the epistle dedicatory,
sses his obligations to Mrs. Behn, and his surprise
hat, with her dramatic powers, she had not herself “revived
her favourite hero in the scene.” This omission he imputes to
her sensibility and interest in the story, to which he observes,
that she did yet more justice by her voice and manner when
relating it, than even by her pen. Among her novels and sto-
ries, some are translations, which may be distinguished by the
reader from those which are original, by consulting the second
and third volumes of “Le Recueil des Pièces gallantes, en
Prose et en Vers,” Paris, 1684, 8vo. M. Fontenelle’s “ History
of Oracles, and Plurality of Worlds,” was also translated by
Mrs. Behn. This performance, though not without error, the
writer being but little conversant with its principles and philo-
sophy, is said to have some merit. In her essay on translation, x
she ventures beyond her depth, in attempting to obviate some
objections of the author relative to the sciences, and the Jewish
Scriptures. She also endeavours to prove, though probably an
incompetent judge, that the French is of all languages the
most difficult to render in Engish. The paraphrase of the
epistle of Enone to Paris, in the English translation of Ovid's
epistles, is likewise by this lady. Mr. Dryden, in his preface
to the work, thus compliments M lehn on her version: “I
Vol. I. 2 B







was desired to say that the author, who is of the fair sex, un-
derstood not Latin. But if she does not, I am afraid she has
given us occasion to be ashamed who do.” The celebrated
love-letters between a nobleman and his sister (London 1684),
are also paraphrased by Mrs. Behn. .
By her talents she acquired the acquaintance and esteem of
the wits and poets of the age, Dryden, Southerne, Charles
Cotton, &c. She was more than suspected of gallantry, to
which by her beauty, her genius, and her situation, she was
peculiarly exposed. Some letters, addressed to a gentleman,
whom she poetically calls Lycidas, are printed in her Memoirs:
this attachment appears to have been not less tender and ar-
dent than unfortunate. * .
April 16th, 1689, after a lingering illness, Mrs. Behn ex-
pired, and was interred in the cloisters in Westminster abbey.
On a plain black marble stone, which covers her grave, is the
following inscription: º .
Here lies a proof that wit can never be
Defence enough against mortality;
Great poetess—oh thy stupendous lays
The world admires, and the Muses praise.
Much cannot be said in favour either of the trite informa-
tion conveyed in the former lines of this curious epitaph, or
the elegance of those which follow. It is said by Mr. Lang-
baine, the contemporary of Mrs. Behn, with more modesty,
and greater truth, ‘that her memory will long be cherished
among the lovers of the drama.” The majority of her come-
dies were successful: she seems to have been a plagiarist,
rather from haste than sterility of imagination, being at times
compelled to write by pressing and urgent necessity.
She received the incense and compliments of the men of
literature of her times, among whom may be reckoned Mr.
Charles Cotton, who prefixed to her “Lover's Watch” some
§: ary lines. Mr. Charles Gildon, with whom she lived
of friendship, observes, “that she extorted admiration
ining the force and gaiety of her genius in the midst
º: “She had great strength of mind
culties; being able to write in the midst
he same time, take a share in the con-
though reprehensible for their licen-
*
















APHARA BEHN. 195
tiousness, abound in the language of passion. Her personal
qualities are thus described by the writer of her Memoirs:
“She had an open, generous temper, somewhat choleric, yet
friendly and placable, incapable of doing a wilful injury. She
had wit, honour, good-nature, and judgment; mistress of the
arts of conversation, yet frank and sincere; a woman of sense,
and a lover of pleasure; more gay and free than allowed by
the strict, yet without transgressing the rules of modesty.”
The last commendation, however applicable to her manners
and conversation, cannot, it is to be regretted, be extended to
her writings. Her comedies and novels, with the exception of
Oroonoka, do not serve the cause of virtue; yet something
must be allowed for the manners of the times, the example of
the first writers, and the contagion of the court.
In a manuscript of Mr. Oldy, an attachment is mentioned
between Mrs. Behn and Mr. Hoyle, a gentleman of Gray’s-
Inn, who is thought to have assisted her in their literary studies.
Whether this gentleman was the Lycidas of whose unkindness
and coldness she afterwards complains, appears, though pro-
bable, to be uncertain. She is thus spoken of by Mr. Oldy: “Her
capacity is allowed superior to most of hersex who have ventur-
ed before the public. She had a command of expression, and a
pregnant fancy. She wrote with facility, spirit, and warmth;
more especially on amatory subjects: she may be called the
English Sappho. She was a graceful, comely woman, with
brown hair, and a piercing eye; she had a happy manner of
terminating any disputes that might arise in conversation,
abounding in agreeable repartee, and in judgment in timing
her retorts. She was between forty and fifty years of age at
the time of her death, which was hastened by an injudicious
physician. Beside other works, she is said to have translated
from the Latin, the last book of Mr. Cowley's poem on plants.
This appears inconsistent with Mr. Dryden's declaration
in the preface to the epistles of Ovid, that the writer of the
“Paraphrase of the Letter of Enone to Paris” understood
not the original language. . º.º.º.º.º.
* Biographia Britannica—Biographium Famineum, &c.



t 196 | ~~
BRIDGET BENDISH.
BRIDGET BENDIs H, grand-daughter to Oliver Cromwell,
bore a greater resemblance to him in her character and counte-
nance than any of his decendants. She appeared alternately
with the dignity of a princess, and the activity and diligence
of a woman of business. She managed the salt works with in-
telligence and industry: after have fatigued herself with exer-
tion, she was careless how she fared, or where she slept. Her
presence of mind never deserted her, nor was she ever known
to betray a symptom of fear. She would frequently spend the
day in labour, and in the evening appear at the Yarmouth as-
sembly (in the neighbourhood of which she lived), where, by
the granduer of her deportment, and the superiority of her
talents, she never failed to attract attention, and command
respect. &
Her negligence of veracity in common conversation was
notorious: yet she was never known to break a promise. Her
benevolence, which appeared to be a virtue of feeling rather
than of principle, was exercised without discrimination, on all
occasions, and in all places; and not unfrequently to the pre-
judice of her justice. Her piety rose to enthusiasm: on import-
ant occasions, she was accustomed to retire to her closet, and,
by fasting, meditation, and prayer, exalt her feelings to a
visionary kind of insanity, in which situation, if any portion of
the Scriptures occurred to her recollection, regarding it as a
revelation, she made it the inflexible rule of her conduct.
She would at times flatter, dissemble, and prevaricate, to
promote a sinister purpose, and even on very little and con-
temptible occasions. So glaring were the inconsistences of her
character, that she was at once the admiration and the jest of
her friends and her domestics; by whom she was, nevertheless,
regarded as a superior woman, and an excellent mistress.
great veneration to the memory of her grand-
father, whom she considered as a consummate hero, and a
be ified saint. She died about 1727. The foregoing account
extraordinary woman, is extracted from a character
her by Mr. Samuel Say, a dissenting minister, and ,







{ 197 )
BERENICE
THE passion of Titus for Berenice, the daughter of the first
Agrippa, king of Judea, has afforded a theme both to histori-
ans and poets. Berenice was betrothed in early youth to Marc,
the son of Alexander Lysmachus Alabarche, who died before the
completion of the marriage. She soon after espoused Herod,
her uncle, who, at the request of Agrippa, was, by the emperor
Claudius, made king of Chalcis. At the death of her father,
Berenice was only sixteen years of age. In the eight year of
the emperor Claudius, she also lost her husband. She was
suspected, during her widowhood, of incest with her brother
Agrippa; an accusation which seems to have determined her
to engage in a second marriage. With this view, she caused it
to be signified to Polemon, king of Cilicia, that, on condition
of his embracing Judaism, she was willing to become his wife.
Polemon, allured by the wealth of the Jewish princess, over-
looked the censures cast on her conduct, and determined to
espouse her. The union lasted but a short time: Berenice soon
deserted the husband she had chosen, who, having lost the lady,
returned to his former faith. 3.
To conform to the ceremonials of religion is less difficult
than to practise the precepts of morality; the principles of rea-
son and virtue make but few proselytes; a religion addressed
to the senses will always be popular; the profligate life of
Berenice rendered her not less scrupulous in the practice of
the Jewish observances. To accomplish a vow, she made a
journey to Jerusalem, where, submitting to the customs im-
posed on persons who came to sacrifice, she spent thirty days
in supplication and prayer; abstaining from wine, and having
her head shaved. She suffered from the Roman soldiers, while
performing these ceremonies, a thousand indignities and
affronts; her life was even endangered by their outrages. In
vain did she go barefoot to intercede with the governor Florus
for her people: she obtained nothing; even the civilities due to
her sex and quality were denied her. She still, however, pre-
served the favour of her brother Agrippa, whom she assisted
in his design of preventing the destruction of the Jews, by ex-
horting them to submit to the Roman power.


19s catHERINE BERNARD.
But these exhortations, though accompanied with tears,
proving ineffectual, Berenice, either to make an essay of her
talents, or to avoid being involved in the ruin of her nation,
determined to apply to Titus and Vespasian. She accordingly
repaired to Rome, with her brother Agrippa, in the fourth
consulship of Vespasian. Having gained Vespasian by her
liberalities, and softened the heart of Titus by her personal
charms, she was lodged in the palace, and treated with distin-
guished honours. The enamoured Titus, fascinated by the graces
of the daughter of Judea, meditated to espouse her, and raise
her to the imperial throne; but the murmurs of the Roman
people frustrated this design. To allay their indignation, Titus
was compelled to sacrifice his mistress, with a promise that,
in future, when the tumult should be appeased, he would recal
her to Rome, and fulfil his engagement. This parting has
given a subject for the drama: the struggles between love and
ambition, in the story of Titus and Berenice, were, in the
fourteenth century, pathetically delineated upon the French
stage, in rival pieces, by Corneille and Racine.
It is asserted by some historians, that Berenice returned a
second time to Rome, and was again banished by Titus. Be-
renice is mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, 25th chapter,
as coming with her brother Agrippa to Caesaria to salute Festus,
and being desirous of hearing Paul, then a prisoner to Festus.
. Josephus—Bayle's Historical Dictionary.
& <2%.93%
CATHERINE BERNARD.
Carh ERINE BERNARD is celebrated at Rouen, which gave
her birth, for her talents and accomplishments. Having left
her native place, and established herself at Paris, she was dis-
tinguished and courted by the men of wit and letters of the
imes. She composed for the theatre two tragedies: “Léoda-
nted in 1690, which was received but indifferently;
s,” printed in 1691, which met with great applause.
ages in these pieces were attributed by the journa-
Fontenelle, with whom mademoiselle Bernard lived in
friendship. She renounced the theatre by the advice
me la Chanceliere de Pontchartrain, by whom she was
much esteemed, and who settled on her a pension. Catherine













JULIANA BERNERs. 199
Bernard carried away three times the poetical prizes at the
French academy, in the years 1691, 1695, and 1697. She was
also crowned with flowers three times at Toulouse.
Her placet to Lewis XIV. to petition for two hundred
crowns, the annual gratification granted her by that prince, is
distinguished for its spirit and excellence. It is to be found in
“Le Recueil de Vers Choisés, du Père Bonhours.” Two roman-
ces are ascribed to this lady: “The Count d'Amboisé,” and
“Ines de Cordova.” The account of the isle of Borneo, has
also been attributed to her by some journalists, while others
have given it to Fontenelle.
Towards the end of her life, she suppressed, from scruples
of conscience, many poetical pieces which she had composed
in her youth; and, though offered for them a considerable sum
of money, persisted in her refusal. Her poems are scattered
among different collections. Mademoiselle Bernard was re-
ceived, on account of her merit, in l’Académie des Ricovrati, at
Padua. She died at Paris in 1712.
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes célèbres—Biographium
Foemineum, &c.
JULIANA BERNERs, or BARNES.
JULIANA BERNERs, one of the earliest female writers in
this country, daughter of sir James, and sister of Richard
lord Berners, was born at Roding in Essex, about the latter
end of the fourteenth, or the beginning of the fifteenth, century.
If, as is generally agreed, Juliana was indeed the daughter of
sir James Berners, her birth could have been but little after
the year 1388, in which sir James was beheaded, with other
favourites and corrupt ministers of Richard II.
Juliana received every advantage of education which the
age afforded; she is, by various writers, celebrated for her ac-
complishments, learning, and uncommon endowments. She
was nominated prioress of Sopewell nunnery, near St. Alban's,
to which it belonged; where in 1460 she was still living and
She is represented as having been beautiful, high-spirited,
fond of active exercises, hunting, hawking, &c. She composed





200 JULIANA BERNERs.
two treatises on hawking and heraldry; subjects apparently but
little suited to her sex and profession. “From an abbess, dis-
posed to turn author,” observes Mr. Warton, “we might more
reasonably have expected a manual of meditations. But the
diversions of the field were not, in those times, thought incon-
sistent with the character of a religious lady of her eminent
rank, who, in respect of exercising an extensive manorial ju-
risdiction, resembled an abbot, and who hawked and hunted
in common with other ladies of distinction.”
The treatises of Juliana were, for the popularity of the
subjects, so much esteemed, as to have been published in the
infancy of the art of printing. The first edition, said to have
been printed at St. Alban's, 1481, was certainly printed there
in 1486, in small folio, and also at Westminster in 4to, by W.
de Worde, in 1496. Among the books of Cryne, in the Bod-
leian library, is a black-letter copy of this work, “Imprynted
at London, in Paul's church-yard, by me Hary Tab.” It was
again printed with wooden cuts, without date, by W. Copland,
and entitled “The book of hawking, hunting, and fishing, with
all the properties and medecynes that are necessary to be
kept.” The tract on armory, which appears to have been in-
serted that the work might contain a complete course of edu-
cation for a gentleman, is here omitted. The same title is in
W. Powel’s edition, 1550. The last impression was in 4to,
London, 1595, bearing the following title: “The Gentleman’s
Academie, or the Book of St. Alban's: containing three most
exact and excellent books; the first of hawking, the second of
all the proper terms of hunting, and the last of armory: all
compiled by Juliana Berners, in the year, from the incarnation
of Christ, 1486; and now reduced into better method by G. M.”
. This editor probably mistakes in representing the work as
composed in 1486, when the author, if supposed alive, must at
least have been at a very advanced age, admitting her birth in
388, the year of her father's death. In the colophon at the
end of the St. Alban's edition, is the following expression:
“And here now endith the boke of blasyng of armys, transla-
tyt & com pylyt togedyr at Saynt Albons, the yere from thyn-
carnacyon of our Lorde the Sucrist, M, cocc, Lxxxvi.”
3 ::::::::.. hat can be hence inferred is, that the part of the work
ng to heraldry was not drawn up by Juliana; though the













BLANCHE OF CASTILE. 201
whole treatise is usually ascribed to her, it is observed, that
her name is affixed only to the books on hawking and hunting;
that what relates to the “blasing of arms,” contains no more
than abstracts from a performance of Nicolas Upton, “De re
militari, et factis illustribus,” written about 1441. That part of
the work which relates to heraldry, if compiled so late as
in 1486, was probably added by another hand. The discourse
on hunting is in rhyme, in which, assuming the title of dame,
she speaks in her own person. The whole is suspected by
Warton to be a translation from the French or Latin. Many
of the expressions used by the lady in this work, appear but
little suited to the delicacy of her sex, or the dignity of her
station, and must be imputed to the barbarism of the times.
The period of her decease is undetermined.
Ballard–Bayle—Tanner—Biographium Foemineum,
% ãº.
BLANCHE OF CASTILE.
BLANCHE, daughter of Alphonsus the Magnificent, the
ninth king of Castile, and of Eleanor, daughter of Henry I.
king of England, was the second of eleven children. She was
educated by her mother, a sensible and prudent princess, with
great care and attention, and gave early presages of a superior
mind. In the bloom of her youth, she became the pledge of
peace between two great and rival nations.
England and France had for more than a century been in-
volved, by jealousy and ambition, in long and cruel wars. A
truce between the two kingdoms had been procured by the
negociation of cardinal de Capone, the pope's legate. But
Philip Augustus, king of France, under the pretence, that
little dependence was to be placed on the light and capricious
character of his rival John, king of England, believed himself,
with a curious casuistry, justifiable, on the principles of state
morality, to take an advantage of the intestine commotions of
England, and to violate the truce. The fruit of this breach of
faith was the conquest of Normandy, and the re-union of that
rich province to the crown of France, from which it had been,
for three hundred years, dismembered. John, alarmed by the
Vol. I. 2 C *

202 BLANCE E OF CASTILE.
progress of the French arms, hastened to propose an accorn-
modation to the conqueror; of which one of the principal
articles was a treaty of marriage between Lewis, the eldest
son of Philip, and Blanche of Castile, niece to the English
monarch. John, having charged himself with this negociation,
prevailed on his mother, Eleanor of Acquitaine, grandmother
to the princess, to take a journey to Spain, and demand in
person the daughter of Alphonsus. Eleanor was received in
the court of Castile with respect and pleasure; the treaty
entered into by her son was ratified; and Blanche committed
to her care, to be conducted to Bourdeaux, on her way to the
French court. Having thus performed her commission, Elea-
nor retired into the abbey of Fontevrault, where she passed
the remainder of her days.
From Bourdeaux, the young princess, attended by her
suite, was, by Elie the archbishop, led into Normandy, where
the king of England awaited her. The peace was signed
towards the end of June, or the beginning of July, 1200; and
* the nuptial ceremony immediately performed. Philip, with the
new-married pair, returned soon after to the capital; where
the talents and beauty of Blanche rendered her the ornament
and admiration of the court.
z In 1205 she brought into the world a daughter, and some
years afterwards gave birth to a son, Philip, who died in his
infancy. In 1215 her second son, Lewis, was born at the
chateau of Poissi. It is recorded in honour of the piety of this
princess, that, during the pains of child-birth, perceiving, by
the sound of the bells, that her chamber was near the church
of Poissi, she ordered herself to be removed, at the risque of
her life, lest she should occasion any disturbance or interrup-
ion to the service. .
By the birth of Lewis, Blanche was, in some measure,
expired in October, 1214; her mother survived him only
five-and-twenty days. The same year a victory was gained
by Philip of France over the emperor Otho and his allies.
Lewis also triumphed at Anjou over the English, who had
renewed the war.
In 1216 the English, who had shaken off the yoke of John,
offered to Lewis, as nephew of the king of England by his
soled for the death of her parents: Alphonsus, her father
§











BLANCHE OF CASTILE. 203
marriage with Blanche, the regal authority. The prince,
having accepted the invitation, repaired to England to take
possession of his dignity; but, fifteen months afterwards, on
the death of John, resigned the crown to his rightful heirs.
During this interval, the decease of the infant Henry, only
son of Alphonsus, opened, in favour of Blanche, the succession
to the throne of Castile; her right, as eldest daughter of the
king, was clear and indisputable; but, by the credit and pre-
sence of Berengere, her younger sister, already regent of Cas-
tile, and queen of Leon, the legitimate claim of Blanche was
superseded. Lewis, though invited by many of the nobles and
grandees to take possession of the patrimony of his wife, ne-
glected at the time their offers of service, in pursuit of what he
believed to be a more certain advantage in England; and, on
his return to France, reluctant or hopeless of imposing laws on
a people who had chosen for themselves a sovereign, he satis-
fied himself with preferring his claim, and transmitting it to
his posterity. -
Blanche, who lived with her husband in harmony and af-
fection, was, by the children she had borne to the state, en-
deared to France. July 14th, 1223, on the death of Philip, she
ascended, with Lewis, the throne, and was crowned at
Rheims. During the three following years several signal ad-
vantages were gained over the English, by the young mo-
march: Rochelle, considered as impregnable, yielded to the
force of his arms. Blanche beloved by her husband, and in
whom he confided, shared in his prosperity and in his tri-
umphs; while, through her mediation, every favour and every
grace was conferred. § . . . ;
In 1226, after a series of victory and success, the king,
during his absence from the queen, in the city of Pamiers, in
the county of Foix, was seized with a severe malady, which
baffled the skill of his physicians. Impatient to return to his
native air, and to the cares and tenderness of his wife, he pro-
ceeded by hasty stages to Montpensier, in Lower Auvergne,
in his way to Paris, where, becoming worse, he was compelled
to remain. Perceiving the approach of death, he prepared him-
self for his fate; and, having appointed the queen regent to the
kingdom, and guardian and preceptress to her son, he expired,
November 7th, in the fortieth year of his age.

BLANCHE of cASTILE.
Blanche, justified by her conduct, in these trying circum-
stances, the confidence reposed in her by her deceased hus-
band. Her choice in her counsellors, the vigour of her admi-
nistration, and the care with which she superintended the
education of her son, combined to endear her to the people.
Lewis IX. then in his twelfth year, was, by the laws of
France in those times, considered as a minor till he should at-
tain the age of twenty-one. The duration of the regency, and
the turbulence of the times, afforded to Blanche an opportunity
of displaying her courage and talents for government. The
young king was scarcely crowned (December, 1226), when a
civil war broke out: the princes and nobles, under the pre-
tence that the regency was unjustly trusted to a woman and a
foreigner, confederated together against the queen-mother.
Blanche, by her firmness, her courage, and her prudence, de-
feated the machinations of her enemies, and triumphed over
all opposition. If she has been accused of having availed her-
self of her beauty and address in this dangerous conjuncture,
let it be remembered, that on an elevation thus exposed, and
surrounded by adversaries, it was scarcely possible to escape
calumny; yet no facts have been proved against her.
To settle the disputes which embroiled the nation, she
summoned a parliament, or general assembly of the people, to
which the princes of the blood, the barons, and principal lords,
were invited; and on the 16th of March, 1226, a treaty of re-
conciliation was effected.
Thibault, earl of Champagne, had long professed himself
the lover of Blanche: little solicitous to conceal his admira--
tion, he had composed in her praise innumerable sonnets, in
which he celebrated her merit and her charms, while he dis-
played his passion by a thousand extravagances. The regent
availed herself of the devotion of her lover to draw him from
the cabal formed against her; while, abusing her power over
his mind, she demanded, as a proof of his zeal and attach-
ment, that, disguising his purpose, he should mingle with the
--~~le. and betray to her their projects and motions.
mptitude and obedience of the earl preserved the
een from an ambuscade, in which it was proposed to seize
the person of her son. The fidelity of Thibault was rewarded
by Blanche with acknowledgments, with confidence, and with









BLANCHE of castile. 205
hopes that flattered his ambition rather than his love. If the
presumption of the earl excited him to expect a different
recompense, there is no evidence on which to found an im-
peachment of the honour of the queen; yet, in circumstances
thus delicate, it may be believed that slander would not spare
the woman.
Not satisfied with misinterpreting her most innocent words
and actions, her enemies dared to call in question her materna
affection; they even loudly proclaimed, that, with a view of
retaining the reins of government in her hands, she had suf
fered the morals of her son to be corrupted, that, in the blan-
dishments of pleasure, he might become regardless of the
affairs of state. A monk, influenced by these calumnies, re-
ported them to the queen, whom he harshly reproved for her
guilt and ambition. Blanche, magnanimously admitting his
zeal as an excuse for his presumption, bore his remonstrances
with temper and patience, while she completely justified herself
and the king. The exemplary conduct of this monarch, in a
luxurious court, had afforded in itself, to the candid inquirer, a
refutation of these malicious tales. . gº
By the policy and address of the regent, the Abigeos, whom
the arms of Philip had in vain opposed, were conciliated, and
reconciled to the church. During the time of war, she visited
the camp in person, surveyed the quarters of the soldiers, and
attended to their wants, while she manifested, on every exi-
gency, equal fortitude, ability, and resource. The period of
the regency was a warfare of contending and successive fac-
tions, which, by the spirit and vigour of Blanche, were by turns
subdued. The last years of her power were employed in ap-
peasing the troubles of the state, in exertions of activity,
benevolence, and justice. In 1234 she effected a truce of three
years with England, and negociated a marriage between her
son and Margaret, eldest daughter of the count of Provence.
Lewis having, in the following year, attained the age of twenty-
one, Blanche surrendered into his hands the sovereign autho-
rity, which she had exercised with so much skill and success.
The king entertained for his mother the affection and
respect which were her due, and which her cares and ten-
derness for him more particularly merited. She had performed
for him in his infancy, with peculiar tenacity, the duties of a

206 BLANCHE OF CASTILE.
nurse, of which the following anecdote is recorded: A lady
of the court, who, in imitation of her royal mistress, nursed
her own child, took upon her, during a severe indisposition of
the queen, to relieve the wants of the prince, who languished
for his accustomed nourishment. Blanche, on reviving, having
called for her son, put him to the breast, when the child, al-
ready satisfied, refused the feverish milk. The queen, suspect-
ing what had passed, affected a desire to see and thank the
person who had performed for the young Lewis this maternal
office. The lady, summoned to the chamber of her mistress,
confessed the fact, alleging, that she had been moved by the
cries of the infant prince. Blanche, without speaking, darted a
scornful glance towards her officious proxy, and compelled the
child to throw back the milk he had swallowed, declaring, ‘that
no other woman should dare to dispute with her the title of
mother to her son.’
Her spirit and talents, the services which, by her sagacity
and fortitude, she had performed to the state, added to the
care and attention with which she had superintended his edu-
cation, gave to her a great ascendency over the mind of the
king, of which she sometimes made an improper use. Having
conceived some dislike and jealousy towards the princess
whom he had espoused, she endeavoured to sow dissension
between the royal pair, and, failing in this purpose, to separate
them from each other. During a dangerous illness of the young
queen, she was deprived by Blanche of the visits and atten-
tions of her husband. Lewis, at length, evading the observa-
tion of his mother, secretly repaired to the apartment of his
wife: he was here surprised by Blanche, who led him in silence
from the chamber. The queen, affected by the pusillanimity
of her husband, and the tyranny of his mother, fainted in the
arms of her attendants; when Lewis, apprehensive of fatal
consequences, assumed a more becoming spirit, and, breaking
from Blanche, insisted on returning to revive and console his
wife. These dissensions between two women, both of whom
were tenderly beloved, gave to the king great disquietude.
Being engaged in a crusade to the Holy Land, he determined
to take with him the queen, and, with the title of regent, to
leave the government in the hands of his mother. The
maternal tenderness of Blanche, on this occasion, vanquishing




BLANCHE OF CASTILE. 207
her ambition, she omitted no argument to dissuade her son
from his romantic and perilous expedition. .
In her second regency, which commenced in June, 1248,
she was not less distinguished for skill and prudence than dur-
ing the minority of her son. The kingdom, suffering at this
period, from the fury of fanaticism, and the domination of
the priesthood, vigorous measures had become necessary.
The inhabitants of Chatenai, and various other towns, had, on
arbitrary pretences, been imprisoned by the chapter of Paris.
The deplorable vassalage of the country was such, that the
people were sold as dependences with their lands. A crowd of
victims, wanting even the necessaries of life, languished in the
prisons of the chapter. Blanche, touched with their situation,
signified her desire that they might be released upon bail, assur-
ing the chapter, while she urged her request, that she would
herself investigate the affair, and do them all manner of justice.
The priests, incensed at an interference from the civil power,
alleged in reply, that the prisoners, whose lives they held at
their disposal, were their subjects, over whom no other person
had any authority. In defiance of Blanche, and in proof of the
power which they thus asserted and abused, they seized also
on the women and children, whom they had before spared.
The sufferings of the prisoners being thus aggravated, many of
them perished with famine and pestilential disorders. .
The regent, indignant at a despotism thus insolent and
inhuman, determined to use, with these merciless oppressors,
the last argument of force. Proceeding with her guards to the
prison gates, she commanded them to be opened. The soldiers
hesitating to obey her, she struck, with a stick she held in her
hand, the first blow. The stroke being instantly seconded, the
gates were destroyed in a moment, when a crowd of miserable
wretches, their faces squalid and disfigured, and their garments
tattered, came forth. Casting themselves at the feet of the
queen, they implored her protection, without which the grace
she had conferred on them would serve but to aggravate their
distress. Blanche, having promised to grant their request,
took effectual measures for the fulfilment of her engagement.
Seizing upon the revenues of the chapter, she compelled their
submission, and even obliged them to affranchise the inhabi-
tants for a certain yearly stipend. Such affranchisements either
commenced or became common on this occasion.

20s BLANCHE of cASTILE.
Having thus acquitted herself in circumstances of delicacy
and difficulty, she lived not to see the return of her son, who
had fallen into the hands of the enemy in Palestine. His
mother received the news of his captivity with a sorrow that
materially affected her health; but though in a weak and lan-
guishing condition, she omitted no means of providing for the
safety of the kingdom, which the misfortunes of the monarch
seemed to menace; while she hastened to send into Egypt im-
mense sums for his ransom.
In 1251, the return of the counts de Poitou and d’Anjou,
the brothers of the king, revived her hopes; but the contents of
the letters they delived to her from Lewis, which declared his
resolution to remain in the East, till the affairs of the christians
should be retrieved, and their lost advantages regained, again
sunk her spirits in dejection. In these letters he demanded of
his mother new succours of men and money. Blanche, though
originally disapproving the wild and romantic expedition of her
son, stifled in her heart the sorrow she felt in his desperate
perseverance, and wisely exerted herself to mitigate an evil
which admitted not of a cure. She summoned, with whatever
reluctance, the nobles of the kingdom, with orders, under
penalty of the confiscation of their lands, to hasten to Palestine,
to the succour of their king.
In the mean time, by her spirit and prudence, she quelled
and dissipated a troop of fanatics, who under pretence of
avenging the outrages done to Lewis, committed ravages and
disorders through the provinces. . .
Her health, amidst these anxieties and cares, continuing to
decline, she was advised by her physicians to quit Paris, and
respire a purer air. In the autumn of 1253, having chosen
Melun for her residence, she quitted the capital. A slow, but
continued fever now seized her: perceiving her dissolution draw
near, she caused herself to be reconveyed to Paris, where she
expired at sixty-eight years of age.
Žiš Lewis received the news of her death with unfeigned grief,
even the queen shed tears, and appeared to be affected. The
sire de Janville taking the liberty to call in question the since-
rity of her grief—“I weep not,’ replied she meekly “the death
of Blanche, but the sorrow of my husband, and the fate of my
daughter, who, by this event, is left in the guardianship of





ELIZABETH BLAND. 200
The queen-regent, in the spirit of the times, had been en-
rolled in the third order of St. Francis; a few days before her
decease, she also made profession of the order of Ciseau, to
the abbess of Maubisson. She was interred, according to her
desire, in the abbey of Maubisson, founded by herself in 1242,
a foundation ratified by her son before his departure for Pales-
tine. She was buried with royal ornaments over her religious
habits, a strange mixture of superstition and pageantry. Mi-
racles were ascribed to her after her death, which prepared
the way for her canonization. The title of saint Lewis was also
conferred upon her son. §
During her first regency, Blanche was accused of haughti-
ness to the nobles and grandees, yet, that they conspired
against her dignity and life ought not to be forgotten; her se-
verity to her daughter-in-law, whatever might be the motives,
appears less justifiable. If she asserted too rigidly her ascen-
dency over her son, or yielded with reluctance the authority
which his long minority gave to her, let the fascinating nature
of power be considered, and the talent and vigour with which
she exercised it: to this praise may be added, her strict and
able fulfilment of the duties of a mother and of a sovereign, by
which a lustre is thrown even over her ambition. If it cannot
be denied that she possessed faults and was guilty of errors, in
common with human beings, her virtues and great qualities
may be admitted as a compensation. … . . . . .
# A - - - º # a * #. # * - # . -- - º sº º
Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Biographium Formineum, Die-
* , tionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées—History of France.
ELIZABETH BLAND.
- Elizabeth BLAND, remarkable for her knowledge of the
Hebrew language, and her skill in Hebrew composition, de-
serves a place among women distinguished for their learning.
Beeston, in the parish of Leeds, in
VoI. I. 2 D



















BoADIceA.
he resided with his wife many years. Mrs. Bland bore six
children, two of whom only, a son and a daughter, survived
their mother. Her daughter, Martha Bland, married Mr.
George More, of Beeston. Ž.
Mrs. Bland studied the Hebrew language under the direc-
tion, and with the assistance, of lord Van Helmont, and be:
came afterwards the instructress of her children. Among the
curiosities of the Royal Society is preserved a phylactery* in
Hebrew, written by this lady, of which Dr. Grew, in his ac-
count of rarities preserved at Gresham college (folio, London,
1681), has given the following description: “It is a single
scroll of parchment, fifteen inches long, three quarters of an
inch in breadth, with four sentences of the Law most curiously
written upon it in Hebrew; viz. Exod. xiii. from verse 7 to 11,
and from 13 to 17; Deut. vi. from verse 3 to 10, and xi. from
13 to 19. Serarius, from the rabbies, saith, that they were
written severally upon so many scrolls, and that the Jews do
to this day wear them over their foreheads in their manner.
So that they are of several sorts or modes, whereof this is
one.” Mrs. Bland having written the phylactery described by
Dr. Grew, at the request of Mr. Thoresby, presented it to the
Royal Society. > .
It appears by two pedigrees of the family, printed in Mr.
Thoresby’s “Ducatus Leodiensis,” p. 209 and 587, that Mrs.
Bland was living in 1712. Of her writings, which are believed
to have been considerable, no account has been procured.
Ballad's Lives of British Ladies—Biographium Fomineum.
Among women illustrious for courage and fortitude, the
itish Boadicea holds a distinguished place: the widow of
rasutagus, king of the Iceni, she found herself by the impru-
lent testament of her husband, involved in the most cruel ca-
ill be as frontlets
usly, or as spells
e, as mementos, founded on Deut
in thine hand, and they
























BOADICEA. § 211
the protection of the Romans, left the emperor co-heir, with
his daughters, to his immense treasures. The Roman officers,
whose extortions it was not easy to satisfy, availing themselves
of a privilege so replete with mischief, practised on the unhap-
py queen and her family, under pretence of being defrauded of
their just claims, the most brutal outrages. . .
Boadicea, having assembled the Britons, reminded them,
in a strain of pathetic eloquence, of the perfidy of the Romans,
who, under fair promises, in exchanging for their own the laws
and customs of the country, had exposed its natives to every
species of calamity. Not satisfied with injustice and extortion,
these barbarous oppressors, adding insult to cruelty, had dared
to inflict on their queen (the chastity of whose daughters they
had brutally violated), the indignity of corporeal punishment.
If it must be confessed, that the Britons had been the authors
of their own misery, in permitting these foreign robbers to
form a settlement on their island, they had suffered but too se-
verely the consequences of their facility, it remained now but
to choose between liberty and death. While standing on a
rising ground, her loose robes and long dishevelled hair float-
ing in the wind, a spear in her hand, her features animated,
and her eyes sparkling with vengeance, Boadicea reminded
the people of their wrongs, she drew from her bosom a hare,
which she had concealed, and which she suffered to escape
among the crowd. The Britons, exulting, hailed the omen;
the spirit of revolt spread through their ranks; revenge glowed
in every heart, while they shouted to be led against the enemy.
Private and individual injury swelled the tide of public
hatred. The Roman veterans, newly planted in the colony of
Camalodunum, had driven from their houses its inhabitants,
seized their lands, and treated them as vassals and captives;
while, in a temple erected in honour of the emperor, a lasting
tyranny appeared to menace them.
In proportion as the spirit of the Britons rose, the con-
fidence of the enemy declined. The statue of Victory, in the
colony of Camalodunum, fell without an
strange sounds murmured through the court
sea assumed a crimson hue; while female fanati
subversion of the colony.
Boadicea, at the head of a numerous army, att;
•º . g
apparent cause;




Camalodunum, and, with unrelenting fury, slaughtered the
Roman troops, to whom no quarter was given: in the destruc-
tion of its victims, savage vengeance refined upon cruelty.
Suetonius Paulinus, with ten thousand men, marching to the
aid of his countrymen, a dreadful conflict ensued. The Britons,
to animate their courage, or share in their triumphs and spoils,
brought to the field, in waggons, their wives and children.
The queen, her daughters seated by her side, rode in her
chariot from rank to rank, exhorting and encouraging the
troops, reminding them of their former victories under her
banner, of the indignities suffered by her and her family,
of their own peculiar wrongs, of the barbarities and oppressions
of the enemy, while she exulted in the protection of Heaven,
already manifested in the discomfiture of the Romans, whose
vanquished legions had spread terror through their army. She
entreated her soldiers to press their advantage, to confide in
their own strength, and in the justice of their cause: pro-
posing to them her own example, who, though a woman, had
determined on victory or death: ‘Let the men who prefer life,’
added she, in a raised and dignified tone, “live dishonoured
and slaves.” *. 2: . ;
While their heroic queen thus roused the spirit and ani-
mated the courage of the Britons, Paulinus, confiding in his
veteran troops, encouraged them to despise the shouts and
menaces of barbarians, ill-armed and undisciplined, feeble and
ready to flee on the first attack. The event of a battle, he
served, depended less on numbers, than on the skill and va-
of the few, whose glory their apparent inferiority would
nce. He enjoined them to keep their ranks close, and,
ing hurled their javelins, to have recourse to their swords;
ioned them lest they should yield to the temptation to
nder, and thus suffer themselves to be separated, or thrown
their guard. The troops, having signified their approbation
loud acclamations, the charge was, by the order of their
general, sounded to battle.
The Britons, at a distance from the enemy, triumphed in
* appalling them with numbers; but as the legions,
less aspect, sword in hand, advanced to meet
into disorder and precipitately fled: the bag-



















BoADICEA. 21s
gage and waggons, in which their families were stationed, ob-
structing their flight, a total defeat and a dreadful carnage
ensued. Eighty thousand Britons were left on the field, while
their merciless oppressors reaped, with an inconsiderable loss,
a complete victory. The battle was fought in the eighth year
of the reign of Nero, A. D. 61. The scene of action is suppo-
sed to have been on Salisbury plain. Boadicea perished, either
voluntarily by poison, or from the effects of her despair, a
short time after. .
She is described by Dion Cassius as large in stature, her
aspect full of dignity, her complexion fair, her hair yellow,
spreading over her shoulders in luxuriant profusion, and
reaching below her waist; her eyes fierce and piercing, her
voice strong and sonorous.
Stonehenge, it is conjectured by some, might have been
erected to the memory of this heroic and unfortunate British
queen. In proof of this opinion the rudeness of the structure
is alleged; human bones occasionally dug up, prove it to have
been a sepulchre; while, contrary to the custom of the Romans
on these occasions, it bears no inscription. Others have believed
it to be a monument in commemoration of the British lords,
perfidiously murdered by the Saxons, on an interview near the
place. In contradiction to this notion, may be alleged, the
armour, of large and antique fashion, against which the spade
and pick-axe have sometimes struck. The Britons slain by pa-
gan Hengist, unconscious of treachery, were unarmed. These
stones are fabulously represented by Geoffrey Arthur of Mon-
mouth, as possessing medicinal qualities, and as having been
brought from Ireland, by force of arms, for the purpose of a
memoria, at the instigation of Merlin. Camden speaks of the
discovery near Stonehenge, eighty years ago, of a plate of
mixed metal, inscribed with characters, which the learned of
those times were incompetent to decypher. This inscription,
he conjectures might be connected with the monument, and
was probably an ancient British memorial of some eminent
person, and possibly of Boadicea. .
Tacitus—Biographia Britannica, &c.—History of England.



ANNE BoLEYN.
ANNE Boleyn, the vicissitudes of whose fortunes have
rendered her name celebrated, descended, on the side of her
mother, from the duke of Norfolk, whose daughter her father,
sir Thomas Boleyn, had espoused. Anne was born in 1507,
and carried to France at seven years of age, by the sister of
Henry VIII. who was given in marriage to Lewis XII. After
the death of Lewis, his widow returned to her native country,
but Anne remained in France, in the service of Claudia, the
wife of Francis I.; and, after her decease, with the dutchess of
Alencon, a princess of singular merit. The beauty and ac-
complishments of Anne attracted, even at a very early age,
great admiration at the French court.
The year of her return to England is uncertain; but it ap-
pears to have been about the time when scruples were first
entertained by Henry VIII. respecting the legality of his
marriage with the betrothed wife and widow of his brother,
Catherine of Arragon. In his visits to the queen, to whom
Ann Boleyn became maid of honour, Henry had an opportu-
nity of observing her beauty and captivating manners. Anne
quickly perceived her influence over the heart of the monarch,
whose passion, either from principle or policy, she resolutely
resisted. The enamoured Henry, despairing of succeeding
with the lady but upon honourable terms, was, by her conduct,
stimulated to redouble his efforts to procure a release from his
former engagements. For this purpose, he resolved on making
. ication to the court of Rome. . . . .
The virtue of Anne Boleyn, in the peculiar circumstances
which she was placed, must certainly be considered as
ivocal; in becoming the concubine of the king, she would
rhaps have committed an action less reprehensible, than in
ng the cause of the dethronement and humiliation of the
queen, whose tenderness and fidelity to her husband, during
º twenty years, added to her irreproachable conduct, deserved a
better fate. Not content with robbing Catherine of the heart
er husband, her rival determined to hurl her from the
ne, and to usurp her privileges and dignities; while the
ghter of the unfortunate Catherine, whose misfortunes












ANNE Boley N. x 215
sunk her to a premature grave, was necessarily involved in the
unmerited disgrace. . * * *
The amorous impatience of Henry suffered him not to
wait for the dissolution of his nuptials with Catherine; a
private marriage united him with Anne Boleyn on the 14th of
November, 1532. The marriage was made public on the preg-
nancy of Anne, who, on Easter-eve, 1532, was declared queen
of England, and crowned the 1st of the following June. To
complete the satisfaction of Henry, the new queen was, on
the seventh of the ensuing September, delivered of a daughter
(afterwards queen Elizabeth,) on whom was conferred the
title of princess of Wales. This step was somewhat irregular,
since Elizabeth, though presumptive, was not apparent, heir
to the crown. But Mary, the daughter of the king by his for-
mer marriage, having been honoured with the same title,
Henry determined to bestow on the child of Anne Boleyn equal
marks of distinction, and also to exclude Mary from every
hope of the succession.
The affection of the king for his new queen seemed, for a
time, to increase rather than diminish with possession; by a
proper measure of reserve and indulgence, she long contrived
to keep alive his passion, and to manage his intractable spirit.
During the six years that the divorce was pending, the attach-
ment of Henry for Anne had been constant and fervent, his
ardor seeming to increase with the obstacles that opposed it;
but with the removal of these obstacles, his love, which oppo-
sition had served but to inflame, began to languish and visibly
decay. The enemies of Anne, who were the first to perceive
the change, eagerly sought to widen the breach. She had
brought forth a dead son; a disappointment which produced
upon the monarch, whose desire for male offspring had been
extreme, the most violent effects; while his superstition made
the innocent mother accountable for this misfortune. But
jealousy was the e fine which . the adversaries of the queen .
employed for her destruction with the greatest success.
No real stigma has been thrown on the conduct of Anne,
but a certain levity of spirit and gaiety of character, which she
had probably acquired from her education in France, render-
ed her manners unguarded. The rigid decorums, practised at
that time in the court of England, were peculiary adverse to


216
I lively temper of Anne: more vain than proud,
she took a coquettish pleasure in beholding the effect of her
s, and indulged herself in an easy familiarity with those
ad been formerly her equals. Her popular manners of
enry; if the lover had been blind to the
stress, the husband became but too qucik-
* indiscretions of his wife. Malignant persons
nisinterpreted the innocent freedoms of the queen,
gravated the suspicions of Henry. The viscountess of
ord, a woman of a profligate character, who had mar-
- ueen's brother, but who entertained for her sister-in-
law a mortal hatred, poisoned the mind of the king by the
most cruel insinuations: restrained neither by humanity, truth,
nor decency, she accused her own husband of a criminal inter-
course with his sister; and not content with a slander so wick-
ed and injurious, she affected to construe into marks of par-
ticular affection, every obliging word or action of the queen,
to those who, by their offices, had access to her person.
Henry Norris, Weston, and Brereton, gentlemen of the
king's chamber, were, with Mark Smeton, groom of the cham-
ber, observed to be favoured with the friendship of Anne,
whom they served with zeal and attachment. The jealousy
of the king, which had no particular facts for its foundation,
seized on the slightest circumstances: it was the jealousy of
pride rather than of love, that, subject to no alternations of
suspicion and remorse, is stern, severe, and unrelenting.
A passion for a new object had vanquished, in the heart of
apricious despot, the small remains of tenderness for Anne,
o was supplanted in the affections of her husband by Jane,
ter of sir John Seymour, a young lady of singular beauty
erit. Henry, whose gallantries always sought a legal gra.
on, was little scrupulous in the sacrifices which they exact-
from him, while w



























ANNE Boley N. 217
having let fall her handkerchief, he construed this accident
into a signal of gallantry, and retiring instantly from the place,
sent orders to confine her to her chamber. Norris, Brereton,
Weston, and Smeton, were, together with the viscount Roche-
ford, immediately arrested and thrown into prison. Anne,
astonished at this violence and injustice, on an occasion so
slight and inadequate, was willing to persuade herself that the
king meant merely to try her; but, convinced at length that he
was but too much in earnest, she reflected seriously on his in-
flexible temper, and prepared herself for what was to ensue.
She was the next day sent to the Tower, and, on her way
thither, informed of what she had till then been unconscious,
the crimes and misdemeanors alleged against her. Unaffect-
edly astonished at the atrocity of the accusation, she made
earnest protestations of her innocence, and, as she entered the
prison, fell on her knees, and called on God to witness how
guiltless she was of the offences so lightly imputed to her
charge. Thrown, by surprise and confusion, into an hysteri-
cal malady, she frankly confessed, in the intervals of the dis-
order, some levities and indiscretions which her vivacity had
incited her to commit, and of which the simplicity of the con-
fession afforded a proof of her innocence. She owned, that she
had once rallied Norris on his delaying to marry, by telling
him that he probably waited till she should become a widow.
She had also, she said, reproved Weston for his attentions to
a kinswoman of hers, and his indifference towards his wife:
when he had told her, in reply, that she had mistaken the
object of his affections, and intimated, that it was herself to
whom he was devoted. But this temerity had not, she declar-
ed, been suffered to pass without a severe reproof. She also
affirmed, that Smeton had been only twice in her chamber,
both times to play on her harpsichord: yet, she acknowledged,
that he had once had the presumption to tell her, ‘that a look
sufficed him.’ The king, predetermined to find her guilty,
considered these confessions, not as proofs of her simplicity
and candour, but as presumptive evidence of her guilt.
º
The sweetness and beneficence of Anne's temper had, dur.
ing her prosperity, made her numberless friends; but, in her
falling fortunes, no one afforded her either assistance or sup-
port; no one even attempted to interpose between her and
Vol. I. 2-. 2 E










. she, whose appearance had dressed every
face in smiles, was now abandoned, unpitied and alone, to her
adverse destiny. Her uncle, the duke of Norfolk, with whom
h nexions of party were stronger than those of blood,
peared among her most implacable enemies. The catholics
ted, that by her death the king's quarrel with Rome would
be accommodated; that he would resume his natural bent, and
----- a. bosom of the church. Cranmer only, of all the
Anne, still retained for her his friendship; and,
is within his power, sought to soften the animo-
ſing. Anne addressed to her husband a letter from
§
tender expostulation and complaint, full of pro-
“SIR, &
“Your grace's displeasure and my imprisonment are things
so strange unto me, as what to write or what to excuse I am
altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing me
to confess a truth, and so obtain your favour) by such an one
whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no
sooner received this message by him than I rightly conceived
your meaning; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed
may procure my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty
rform your command.
“Butlet not your grace ever imagine that your poor wife
ever be brought to acknowledge a fault where not so much
hought thereof preceded. And, to speak a truth, never
had wife more loyal in all duty, and in all true affection,
ºu have ever found in Anne Boleyn: With which name
lace I could willingly have contented myself, if God and
frace's pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at
me so far forget myself in my exaltation or received
ut th at I always looked for such an alteration as I
r the ground of my preferment being on no surer
an your grace's fancy, the least alteration I knew
:ient to draw that fancy to some other object.
me from a low estate to be your queen and
desert or desire. If then you found
r, good your grace let not any light































fancy, or bad counsel of mine enemies, withdraw your princely
favour from me; neither let that stain, that unworthy stain, of
a disloyal heart towards your good grace, ever cast so foul a
blot on your most dutiful wife, and the infant princess your
daughter. Try me, good king, but let me have a lawful trial,
and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers and judges;
yea let me receive an open trial, for my truth shall fear
open shame; then shall you see either mine innocence cleared,
your suspicion and conscience satisfied, the ignominy and
slander of the world stopped, or my guilt openly declared. So
that whatsoever God or you may determine of me, your grace
may be freed from an open censure; and mine offence being
so lawfully proved, your grace is at liberty both before God and
man not only to execute worthy punishment on me as an un-
lawful wife, but to follow your affection already settled on that
party for whose sake I am now as I am, whose name I could
some good while since have pointed unto, your grace not be-
ing ignorant of my suspicion therein. . . . . . .
“But, if you have already determined of me, and that not
only my death, but an infamous slander, must bring you the
enjoying of your desired happiness, then I desire of God that
he will pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine ene-
mies, the instruments thereof, and that he will not call you to a •
strict account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at
his general judgment-seat, where both you and myself must
shortly appear, and in whose judgment I doubt not (whatso-
ever the world may think of me) mine innocence shall be
openly known and sufficiently cleared.
“My last and only request shall be, that myself ma
bear the burden of your grace's displeasure, and tha
not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen who (as
stand) are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake.
If ever I have found favour in your sight, if ever the name of
Anne Boleyn hath been pleasing in your ears, then let me ob-
tain this request, and I will so leave to trouble your grace a
farther, with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have y
grace in his good keeping, and to direct you in all your act
From my doleful prison in the Tower, this sixth of Ma
ºr “Your most loyal and ever faithful wife,















This address, so pathetic and e
heart of a tyrant, which licentious and selfish gratification had
steeled. Norris, Weston, Brereton, and Smeton, were brought
:::::::::::::: to trial; but no legal evidence was produced against them. A
pri h i »al proof of their guilt. By a vain hope of life, Smeton.
was at length induced to confess a criminal correspondence
with the queen; a confession which little availed him, and
m which even her enemies despaired of gaining any
intage: he was never confronted with Anne, but imme-
ely executed; as were also Weston and Brereton. To
is, who had been a favourite with the king, an offer was
if life, on condition that he would criminate the queen.
animously disdaining the baseness proposed to him, he
hat in his conscience he believed her wholly guiltless;
ld accuse her of nothing; and that rather than
ºr innocent person, he would die a thousand deaths.
. The queen and her brother were tried by a jury of peers;
their uncle, the duke of Norfolk, presiding as lord high-stew-
~l vidence of incest amounted to no more, than that
ºvvurva ld been seen, in company, to lean on the bed of
his sister. Anne also, it was said, had affirmed to her favourites,
that the king had never possessed her heart, and that to each of
them apart she had declared that he only was the object of her
attachment. This strained interpretation of guilt was brought
under the statute of the twenty-fifth of the king's reign, by
it was declared criminal to throw any slander upon the
teen, or their issue. Such absurdities were, in those
dmitted, as a justification for sacrificing an innocent
and a queen to the caprice of a cruel and arbitrary
ing's pleasure. ‘ Oh! Father,’ said she, lifting
this dreadful sentence was pronounced, “Q
art the way, the truth, and the life, thou
ave not deserved this death!”. Then, turning
he pathetically declared her innocence. 3.




































ANNE Boley N.
221 -
Not satisfied with this barbarous tyranny, Henry resolved
wholly to annul his marriage with Anne Boleyn, and to pro-
nounce her issue illegitimate. He called to remembrance, that,
soon after the appearance of Anne in the court of England
*
there were some rumours of an attachment between her and
the earl of Northumberland, then lord Percy, whom he now
questioned respecting this engagement. Northumberland took
an oath, before two archbishops, that no contract or promise of
marriage whatever had passed between them: upon this as-
severation he received the sacrament before the duke of Nor-
folk, and others of the privy-council, accompanying the cere-
mony with the most solemn protestations of the truth of his
information. But the unhappy Anne, threatened with the exe-
cution of the utmost rigor of her sentence, was prevailed on to
calumniate herself, and to confess some impediments to her
marriage with the king. The primate, who sat as judge,
thought himself obliged by this avowal, with whatever pain
and reluctance, to pronounce the marriage null and invalid.
Henry, in his rage against the innocent victim of his levity,
perceived not the inconsistency of his proceedings: if the
marriage had been illegal, no adultery could exist. ‘. . . . ; ; ; ; ; ;
The queen, hopeless of redress, and resigned to her fate,
prepared herself to submit without repining. In her last mes-
sage to the king, she acknowledged obligation to him, for having
advanced her from a private gentlewoman, first to the dignity
of a marchioness, and afterwards to the throne; and now,
since he could raise her no higher in this world, he was send.
ing her to be a saint in heaven. She earnestly recommended
her daughter to his care, and renewed her protestations of in-
nocence and fidelity. She made the same declarations before
the lieutenant of the Tower, and to every person who ap-
proached her; while she continued to behave, not only with
serenity, but with her usual cheerfulness. “The executioner,’
said she to the lieutenant, ‘is, I hear, very expert; and my
neck (grasping it with her hand, and laughing heartily) is very
slender.” x
When brought to the scaffold, she assumed a tone less
high, recollecting probably the obstinacy of her predecessor,
queen Catherine, and its effects upon Mary her daughter: ma-
ternal love triumphed at this solemn moment over the just in-













dignation of the sufferer. She said, she came to die, as she
wa at she would accuse no one, nor
s sentenced by the law; th:
advert to the ground upon which she was judged. She prayed
fervently for the king, calling him a most merciful and gentle
and acknowledging that he had been to her a good and
racious sovereign. She added, that if any one should think
proper to canvass her cause, she desired him to judge the
She was beheaded by the executioner of Calais, who was
brought over for the purpose, as being particularly expert in
his horrible profession. Her body was thrown negligently into
a common elm chest, made to hold arrows, and was buried in
the Tower. .
The innocence of Anne Boleyn of the charges alleged
against her, can scarcely be questioned. The tyrant himself
knew not whom to accuse as her lover; no proof was brought
against any of the persons named. Irregularities so atrocious
as those implied by the accusations against her, could not have
been concealed. But the king made for her an effectual apo-
logy, by marrying Jane Seymour the very day succeeding to
that on which Anne had been immolated: in his impatience to
gratify his new caprice, humanity, policy, and decency, were
violated without remorse. The terrible catastrophe of a
woman whom he had once tenderly loved, was incapable of
...: . affecting his sensual and callous mind. .
In a new parliament, which was called on these events,
y assured the people, that, notwithstanding the misfor-
which had attended his two fo * - - - -
f ºr add 1 a third.
171 vivosavs" eceived by the speaker with suitable gra-
e, and the king praised for his wonderful gifts both of
and nature: he was compared to Solomon" for justice
udence; to Sampson for strength and fortitude; and to
ed these commendations, or, if they were really possessed,
iously ascribed them to the bounty of Almighty God.
rf parliament, equally complacent in deeds as in
e passions of a cruel despot, ratified his divorce
le of Henº to Solomon might have been made out with


































CATHERINE BOVEY. ses
from Anne Boleyn, who, with all her accomplices, was attain-
ted: both the former marriages of the king were declared to
be illegitimate; it was even made treason to assert their lega-
lity, or to throw slander on the present queen, on whose issue
the crown was settled: or, in case of the failure of children by
this marriage, Henry was empowered to dispose of the suc-
cession either by will, or by letters patent, &c. ..
Hume's History of England–Bayle's Historical Dictionary, &c.
MADAME BONTEMS.
THIS lady, who was born at Paris in 1718, possessed a
mind highly cultivated. She gave to her country an accurate
and elegant translation of “Thomson's Seasons,” in 1759.
She was not less distinguished for the qualities of her heart,
than for mental endowments. An amiable and select society
were accustomed to meet at her house. She translated various
productions from the English, and died April 18th, 1768.
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées, &c.
CATHERINE BOVEY.
CATHERINE, daughter of John Riches, esq. merchant of Lon-
don, was married at fifteen years of age to William Bovey, esq.
agentleman of liberal fortune, and lord of the manor of Flaxley
in Gloucestershire. The following description is given of t
lady in the New Atalantis. “Her person has as many chi
as can be desired. She is one of those lofty, dark, and lasting
beauties, that strike with reverence, and yet delight. There is
not a feature in her face, nor any thing in her person and man-
ners, that could be exchanged for any other, and she not prove
a loser. Her mind, her conduct, her sense and judgment, her
constancy, her knowledge, her wit, and conv ersation, are all
admirable; so much above what is lovely in the sex, that, shut
but your eyes (and allow for the music of her voice), your
mind would be charmed, as thinking yo ersing with
the most knowing, the most refined
levity and superficialness, her sense is sol











22, cATHERINE Bovey.
She is so real, so perfect an economist, that, taking in all the
duties of life, she disdains not to stoop to the most inferior.
She knows all that a man can know, without despising what,
as a woman, she ought not to be ignorant of. Her modesty is
equal to her merit; she wishes to live unknown, declining all
public assemblies, content to possess her soul in freedom and
tranquillity at home, among the few whom she honours with
her friendship.” . . %
At the age of twenty-two, this lady was left a widow, without
children, and with an affluent fortune; she was also sole heir-
ess to the property of her father, which was considerable. Her
wealth, added to the graces and accomplishments of her mind
and person, procured her numerou sadmirers, who earnestly
sought to obtain her heart and her hand. But, preferring to
any new engagement the freedom and independence of a sin-
gle life, and the undisputed disposition of her fortunes, she
uniformly objected every address. Her possessions were de-
voted to acts of benevolence and kindness, and to the encou-
ragement and advancement of letters. By the force of her
talents, by study, application, and the conversation of men of
literature, she surmounted the disadvantages of her education,
and became a proficient in various branches of learning and
& knowledge.
Sir Richard Steele, addressing this lady in an epistle dedi-
catory, prefixed to the second volume of the Ladies' Library,
1714, observes, that, instead of assemblies, books and solitude
were her choice; and, that she had gone on the study of what
she should be, rather than attend to the celebration of what
she was. “Thus,” says he, “with the charms of the fairest of
your own sex, and knowledge not inferior to the more learned
of ours, a closet, a bower, or some beauteous scene of rural
nature, has constantly robbed the world of a lady's appearance,
who never was beheld but with gladness to her visitants, nor
ever admired but with pain to herself. But a constant distribu-
tion of large charities, a search for objects of new bounty, and
a skilful choice of modest merit or suffering virtue, touch the
souls of those who partake your goodness too deeply to be
borne: without inquiring for, or celebrating, their benefactress.
: uld be loth to offend your delicacy in this particular; but
v. when I say this, the fatherless and the widow, the ne-


CATHERINE Bovey. 225 ~ º
glected man of merit, the wretch on the sick bed, in a word,
the distressed in all forms, will from this hint learn to trace
the kind hand which has so often, as from heaven, conveyed
to them what they have asked in the anguish of their souls,
when none could hear but he who has blessed you with so
ample a fortune, and given you a soul to employ it in his ser-
vice.” ... . . . . . . . .º.º.
The merits of this lady are also celebrated by Dr. Hickes,
in the preface to a learned and elaborate work, “Linguarum
Septentrionalium Thesaurus.” An honorary marble monu- -
ment, on which her perfections are enumerated in an inscrip-
tion, is erected to the memory of Mrs. Bovey, in the abbey
church at Westminster. By this inscription we are informed,
that “she died January 21st, 1726, in the 57th year of her
age, at Haxley, her seat in Gloucestershire, and was buried
there, where her name will be long remembered; and where
several of her benefactions at that place, as well as others, are
particularly recorded.” This monument was erected by her
executrix, Mrs. Mary Pope, who resided with her near forty
years, in perfect and uninterrupted friendship. ; .
There is also an inscription on her monument at Haxley,
in which her hospitality and her charities are mentioned; her
distributions to the poor, to decayed families, to free-schools,
to the prisons, to her poor neighbours, the instruction of
whose children she herself superintended; also her bounties
to the church, and bequeathments at her death, namely: To-
wards founding a college in the island of Bermuda, 500l. To
the gray-coat hospital, in St. Margaret's, Westminster, 500l.
To the blue-coat hospital in Westminster, 200l. To the charity-
school of Christ's-Church parish, in Southwark, 400l. To
augment the living of the same place, 1200l. To put out poor
children of this parish apprentices, the interest of 400l. for
ever; of which sum 160l. had been given by Mr. Clarke and
Mr. Bovey. To be distributed as her executrix should think
fit, among those whom she had apprenticed out during her
lifetime, 400l. Lastly, she designed the re-building of this
chapel, which design was executed by Mrs. Mary Pope.
Ballard's British Ladies—Biographium Femineum,
º º º º
VoI. I. - 2 F




CLEMENCE DE BOURGES.
* CLEMENCE DE Bourges, the descendant of a respectable
family at Lyons, was born in the sixteenth century. The con-
temporary of Louise Labe (La belle Cordiere), she was no
less distinguished for her talents and acquirements. She added
to an irreproachable life, the charms of genius, and the graces
of her sex. Celebrated for her poetical compositions, and her
skill in music, a congenial taste for the fine arts united Clé-
mence in strict friendship with Louise, whose conduct at
length relaxed the bond, and compelled her more exemplary
friend, with whatever reluctance, to dissolve the connexion.
To the affectionate heart of Clémence, whom a severer trial
yet awaited, this separation gave the most poignant regret.
Jean de Peyrat, son of a lieutenant-general at Lyons, a
brave and gallant officer, had won the affections of Clémence
de Bourges. The lovers were betrothed, when Jean, a captain
in the light horse, was called to the siege of Beaurepaire in
Dauphiné, and on the 30th of September, 1561, received, in
lating against the Huguenots, a mortal wound. Clémence,
ensuing year, fell a martyr to grief, and followed her
h, her funeral, celebrated with extraordinary pomp, was
ided by a numerous train of the most distinguished Lyo-
o, with their heads crowned with flowers, followed
pse. The memory of her talents and virtues was conse-
in the writings of the first poets of the age. Her com-
ons, smooth and harmonious, are esteemed for their
ess and poetical taste. . .
A. Thicknesse's sketches of the Lives and writings of the Ladies of
France—Dictionnaire Historique.
roin ETTE Bourignon.
NETTE Bouri GNoN, a singular enthusiast of the
a century, was born at Lisle in Flanders, January
he appeared so much deformed at her birth, that
s debated for some days, in the family, whether the
ought to be permitted to live: but, as she grew older,
























her figure improved. She gave early indications of an extra-
ordinary character; at four years of age she was disturbed by
the immorality of the people of Lisle, and desired to be car-
ried into a country of Christians, for she could not be persuaded,
that persons, whose conduct was so opposite to the precepts
of Jesus Christ, had a title to be called by his name.
Her father and mother had frequent domestic disagree-
ments; the little Antoinette, on these occasions, took the part
of her mother, and endeavoured to soften her father, whose
temper was harsh and severe, by her infant caresses. From
these scenes, which made a strong impression upon her mind,
she conceived an aversion to marriage. “My God, grant that
I may never marry!' was her daily prayer. Thus early dis-
gusted with the world, she threw all the ardor of her mind, as
she advanced towards maturity, into devotion, in which she
became an extravagant fanatic. º §
Her father, incapable of entering into these refinements,
and desirous of establishing his daughter in life, promised her
in marriage to a Frenchman, who demanded her hand; and,
without considering the consent of Antoinette as essential to
the engagement, appointed Easter-day, in 1630, for the cele-
bration of the nuptials. The young lady fled, to avoid a mea-
sure so coercive, disguised in the habit of a hermit; but was
stopped at Blacon, a village of Hainault, on suspicion of her
sex. An officer of the guards had seized her, from whom she
was delivered by the curate of the place, who, observing in her
something extraordinary, mentioned her to the archbishop of
Cambray, by whom she was sent back to her father.
| Being persecuted soon after with new proposals of matri-
mony, she absconded a second time to avert a compulsion that
appeared to her so odious. She once more made a visit to the
archbishop, and obtained his permission to form in the cou
small community of young women, who, like herself, should
determine to abjure the nuptial tie. She had concei sº
aversion to a cloister, having early learned, that the spirit.
gospel must not be sought for in convents. 2. The archb -
afterwards retracting the license he had granted er, º
nette retired to Liege, whence she returned p y to .
where she resided many years in great privacy and simi
Her patrimonial estate at length falling to her,














TE Bourro NoN.
termined at first to reject it; but afterwards altered this resolu-
tion, for which she gave the following reasons: “First, that it
might not come into the hands of those who had no right to it.
Secondly, that it might not be possessed by those who would
make an ill use of it. Thirdly, that God had shewed her, she
should have occasion for it for his glory.’ This patrimony;
which she wisely resolved to accept, appears to have been some-
what considerable. Her habits were simple, and her wants
few; she bestowed no charities, her wealth therefore daily ac-
cumulated. John de Saulieu, the son of a peasant, became
enamoured of the lady's riches, and resolved to address her.
With this view, he assumed the prophetic character, but, like
the oracles of old, with great wariness; and insinuated himself
into the confidence of the pious Antoinette by discourses of
refined spirituality. At length he threw off the mask, and
avowed more earthly motives: his suit was listened to with
little complacency, and somewhat severely checked. On find-
ing his fair mistress intractable, the lover grew desperate, and
obliged her to apply to the magistracy for protection. This
furious enamoretta threatened, if denied admission, to break
the doors and windows of his dulcinea, and to murder her,
though he should be hanged for it in the market-place of Lisle.
The provost, to whom the distressed damsel had recourse for
protection, sent two armed men to guard her house. Saulieu,
in revenge, basely attempted to blast the reputation of the
woman, who had despised alike his arts and his menaces; he
reported in the town that she had promised him marriage, and
that she had even suffered him to anticipate its privileges. A
onciliation was, however, soon after effected between them;
was persuaded to retract his slanders, and to leave
emoiselle Bourignon at liberty; when a young devotee,
e complacent, consoled him for his disappointment.
our fair recluse had not yet come to the end of her
:utions. The nephew of the curate of St. Andrew’s con-
I a passion for her, and, as he resided in her neighbour-
requently attempted to force an entrance into her house.
º atened to abandon the place, if she was not
he presumption of this new and adventurous
le, on her complaints, drove him from his
passion of the young man was, by the cruelty of his




















ANTornette Bourg NoN. 229
mistress, converted into rage, and, in a fit of desperation he dis-
charged a musket through her chamber window; while he affirm-
ed among the neighbours that she was his espoused wife. The
devotees, offended by this report, threatened to affront made-
moiselle Bourignon, should they meet her in the streets: the
preachers were obliged to interfere, and to publish from the
pulpit the innocence of the injured lady. .
Some time after these adventures, Antoinette was elected
governess of an hospital, in which, having taken the habit and
order of St. Augustin, she shut herself up in 1658. In this
situation a new calamity befel her, not more horrible than
strange. The hospital was infected with sorcery; all the girls
who inhabited it having made a contract with the devil. The
governess was taken up on this extraordinary occasion, and
examined before the magistrates of Lisle: nothing, however,
was proved against her; but, to prevent further persecution,
she wisely determined to abandon her station. She then re-
tired to Ghent, in 1662, where God discovered to her some
great secrets. . § 3. ...’
About this period she acquired a faithful friend, who re-
mained attached to her through life, and who left her at his
death a good estate. This gentleman, whose name was de
Cort, was one of the fathers of the oratory, and their superior;
he was also a director of an hospital for poor children. M. de
Cort was the first spiritual child of madame Bourignon, of ,
which the following quotation may afford an explanation: “It
is certainly known by all who are acquainted with Antoinette
Bourignon (let wicked and impious scoffers say what they
please,) that when any person received, by her conversation or
writings, light and strength to forsake the world, and give
themselves to God, she felt pains and throbs similar to those
of a woman in child-birth, as it is said of her whom St. John
saw in the 12th of the Revelations. She experienced these
pains in a greater or smaller degree, in proportion as the truths
she had delivered had more or less strength in their operati in
on the souls of these her spiritual offspring.”
M. de Cort was twice successively divinely warned and
threatened, to lend his property to some relations, who were
endeavouring to drain an island which the sea had overflowed,
in the country of Holstein, where he determined to prepare a



retreat for the persecuted disciples of God. He sold a seat in
this island to his spiritual mother, madame Bourignon, who,
when she had published at Amsterdam her book entitled
“The Light of the World,” prepared to retire thither, in 1668.
She also wrote, at Brabant, several treatises and epistles; and,
after her persecution at Lisle, engaged in the disputes of the
Jansenists and Molinists. She made a longer stay at Amster-
dam, with her proselyte, than she had at first intended. She
sts and prophetesses: the popularity of her discourses
ired her with sanguine hopes of effecting a reformation in
s nation of traders; but, commerce prevailing, among this
hlegmatic people, over spiritual motives, her expectations
ended in disappointment. Her books and sermons were more
numerous than her disciples; but even in Holland she was not
without admirers. The celebrated Labadie, with his disciples,
: desirous of forming a community with Antoinette in
dt, the newly recovered island. -
offered to M. de Cort a large sum of money
he purchase of the whole island, but Antoinette prevailed
proselyte to reject this proposal. “Should you deter-
e to accept it,” said she, “you must leave me behind you:
: use. I perceive and know, that we can never agree together.
•
eir opinions, and the spirit that governs them, are altogether
itrary to my LIGHT, and the spirit that governs me.” She
livine vision respecting M. Labadie, wherein she saw,
spirit, a little man very busy, with a great pole in his
, with which he strove to hinder the fall of a large building,
---- . as falling. She was fully persuaded, from
is she had held with him, that this man had no
on than that of the learned of those times; read-
ion; and that he was in no re- -
º irected by divine inspiration.
º e idea of the principles of the Carte-
temerity to set up the light of reason as a
ed,had shewn, and even expressly declared
of Cartesianism was the worst and the
eresies that were ever in the world;
m, or rejection of God, in whose
|bstituted. Every kind of philosophy
formed a












































231
she held in equal abhorrence, while she declared to the philo-
sophers, that their malady proceeded from pretending to com-
prehend all things by the activity of the human intellect, with.
out waiting for the divine illumination of faith, which requires
the sacrifice of our reason and weak understandings, that God
may diffuse in our minds his divine light: that, by the activity
of corrupt reason, true knowledge is driven out of our souls:
and that such reasoners are the real atheists and the contem-
ners of God.
The conversations of madame Bourignon with God were
very frequent at Amsterdam, where she had many visions and
particular revelations; and where she also composed many
books, which were but little read by the worldly-minded
burghers. M. de Cort died the 12th of November, 1669, and
left his spiritual directress heiress to his effects; an event
which exposed her to more persecution than she had even suf-
fered for her doctrines, and involved her in many law-suits.
Being at the same time in ill health, and ill attended, she en-
dured about this period great distress. In 1671 she left Hol-
land, with an intention to go to Noorstrandt. She stopped on
her way at several places in Holstein, where she found it ne-
cessary to dismiss some of her disciples, who from sinister
motives had enlisted in her suite. She began to despair of
collecting a flock of new Christians, when she perceived, th at
every one appeared solicitous only for his own interest and
convenience. Her pen grew now so prolific, and her produc-
tions so numerous, that she thought proper to provide herself
with a printing-house, from which her works issued in dif 'er-
ent editions of French, Dutch, and German languages. Her
tenets and her morals having been attacked by some writers,
she vindicated herself in a performance entitled “ The Testi-
mony of Truth;” in which the clei y were treated somewhat
severely. This was certainly not the way to remain at peace.
Two Lutheran ministers took up their pens, and entered t
lists against her; declaring, that many persons had been b
headed and burned whose heresies were more tolerable tha ºx.’. >
those of madame Bourignon. The Labadists also wrote
against her, and her press was ordered to be shut up.
. In December, 1 673, she reti ed to, Flensburg, where 1. .
enemies stirred up the people against her: she was accus
º
º



























ass ANtornette Bourignon.
sorcery and witchcraft, and compelled privately to retreat:
persecuted from town to town, she was at length obliged to quit
Holstein, and to take refuge in Hamburg, where her arrival
was no sooner known, than endeavours were used to seize her.
Having concealed herself for some days, she fled to East Fries-
land, where the baron of Lutsburg granted her his protection.
The direction of an hospital was here given to her, to which
she consecrated her industry and her cares. If she reserved
her purse on this occasion, she gave for it two reasons, both
of which, it must be allowed, are admirable: First, she alleged
that her effects had already been dedicated to God, for the
use of those persons who sincerely sought to be true christians;
and, secondly, that men and all things human were inconstant
and not to be trusted. To this she added, that these poor
people lived like beasts, who had no souls to save; and that
she would rather throw her goods, which had been consecrated
to Heaven, into the sea, than bestow on them the least mite.
Her followers also adopted these prudent maxims. The people,
who understood not these refinements, were disgusted by
what they profanely called the sordid spirit of madame Bourig-
non: the authority of the baron de Lutsburg proved insufficient
for her protection: she again became the object of persecu-
tion, and was again compelled to fly.
In 1680, she passed once more into Holland, whence she
departed to Franeker, in the province of Friesland, where, on
the 30th of October, in the same year, she took a final leave
of the world. Her constitution had been so good, that, in des-
she appeared at sixty
Her birth, the time of
pite of all her vexations, and of a choleric and morose temper,
ars of age to be no more than forty.
ºr commencing author, and her death,
were each signalized by the appearance of a comet; a circum-
mulgator of a new religion.
She is added to have exercised over her family and ser-
ts “a government as cruel as that of the Sicilian court;’
nd to have justified this humour, so contrary to the meekness
ance which could not fail of proving favourable to the pro-
of the gospel, by maintaining, that anger was the love of jus-
tice and true virtue; and alleging, as an example, the rigors
º used by the prophets and apostles. Having suffered some de-
edations upon her property by the dishonesty of those about






ANTorn ETTE Bourig NoN. 233
her, she manifested a revengeful and vindictive spirit, severely
censuring her friends for not pursuing these wretches with all
the severity of the law. “We must prevent evil,” said she,
‘and oppose it with all our might, wherever it is found." Her
system, of which an extract has been already given, bore a
resemblance to that of the Guietists, excluding external wor-
ship, and requiring a cessation of the powers of the human
intellect, that God might fill the mind with his divine light.
She had also some very singular notions respecting Antichrist,
whom she was persuaded would be a devil incarnate, or pro-
duced by a demoniac human generation. She was inveterate
against the church of Rome; nor did she treat the protestant
societies with greater moderation. She had beheld this Anti- .
christ, or devil incarnate, in a vision, from which she described
in verse, his stature, complexion, and hair. She pretended to
write poetry without having studied its rules. “She learned
every thing from God,” says a satirical writer, “even the art
of making verses; which she does in a manner that renders it
manifest she had no other master.”
Her writings appear to have made more proselytes than
her discourses: she had, after her death, many disciples in
Scotland, both among ecclesiastics and laymen. One of her
principal works, entitled “The Light of the World,” was pub.
lished in that country, in 1696; to which the translator added
a long preface, declaring, ‘that the maid ought at least to pass
for an extraordinary prophetess.’ A controversy afterwards
took place, respecting her doctrines, between Mr. Charles º
Lesley, a man of learning and merit, who exposed their absur-
dity, and Dr. Cockburn, against Messrs. Paret, de Cort, and
the English translator of the Lux Mundi, who endeavoured to
prove that Antoinette was divinely inspired, and had received
a commission from God to reform the christian world. Th
Bourignonists replied, in an apology for their leader. Th -: *-
remains of this dispute still exist in some parts of Nor
Britain. .
Bayle's Historical Dictionary—Biographium Famineum, & *








#
t 234 1
COUNTESS DE BREGY.
CHARLoTTE SAUMAIs E DE CHAs AN, niece of the learned
Claude Saumaise, was born in Paris, in 1619. She received
an excellent education under the direction of her uncle, whose
cares were rewarded by her proficiency in every elegant ac-
quirement. She espoused, while yet in early youth, M. de
Flecelles, count de Bregy, lieutenant-general of the army,
counsellor of the sword of state, envoy-extraordinary to Poland,
and afterwards ambassador to Sweden. Celebrated for her wit,
her beauty, and her talents, the countess was highly esteemed
- at court, and generally admired. She corresponded with Anne
of Austria, to whom she was lady of honour; also with the
queen of England; with Christina, queen of Sweden; and with
the most distinguished and illustrious characters of Europe.
Benserade addressed to this lady a complimentary epistle.
The portrait she has drawn of herself is too curious to be
mitted. . . .” z
“My person,’ says madame de Bregy, ‘perfectly well pro-
3rtioned, is neither too large nor too small. I have a certain
º gligent air, which convinces me that I am one of the finest
women of my size. My hair is brown and glossy, my com-
plexion brunette, clear and smooth. My features are regular,
and the form of my face oval. My eyes are fine: a certain
mixture in their colour renders them bright and sparkling.
My nose is well formed; my mouth, though not small, agreea-
ble; and my lips of a good colour. My teeth, exquisitely
white and well arranged, are the finest in the world. My neck
is beautiful, nor need I blush to display my hands and arms.
ſy air is lovely and delicate. My glass persuades me that I see
5thing superior, if equal, to the image which it presents to
My appearance is youthful, my dress neat and tasteful.
h is my exterior form.
Others possibly are the best judges of our minds, since there
mirror that reflects them faithfully. I am nevertheless
ded that mine does not disgrace my person. It appears
[ possess judgment to estimate things properly,
y acquired knowledge.” My mind is at once
a curious question to ask, what is the knowledge or judg-
ch we do not acquire?



















countEss DE BREGY. 23s
penetrating, delicate, solid, and reasonable. I profit little by
the wit of others; and succeed better when guided by my
own discernment, than by the rules of art: I therefore use
only my native good sense. I have frequently heard it ob-
served (though, I confess, not without doubts of its truth),
that in conversation with me, time passes more rapidly than
in other society; and that, on serious subjects, my sentiments
are worthy of being adopted. Of my humour I shall speak
with the same sincerity. I love praise, and return with interest
the compliments paid to me; and, though somewhat haughty
and scornful, I can be soft and conciliating. I neither oppose
nor contradict the opinions of others; and I keep my own re-
served. I can with truth say, that I was born modest” and
discreet, while pride has preserved in me these qualities. I am
not only proud but indolent; and these defects have been pro-
ductive of others. I take no pains to court favour; not even by
flattery. I neither trouble myself to seek pleasure nor amuse-
ment; yet, to those who are at the pains to procure them for
me, I hold myself greatly obliged. I appear lively and gay
but in moderation. I take care to offend no persons, unle
they wilfully draw it upon themselves; and even then I ave
myself by raillery rather than by serious anger. I detest mi-
mics, who begin with their enemies, and end with their best
friends. I have no turn for intrigue; yet, should I engage in
one, I am convinced I should conduct myself with prudence
and discretion. I am resolute, persevering to obstinacy, and
secret to excess. In one respect I own myself the most unjust
of human beings: I wish evil to those who conform not to my
desires. Such as are desirous of forming a friendship with me,
must be at the trouble of making all the advances: in return, I
make them amends, and omit no opportunity of doing them
service; I defend them against their adversaries, I speak in
their praise, and sanction nothing which might prove detri-
mental to their interest. Time, which effaces impressions
from the minds of others, gives strength to mine. I am truly
disinterested, but not easily duped. I never choose a friend º
because he can do me service; but should he neglect the oppor-
tunity when it occurs, I regard him no longer; he forfeits my
friendship. I have not sufficient virtue to disregard wealth and
* This appears not perfectly evident from the lady's accoun ..º. herself





#.
238 MARCHIoness DE chatelet.
honours, but enough to be satisfied and resigned to my lot. To
say truth, I am neither good nor bad enough to serve myself.
I am not devout; though I have through life desired to become
so. I am greatly affected by the merit of others, and apt to
over-rate my own; but my presumption" extends but to the
qualities of the heart. I am long in deliberating; but, when
once resolved, it is difficult to divert me from my purpose. I
strictly observe a promise, and do not easily pardon a breach
of faith in others. In asking favours for myself, I cannot per-
sist; I had rather resign my expectations, than obtain them by
servility. My attachment and fidelity are secured by gratitude
rather than by hope. Many of my faults proceed from pride;
none from meanness. If unable to conquer the pride which
governs my actions, I direct it to those purposes which capa-
citate me to appear without blushing.’ .
Confessions of this nature, notwithstanding the vanity and
egotism they may display, are always interesting. Madame
de Bregy preserved her charms and her talents to an advanced
age, and died at Paris, April 3d, 1693. She was interred with
*r husband at St. Gervais, and an epitaph inscribed over their
Dictionnaire Historique des Femmes Célébrées—Ann Thicknesse's
Sketches of the Lives and writings of the Ladies of France.
MARCHIONESS DE CHATELET.
GABRIELLE-EMILIE DE BRETEUIL, marquise de Chatelet,
descended from an ancient family of Picardy, was born on the
17th of December, 1706. While yet in early youth, she dis-
covered uncommon capacity and vigour of mind. Captivated
by the charms of poetry, she studied in their own language the
it poets both of ancient and modern times. Homer, Virgil,
sso, and Milton, became familiar to her: her ear was pecu-
irly sensible to the power of harmony, both in poetical and
ose compositions. As she advanced towards maturity, she
was led by an acute and comprehensive mind to the study of
e sev erer sciences: her attention was particularly engaged
: mathematics, to which for a time she wholly devoted her-
may be said to have rivaled Newton and Leibnitz.
“To this the reader perhaps may not quite agree,
















MARchion Ess DE CHATELE
Her “Institutes of Physic,” which she addressed to her
son, is a commentary on the philosophy of Leibnitz, which
she cleared from its obscurity, and rendered more intelligible.
The introduction to this work was praised by the learned as a
master-piece of eloquence and reasoning. It does not appear
that she was a disciple of this philosopher, whose system of
“Monades and Pre-established Harmony,” she professes only
to regard as ingenious. She held in the same estimation the
“Elements” of Descartes. She composed also a treatise on the
nature of fire, which was published in 8vo. She likewise en-
tered into a course of study of the works of Newton, which
are written in Latin, and on which she published a Commentary,
entitled “Principes Mathematiques de la Philosophie Naturelle,”
in two volumes, 4to; a work which is considered as a chef.
d’aeuvre.” Intense application wasted her strength, debilitated
her frame, and gradually conducted her to a premature grave.
She studied with Voltaire the principles of Newton, at
Cirey, in Champagne; where, having retired together, to avoid
interruption, they resided for several years. Mr. Koenig, an
eminent mathematician, spent two years with them in this
retreat. Voltaire caused a gallery to be erected at Cirey, where
their experiments on light and electricity were performed. In
the midst of these profound occupations, madame de Chatelet
preserved her predilection for poetry, of which she was an ex-
quisite judge. : º .
Voltaire went from Cirey to Brussels, to solicit a suit
which had been long pending between the family of de Chatelet
and the house of Honsbrouk; and which menaced both with
ruin. This affair was happily accommodated by the joint ex-
ertions of Voltaire, with M. Raesfeld, president of Cleves,
on the condition, that an hundred and thirty French livres
should be paid to the marquis de Chatelet.
Rousseau was then at Brussels: madame de Chatelet re-
fused to admit him to her presence, on account of his having
satirised her father, the baron de Breteuil, with whom he had
once lived as a domestic. .
Voltaire accompanied madame de Chatelet to the court of
" * The study of an abstract science in a dead language, it must be allowed, º
requires no common powers of mind. *


Stanislaus at Luneville, in 1748. In this palace, in 1749, the
illustrious marchioness de Chatelet breathed her last: she
submitted to her fate with great fortitude, and expired in the
forty-fourth year of her age. Her works afford a proof of the
power and force of her mind, and of the capacity of her sex
for profound investigation, and scientific research: she desery-
edly ranks among the first philosophical writers.
Preface to the Principes Mathematique, &c.—Dictionnarie Historique—
Biographical Dictionary—Vie de Voltaire.
****º
ANNE BROADSTREET.
ANNE BROADSTREET, of New England, in America, re-
ceived for her poetical talents the title of the Tenth Muse.
Her poems, which contained descriptions of the four elements,
the four ages, the four seasons, the four monarchies, and the
four humours, were printed in 1650.
LADY MILDRED BURLEIGH.
MILDRED, eldest daughter of sir Anthony Cooke, and of .
Anne his wife, daughter of sir William Fitz-Williams, of Mil-
ton, knt. was born in 1526. Her education was carefully su-
perintended by her father, and her mind liberally cultivated;
nor was she less distinguished for exemplary conduct than for
learning and talents. She was instructed in the Greek and
Latin languages: in the study of the former she was assisted
by Mr. Lawrence, the celebrated Grecian. She read with
facility and pleasure the works of Basil, Cyril, Chrysostome,
and Gregory Nazianzen: she translated a piece of St. Chry-
sostome's from the Greek into English: and, on presenting
the Bible, in Hebrew and other languages, to the university
library of Cambridge, she sent with it an epistle in Greek of
her own composition. -
Dec. 21st, 1546, she gave her hand to sir William Cecil,
afterwards created lord Burleigh, lord high-treasurer of Eng-
ellor to queen Elizabeth, and knight of the
order of the Garter. Several children were the fruit of this
union ; one son and two daughters only lived to maturity.







LADY BURLEIGH.
Her son Robert Cecil married Elizabeth Brooke, daughter
of lord Cobham. Anne Cecil gave her hand, in the fifteenth
year of her age, to Edward Vere, the seventeenth earl of Ox-
ford of that name, and lord high-chamberlain of England.
These nuptials proved unhappy. -- -
Lady Burleigh, after a long and happy marriage of forty-
two years, died in the sixty-third year of her age, April 4th,
1589, sincerely regretted by her husband, who in her lost an
amiable wife and a sensible communicative friend, whom he
had been accustomed to consult on the most important occa-
sions, and whose knowledge in the science of politics, and of
the affairs of the state, was little inferior to his own. She was
buried in the abbey church at Westminster, and a magnificent
monument erected to her memory.
Five days after her decease, lord Burleigh diverted his sor-
row by composing Meditations" on his irreparable loss, in
which, after expressing his high sense of the admirable quali-
ties and virtues of his lady, he enumerates her acts of benefi-
cence and liberality, many of which had, during her life, been
carefully concealed even from herself.
In these Meditations the reader is informed, that lady
Burleigh had caused exhibitions to be bestowed, by the hands
of the master of St. John's Cambridge, for the perpetual main-
tenance of two scholars; for which purpose lands were pur-
chased in the name of the dean of Westminster, who made
them over, as from himself, to the college. She likewise gave,
through the medium of Mr. Deanes, of Powles and Westmin-
ster, and of Mr. Alderly, a sum of money to the Haber-
dashers’ Company in London, by which a provision was made
of 120l. divided into twenties, to be lent every two years to six
poor mechanics in Romford and Essex. Also, in like manner,
twenty marks each to six persons in Cheshunt and Woolsham;
a relief to be continued by way of loan. Likewise a provision
for twenty poor in Cheshunt, to whom was to be given, the
first Sunday in every month, a portion of bread, meat, a
money. Four marks yearly for four sermons, to be preached
quarterly by one of the preachers of St. John's college. These
* These Meditations, composed in honour of lady Burleigh, and
subscribed, “. ſritten at Coling's Lodge, by me, in sorrow, W. B. April 9
1589,” are in possession of the hen. James West.












benefactions were concealed by the donor from every one: as
a compliment to the fidelity of the gentlemen whose agency
she used, lady Burleigh was accustomed to present to them
small pieces of plate. Four times in the year she sent, secretly,
to all the prisons in London, money to buy bread, cheese, and
beer, for four hundred persons: she also frequently distributed
shirts and linen among the poor, both at Cheshunt and in Lon-
don. To the master of St. John's College she gave a sum of
money, to have fires in the hall of the college upon all Sundays
and holidays, between the feasts of All Saints and Candlemas,
when there were no fires at the charge of the college. She gave
money, secretly, towards a building, “for a new waye at
Cambridge to the comen scolles.” She procured a number of
books, some of which she bestowed on the university of Cam-
bridge, the Bible in Hebrew, &c.; she also gave to the col-
lege of St. John many Greek books in divinity, physics, and
the sciences. She gave similar presents to Christ-church and
St. John's college, Oxford, and to the college of Westminster.
She provided annually wool and flax, which was distributed to
women in Cheshunt parish, to work into yarn, which was
overlooked by their benefactress, and frequently presented to
them as a reward of their labour. At other times she caused
it to be wrought into cloth, and gave it to the poor, paying for
the spinning an extraordinary price. A short time before her
death, she purchased, in secret, a quantity of wheat and rye,
to be given to the indigent in a time of scarcity: these stores
remained unexhausted at her death, but were afterwards em-
ployed according to the original purpose. .
Ballard's British Ladies—Biographium Fomineum.
ELIZABETH BURNET.
daughter of sir Richard Blake, knt. (of
le family), and of Elizabeth, daughter
un of eminence in London, was born
leven years of age she displayed a
es, and read with great applica-
into her hands, which falling short
ty of her conceptions, failed to



















ELIZABETH BURNET.
satisfy her mind. Her friends, observing the effect produced
by her studies, checked this presage of genius, by discouraging
the confidence of the youthful philosopher in her own penetra-
tion and powers. * . . . ,
Having been educated in great privacy and retirement,
she was, in her eighteenth year, married to Robert Berkley,
of Spetchley, grandson of sir Robert Berkley, a judge during
the reign of Charles I. This connexion was principally effected
through the influence of Dr. Fell, bishop of Oxford, who was
guardian to the young man, and entrusted with the care of his
education. Dr. Fell was accustomed to declare, that the most
esseñtial service he had ever performed for his pupil, was in
promoting his marriage with this lady.
Elizabeth, on coming into the family of her husband, found
his mother, a woman of exemplary life, to be a zealous mem-
ber of the church of Rome. This circumstance led her to
attend more particularly to the subjects in dispute between the
Catholics and the Reformers, that she might the better be ena-
bled to guard herself and her husband against the arguments and
insinuations of the Romish clergy. The mother of her hus-
band, who was deserving of his respect, held great influence
over his mind; a circumstance which rendered Elizabeth,
whose penetration and sagacity were superior to her years,
particularly careful and delicate to avoid any discussions or
reflections which might tend to produce disgust, disturb the
family harmony, or wound the feelings of either party. The
discretion and good sense with which she conducted herself,
in a situation thus critical, procured her just admiration, and
conciliated the esteem of the family of her husband. Her con-
duct is perhaps still more worthy of praise, since her moderation
originated not in indifference to the subjects in dispute; but
while tenacious of her own opinions, she judget ºperly,
that their effects upon her character, her temper, and her man.
ners, would not fail to prove their best recommendation.
residence in the country afforded her much leisure, which s
the offices of devotion, the instruction of t
cares of her family, fully occupied and
Beloved and respected by all who surrou.
thus glided away in studious and tranquil
Ž VoI. I. 2 H §





















During the reign of James, when the apprehensions of the
Protestants daily received increase, Elizabeth prevailed on
her husband, after the death of Dr. Fell, whose influence, op-
posed to that of the relations of Mr. Berkley, had hitherto
kept him steady to his principles, to quit England and pass
over to Holland. They accordingly made the tour of the
Seventeen Provinces, in which, on account of their family and
, they were received with distinguished kindness.
eonnexions
Letters had, without their knowledge, been transmitted to
Brussels, Ghent, and Liege, and to the Catholics dispersed
through the provinces, recommending Mrs. Berkley more par-
ticularly to their notice as a woman whose piety and virtues
had, notwithstanding her errors, almost entitled her to the
character of a saint. After their tour through the provinces,
they fixed at the Hague, where, esteemed and caressed by
persons of the first talents and rank, they continued to reside
till the period of the revolution, when they returned to their
native country, and their seat at Spetchley.
In this retreat Mrs. Berkley resumed her former manner of
life, and improved hourly in every laudable acquirement. Her
virtues and talents procured her the approbation and friendship
of the most respectable persons of the country and times,
among whom may be named Dr. Stillingfleet, bishop of Wor-
ester; also the dean of that church, Dr. William Talbot,
fterwards bishop of Durham: Dr. William Lloyd, the suc-
essor of bishop Stillingfleet, likewise treated her with singular
marks of attention and respect. In 1693 she became a widow
by the death of Mr. Berkley, who was interred with his an-
cestors at Spetchley. , .
During her widowhood, she prosecuted, with a more
* . . . . . . rotestant relations of her deceased husband she was a
ind and beneficent patroness. Her income, which was liberal,
managed with strict economy, enabled her to gratify the
lence of her heart. She kept at Spetchley an hospitable
hich the neighbouring clergy were more particularly
whose circumstances were narrow, she
and even assisted them with loans of
in in their power, without taking for
, Berkley having in his will becueath-
































ELIZABETH BURNET.
ge sum of money, to be raised out of his estate, for the
erection of an hospital at Worcester, his widow did all in her
power towards its completion and establishment: beside which
she took upon herself several charges, in relation to the affairs
of her husband, beyond what was required of her by the laws,
in the payment of debts and legacies. Having engaged M.
Berkley, during his lifetime, in the establishment of shools
for the children of the poor, she devoted large sums after his
decease towards their increase and perfection. N.
She had great facility with her pen, in which she took de-
light, and which she had early employed in various kinds of
composition. It was during her widowhood that she wrote the
first sketch of a work, afterwards published under the title of
“A Method of Devotion.” This performance, intended for her
own use only, consisted of such principles and directions as
she had adopted as the rules of her conduct. She remained a
widow near seven years, when she gave her hand to Gilbert
lord bishop of Salisbury, to whom she bore two children, who
died in their infancy. The bishop had a family by a former
marriage, who found in his second wife an affectionate and ex-
emplary mother, and who returned her kindness and care in
their education with that attachment and respect which were
so justly her due. N.
The bishop, sensible of her interest in the welfare of his
children, and confiding in her integrity and prudence, left his
family, by will, under the sole care and authority of their
step-mother: and further, to prove his sense of her value, and
his trust in the rectitude of her principles, he settled upon
herself, previous to their marriage, the whole of her own pro-
perty and estates, binding himself to consent to whatever dis.
position of her fortunes she might, at her decease, think it just
to make. The only use which Mrs. Burnet made of this liber-
ality, after allowing a certain moderate sum for her board in
the family, was to extend the circle of her bounties. Hav
allotted for her own expenses a fifth part of her income, w
she rarely exceeded, she employed the remaining four fifths in
acts of benevolence and mercy. Besides other charities, one
hundred children were educate º ~ a *
Worcester and Salisbury.
º ... •

























necessarily enlarged; persons of the first rank and merit courted
her friendship; while she made use of her increasing influence
and interest to extend her means of doing good. Amidst the
various employments and duties which solicited and occupied
her attention, she found leisure to continue the studies of her
closet; and having completed the performance before alluded
to, suffered herself to be prevailed upon, by the joint solici-
tations of her husband and her friends, to consent to its publica-
tion. The approbation which was bestowed upon the work in-
duced her, after revising, improving, and adding to it, from pa-
pers in her possession, to print a second edition, at her own ex-
pense, for the purpose of bestowing the copies among those
hom she thought them likely to benefit or instruct. A third edi-
tion of this work was published after her death under the follow-
ingtitle, “A Method of Devotion: or, Rules for holy and devout
Living; with Prayers on several Occasions, and Advices and
Devotions for the Holy Sacrament. Written by Mrs. Burnet,
late wife of the right reverend father in God Gilbert lord bishop
of Sarum. To which is added, some account of her life, by T. - .
Goodwyn, archdeacon of Oxford, 8vo, Lond. 1713.”
A constant journal was kept by Mrs. Burnet of her life;
ery evening she devoted some time to the recollection of
he past day, with a view of avoiding in future any errors into
which she might have fallen. Though without learning, she
possessed an acute and active mind; theology continued to be
her favourite study, to which, by the circumstances of the tim es
#
her own situation, she had been more particularly led.
progress in geometry and philosophy:
eans rather than as an end, as
33& .3 purify the mind. By the au-
which was exalted to enthusiasm, she in-
it of candour and benevolence: she consi-
on of her conduct and the purity of her life
al p
fernal pretence or









































In 1707, her constitution, originally delicate, rapidly de-
clining, she was recommended to the Spa for the recovery of
her health, where she appeared in some degree to revive: but
in January 1708, being seized with a pleuritic fever, she sunk
under it. Her death was resigned as her life had been exem-
plary: she expired on the 3d of February, 1708-9, and was
buried at Spetchley near her first husband, according to a
promise made to him during his life. : . . . . . . . . .;;.... :::::
Ballard's Ladies of Great Britain—Biographium Foemineum, &c.
Gibbon’s Memoirs of Pious Women. …&
ELIZABETH BURY.
ELIza BETH, daughter of captain Adams Lawrence of
Lynton in Cambridgeshire, was born at Clare, in March, 1644.
Her mother was the daughter of Henry Cutts, esq. of Clare.
Elizabeth was first married to Griffith Lloyd, esq. of Hem-
mingford Grey, in Huntingdonshire, in February, 1667, a
gentleman of respectable character, possessed of a good estate,
and particularly esteemed for his integrity and activity in the
commission of the peace. After living fifteen years happily
with Mr. Lloyd, who died April 13th, 1682, she was left a
widow, in which state she continued till 1697, when she
espoused Mr. Samuel Bury, a dissenting minister. With th
gentleman she resided in harmony and friendship, till 1720,
when, after a short illness, she expired at Bristol, May 11th,
in the seventy-seventh year of her age.
Mrs. Bury was greatly distinguished during her life for her
talents and exemplary manners; she is said to have possessed
uncommon quickness of apprehension and fluency of expres-
sion, a liberal curiosity, and great application. Her conversa-
tion was interesting, her mind acute, and her wit poignant: she
excelled also in epistolary correspondence. Her studies w ºš.
rious and profound: philosophy, philology, history, ancient and
modern, mathematics, geography, astronomy, and her tºº
turns engaged her attention. Her hours of relaxation
ployed in music, both vocal and instrumental. She was m
of the French language, and a generous benefactr
























of Hebrew, in which, by unwearied application and practice, she
became a proficient. She wrote critical remarks upon the idioms
and peculiarities of the Hebrew language, which were found
among her papers after her decease. She likewise took delight
in the study of anatomy and medicine, to which she was first
led by her own indifferent health, and afterwards induced to
cultivate by the desire of being useful to her neighbours. She
frequently astonished professors in the science by her accurate
method of stating difficult cases, the appropriate terms she
made use of, and her scientific acquaintance with the subject.
But her favourite pursuit was theology, in the subtilties of
which she was critically conversant.
, - She was accustomed to regret the disadvantages of her sex,
who, by the habits of their education, and the customs of
society, were illiberally excluded from the means of acquiring
knowledge. She contended, that mind was of no sex, and that
man was no less an enemy to himself than to woman in con-
fining her attention to frivolous attainments. She spoke with
pleasure and gratitude of her own obligations to her father and
to her preceptors, for having risen superior to those unworthy
prejudices, and opened to her the sources of intellectual
enjoyment.
Her beneficence and generosity were habitual and perse-
vering, and often exerted on an extensive scale; she made
long and expensive journeys in the promotion of her various
plans, and in procuring, to carry them into effect, the assistance
ld agency of others. “I have acted the part of a beggar so
º,” said she, “that I am now almost one myself.” She re-
ended the appropriating of stated annual sums to bene-
purposes: ‘People will not grudge, she was accus-
omed to say, “to give out of a purse that is no longer their
own.” Those who had no children, she thought, ought to re-
rve a fourth part of their income for charitable uses. This,
t be confessed, is a subject of some difficulty, on which
light be alleged, and which must always depend on
me temper of Mrs. Bury was contemplative and pious;
mer early youth, she was accustomed to rise at four in the
and to spend ral hours in her closet in medita-
ercises. She conversed cheerfully with






























CALPHURNIA. 247
her friends, but regretted the time consumed in visits. She
could not satisfy herself, she frequently said with an inter-
course in which she could neither do nor receive good, but
would rather confine himself to her closet and her books
her diary the following remark sometimes occurs: “Enterta
ed very kindly at such and such houses, but no good done to
myself or others.” At other times, she would complain, after
leaving company, “that though she had struck fire frequently,
it always fell upon wet tinder.” This good lady was probably
too scrupulous and fastidious: among the lesser duties of life,
we ought not to overlook that of contributing, by innocent
compliances, to the happiness of others. The bow cannot
always remain bent; social duties are not inconsistent º
moral obligations. º
Mrs. Bury left at her decease a large diary, which was
abridged and published by her husband, from whose account
the preceding particulars have been extracted. Among her
miscellaneous papers were several discourses upon religious
subjects; also critical observations in anatomy, medicine, ma-
thematics, music, philosophy, and rhetoric. ; : . . . . . . . .
An elegy upon her death was written by Dr. Watts, in which
her various and admirable qualities are poetically enumerated.
Ballard's British Ladies—Biographium Foemineum—Gibbon's
Memoirs of Pious Women, &c. º
CALPHURNIA.
THE two following letters of Pliny, translated by the earl of
Orrery, afford an interesting description of this lady, whom he
had espoused, and an affecting picture of virtuous tenderness.
PLINY to HISPULL.A.”
“As you are an example of every virtue
derly loved your excellent brother, whose daught
you supplied the place of both parents) you considered
own, I doubt not but you will rejoice to learn, that she pro
ered as your
worthy of her father, worthy of you, and worthy of her d-
father. She has great talents; she is an admirable econom st;
* The aunt of Calphurnia,

















and she loves me with an entire affection: a sure sign of her
chastity. To these qualities she unites a taste for literature,
inspired by her tenderness for me. She has collected my
works, which she reads perpetually, and even learns to repeat.
When I am to plead, how great is the anxiety she suffers!
When I have succeeded, her joy is not less exquisite. She en-
gages people to tell her what applauses I have gained, what
acclamations I have excited, and what judgment is pronounced
on my orations. When I am to speak in public she places
herself as near to me as possible, under the cover of her veil,
and listens with delight to the praises bestowed upon me. She
ings my verses, and, untaught, adapts them to the lute: love
er only instructor. . .
* Hence I expect with certainty that our happiness will be
urable, and that it will daily increase. In me she is not cap-
tivated by youth or beauty, which are liable to accident and
decay, but with the lustre of my name. These are the senti-
ments which become a woman formed by your hand, and in-
structed by your precepts. Under your roof, she beheld only
purity and virtue; it was your approbation that taught her to
love me. Your filial affection for my mother led you in my
childhood to praise and model me, to presage that I should
one day be the man my wife now fancies me to be. We, there-
fore, m utually return you thanks: I, because you have given
her to me; she, because you have given me to her. You have
s as formed for each other. Farewel.”
PLINY to cALPHURNIA. §
yeager desire to see you is incredible. Love is its first
; the next, that we have been so seldom separated. I
the greater part of the night in thinking of you. In the
lso, at those hours in which I have been accustomed to
ly feet carry me spontaneously to your apartment,
tly return out of humour and dejected, as if
admit me. There is one part of the day
ief to my disquiet; the time dedicated to
of my friends. Judge what a life mine
r is my rest, and when cares and perplex-
Biographium Foemineum.


































. ſ 249 l
CALPURNIA.
Caesar, having been divorced from Pompeia, took, for his
fourth wife, Calpurnia, daughter of Lucius Piso, of an ancient
and honourable family, derived, according to Ovid, from Cal-
pus, son to Numa Pompilius, second king of Rome. The
family was divided into two branches; of which one was sur-
named Frugi, signifying men of worth: the name of Piso was
common to both. The father of Calpurnia was consul of Rome
in 753, the year in which, by some writers, the birth of Christ
is placed. . ~ %
In Calpurnia, Caesar found a wife such as he desired, t
propriety of whose conduct preserved her even from sus-
picion. To her virtues were added beauty, talents, prudence,
and an extraordinary eloquence; she possessed also a gene-
rosity, magnanimity, and greatness of mind, truly Roman.
With a mind acute and comprehensive, she was enabled to
enter into the great designs meditated by Caesar, who aspired
to universal empire. Calpurnia displayed both in adversity and
in prosperity the same equanimity: the victories and triumphs
of Caesar inspired her with no presumption; while, in a reverse
of fortunes, the firmness of her temper remained unshaken.
Her mind was equal to her extraordinary fortune, and to the
honours which she shared with the greatest monarch and con-
queror in the world. Her modesty and moderation were, on
all occasions, exemplary. No one could perceive any diffe ence .
between Calpurnia wife to Caesar senator of Rome, and Calpur-
nia consort to the master of the world, Mildness, gentleness,
affability, and fortitude, were her distinguishing charac -
ristics. . . .* º
She exhibited the same steadiness when republican Rome,
impatient of its sovereign dictator, struggled to emancipate
itself by the fall of the usurper. The destiny of Caesar drew
near to its accomplishment: his assassination was resolved
upon; while his dearest friends joined in the conspiracy. Cal-
purnia, it is related, felt, on this occasion, presages of the ap-
proaching fate of her husband. Her imagination probably im-
pressed by the spirit and circumstances of the times, she :
dreamed that, by a solemn decree of the senate, the dome
Vol. I. - 2 I









aso cALPURNIA.
built upon the house of Caesar fell, and crushed him beneath it
in her arms. Starting from this terrible vision, her tenderness
for her husband, added to apprehensions but too justly founded,
seized upon her spirits. & º żº º
Caesar had been warned of designs formed against his
power and life by several anonymous advertisements, in which
he was told to beware of the ides of March. He had on that
day appointed to meet the senate for the business of proposing
an expedition against the Parthians. The warnings he had re-
ceived, the tears of Calpurnia, the entreaties of his friends,
and an indisposition which he felt, combined to make him
hesitate on the morning of the day, whether he should not
adjourn the discussion and dismiss the assembly. To this pur-
§3. e had even commissioned Mark Antony, when Decimus
Brutus came to inform him, that the senate, which had met in
pursuance of his orders, waited only his arrival to declare him
ſing of all the provinces of the empire, and to authorise his
assumption of the ensigns of imperial dignity. On observing
him waver in his resolution, Brutus ridiculed the superstitions
by which he suffered himself to be influenced, and remonstra-
ed with him on the impropriety of frustrating, by his weak-
ness, the liberal purposes of the senate in his favour. Caesar
yielded to the representations of his insidious friend, bound,
as he believed, to his interest by numberless acts of favour and
ality. On repairing to the senate, he met his fate, and
ed, a victim to public liberty and private jealousy, by the
of those in whom he had confided.
f lia was seized, on the fatal tidings, with a deep and
e grief, which was testified by the conduct of her future
Superior to the weakness of ordinary minds, she pro-
ed publicly, in the Rostra, the funeral eulogium of her
in which her affection for the deceased, her sense of
and displayed. Having
lmitted of no reparation,
remainder of

























BIANCA CAPELLO.
BIANCA, descended from the noble house of the Capelli at
Venice, and daughter of Bartolomeo Capello, was born in
1545. Her childhood and early youth passed in the retirement
of her father's palace, where, according to the custom of the
country, she conversed only with her family and relations.
The Florentines had, among other nations, formed in the
middle of the sixteenth century, a commercial establishment
at Venice, which was held in great reputation. By several of
the most noble and wealthy families of Florence, agents were
appointed at Venice, who transacted in the mercantile houses
the business of their employers. Among the most distinguis
ed of these was that of the Salviati, whom Pietro Buonaven-
turi, a Florentine youth, whose birth was obscure, and whose
family was indigent, served as a clerk. More indebted to na-
ture than to fortune, Pietro, with a fine person and insinuating
manners, possessed an aspiring temper, and a turn for in-
trigue. . . 3. . º
Opposite to the palace of the Capelli was the house of the
Salviati, when, in 1565, Bianca having entered her twentieth
year, attracted, by the charms of her person, the attention of
the young Florentine. Her rank flattered his ambition, wi
by the difficulties that seemed to threaten the intrigue, his & ...;
ling passion for adventure was stimulated and inflamed. It was
in vain that, for some time, he sought to procure access to the
idol that had captivated his fancy, and banished from his
thoughts the leger and the cash-book. The young Venetian
women, more especially those of noble blood, were h
strict confinement, which, by frustrating all his projects,
reduced Pietro to despair, but for some stolen glan
his vanity failed not to construe to his advan
hopes thus revived, his efforts were renewed; whil º
finement and severity under which Bianca repined, provi
too propitious to the views of her lover, and rendered h
tle less solicitous than himself to facili
view. Bolts and bars are but feeble
passion, which, ingenious to circum
%



















source, bursts the trammels of authority, and overleaps, with-
out difficulty the barriers of external restraint. * .
The Florentine, who watched Bianca when, attended by
her maid, she repaired to church, to offer up her devotions,
profaned the gates of the temple, by whispering in her ear
an unhallowed tale: careful to veil his humble extraction, he
represented himself to the credulous fair-one as a partner in
the house whose concerns he transacted. His engaging man-
ners, his elegant figure, the soft accents of the lover, and the
novelty of her sensations, combined to deceive and intoxicate
Bianca. Was love ever known to doubt the veracity of its object,
or the reality of the sentiment which flattered its hopes? The
attendant, influenced either by interest or by sympathy, by
persuasions or by bribes, consented to aid the enamoured pair,
ind, by the help of a false key, to admit, at midnight, while
caution slept, the lover to breathe his vows at the feet of his
mistress. & - --
This intercourse was maintained for some months, without
whose mutual interest and safety was the pledge of their pru-
dence: but symptoms of the appearance of a fourth personage,
whose silence it would be less easy to ensure, placed at length
before the eyes of the frail Bianca the terrors of a cloister and
perpetual imprisonment. In this dilemma a consultation being
held, flight was proposed, as the only means of safety. Bianca
led to the reasoning of her lover, and, having secured as a
set of jewels belonging to her father, eloped with him
orence. -
uring the journey, Buonaventuri was compelled to
se the deception he had practised; to excuse it as a
gem of love, and to reveal to his mistress, on whose
he threw himself for pardon, his real name and
Thus umstanced, the lady, as he foresaw, had no
was compelled to recompense with her hand,
romise faith and affection to the man by whom she had
'ssly deceived and betrayed. A priest, procured by the
. . . ;e near Bologna, performed for the lovers
hen, the benediction being given, the
eded to Florence, and sought shelter in
naventuri. Bianca soon after gave






















BIANCA CAPELLo. 253
birth to a daughter, on whom she bestowed the name of
Pelegrina. . . . . * * * . .
The Capelli family, incensed at the flight and disgrace of
their daughter, breathed only vengeance: Grimani, patriarch of
Aquileia, the uncle of Bianca, procured, in his wrath, a decree
from the senate, by which his niece and her husband were
exiled, as outlaws, from Venice, and a reward of a thousand
ducats offered to those who should bring the offenders to justice:
a similar sum was, on a fulfilment of the same condition pro-
mised by Bartolomeo. Giovan Battista Buonaventuri, uncle to
Pietro, accused of being privy to the conduct of his nephew,
was thrown into a dungeon and suffered to perish: the con-
fidant of the lovers, whom they had neglected to make the
partner of their flight, expiated her breach of trust by a fate
not less severe. Thus, from the imprudence of two young
people, whose age afforded some extenuation for their offences,
and by the absurd prejudices of a fanatic aristocracy, was
humanity violated and nature outraged. .
Bianca, the victim of credulity and fraud, continued for a
time concealed at Florence, in the house of the father of her
husband, where she learned with terror the proceedings at
Venice, the barbarity of her relations, and the injustice of her
country. Ruffians, it was reported, were sent to Florence to drag
her from herhumble asylum ; everything tended to convince her
of the dangers of her situation, and the necessity of a powerful
friend. Thus circumstanced, she determined to solicit pro-
tection from Francesco (son to Cosmo), governor of Tuscany.
Her introduction to this prince is variously related. Francesco
had received from his agents at Venice early notice of the
elopement, with its consequences; and, in the ensuing year, he
appeared a zealous advocate in behalf of the lady. The follow-
ing account of the commencement of the acquaintance between
Bianca and the governor wears an air of romance, and seems
to want confirmation. The story is however admitted and re-
ported by the Florentine writers.
Bianca is represented, in dread of the d
herself closely concealed in the house of he
scarcely venturing to hear mass in a neighbouring church,
when a disturbance in the street one day drew her, at the mo-
ment Francesco passed on horseback, towards the window.












Absorbed in attention to what had caused the affray, she saw
not the prince, who, struck by her beauty, stopped to observe
her: on meeting, at length, his ardent gaze, she started, retired
in alarm, and reported what had passed to the mother of her
husband, who sought to dissipate her fears. Some time elapsed,
when the incident appearing to be followed by no consequences,
Bianca recovered her tranquillity; she however redoubled her
precautions, abstained wholly from mass, and kept herself in
strict concealment.
Francesco, whose imagination the charms of Bianca had
deeply impressed, rode daily through the street, in which he
had transiently beheld her, watching in vain for a second
glance: in the same hope, and with the same success, he visi-
ted the neighbouring churches. Thus baffled, and despairing of
the assistance of chance, he imparted his adventure, in confi-
dence, to his chamberlain, Mondragone, who, with the aid of
his wife, traced the beautiful stranger. The wife of Mondra-
gone, under plausible pretences, formed an acquaintance with
the mother of Buonaventuri, and, by her liberalities, won her
confidence. The story of the marriage of Bianca, its conse-
ences, her just apprehensions, and the necessity of a power-
patronage, soon became the subject of their conversations.
lady of the chamberlain, of course, offered her interest
with her husband, to procure for the beautiful Venetian the
protection of the prince, whose justice and clemency she failed
not to extol. Induced by the solicitations and arguments of
her mother, on whom the wife of Mondragone had imposed
ficulty, Bianca was prevailed upon to give a timid
make a visit to the house of the chamberlain, where
: received with courtesy by their new friends, and the
º d to recapitulate her story. Her hostess
ith apparent interest, and, on its conclu-
ised the munificence and liberality of the prince,
d to engage his patronage for her lovely guest. After
ſome refreshments, the mother was artfully drawn
oom, which Francesco, a few minutes after, abrupt-
onfused by an incident thus unexpected.
ral visitor, and, in tremulous accents,
ompassion. Francesco, having raised
pliant, assured her of his ser-






































vices and protection; after which he immediately withdrew,
leaving Bianca not less perplexed than surprised by what had
happened. The lady of the house, on her return, accosting her
guest with a smile, apologised for the intrusion of the prince,
who, possessing the key to a private door of the house, was
accustomed, she told her, to enter without ceremony. “But
doubtless,’ added she, “you chid him for his intrusion.” “I
asked of him, replied Bianca, “only security for my honour.”
The occasion was not lost for renewing the eulogium on Fran-
cesco, a subject on which the wife of the chamberlain was pe-
culiarly eloquent: she entreated her guest not to check an
acquaintance thus auspiciously, though accidentally, begun,
and which could not fail of proving to her highly advantage-
ous. Such is said to have been the origin of a connexion so
important to the future destiny of Bianca.
This account is liable to objections: it appears improbable
that the prince, who learned from his agents, at the time it
happened, the flight of the lovers, should have been ignorant
of the circumstances attending their asylum, and the conduct
of the Venetian states, or should have been obliged for his in-
troduction to stratagem and surprise. But a foundation of
truth, enough for the purposes of this narration, is sufficiently
apparent in the charms and defenceless situation of Bianca, the
character in which her husband stood, as an agent for the com-
merce of Florence, and the temper of Francesco, whose sensi-
bility to female beauty was well known.
The prince espoused, with ardour and spirit, the cause of
the fair fugitive, in whose behalf he negotiated with the
Venetians, seeking to obtain, through his agent at Venice,
and by the mediation of the pope's nuncio, 2. reverse of their
severe decree. Though sustained by the church, his efforts
.. proved fruitless, the council of ten continued inexorable. Six
thousand ducats, the property of Bianca, bequeathed to her by
her mother, were withheld, and the decree, which pronounced
her an alien from her country, confirmed. So rigid and impla-
cable appeared the temper of the republic, that … Fran
advised by his ageht to remit his efforts,
more propitious should occur, when, the aff:
º general interest, he assured him, had been
















•
cause; the states conceiving their dignity, as a body, to be
affected; to relent, therefore, would be considered as a danger-
ous precedent. To these remonstrances a hint was added, that
it ill became the dignity of an ambassador and representative
of the prince to interfere in the concerns of a private family,
in a business which promised not a favourable issue, which
was disreputable to its advocates, and which would not fail to
draw upon Florence the resentment of the republic. Francesco,
on this statement, seems to have relaxed his zeal; the pro-
ceedings were suffered to decline; the rather perhaps as Bianca,
under his protection, remained in perfect security. It is certain
that, in 1565, every application to the senate in her behalf had
ceased. sº. 3 & & : 3. .
The prince, who daily became more attached to his pro-
tegée, purchased for her a palace on the Via Maggiore at Flo-
rence; his liberalities towards her were boundless; while
every interval from business was devoted to her society.
Bianca was not insensible to the attentions of her munificent
patron, though for some years a veil of decorum and secrecy
was drawn over their connexion. .
At the commencement of their acquaintance, Francesco
had been invested by his father, who had retired from public
affairs, with the greater part of the ducal powers; Cosmo,
though not ignorant of the conduct of his son towards his new
involved
favourite, affected to overlook it; an alliance was negotiated
by him, between Francesco, the reigning duke of Tuscany,
and the emperor Maximilian, whose sister, Donna Joanna of
Austria, had been demanded in marriage. The Italian princes,
volved in a struggle for precedence, regarded with jealousy
the power and magnificence of the Medici; the interest of the
house of Austria, it was conceived by Cosmo, would strengthen
eir cause, and enable them to defeat the machinations of
º In a political view, Francesco acceded to the
ions of his father, nor ventured, though but little inclined
marriage, to throw any impediment in the way of the
While this alliance remained in suspense, the
prince to Bianca was studiously concealed;
in of the nuptials, he no longer affected to
§
time after the marriage, Bianca was intro-





















tiuced at court, and the predilection of her lover openly avow-
ed. Intoxicated by the admiration and respect procured to her
by her charms, and the favour of the duke, whose devotion to
her appeared to be unlimited, she carried her views into futu-
rity, and revolved in her mind projects the most aspiring.
Francesco, in a moment of delirium, made a solemn vow, be-,
fore the image of the virgin, to espouse his mistress whenever,
they should be freed from their present engagements. º
While Bianca triumphed in the favour of the duke, her
husband shared in his bounty; invested with the title and office.
of chamberlain, he was admitted to a part in the government,
and consulted on the affairs of the state. Giddy with his ele-
vation, he abused the powers entrusted to him, and drew
on himself the hatred of the people. The Florentines had not
yet forgotten the usurpations of the Medici, by whom the re-
public had been abolished: a number of malecontents still
remained, who waited but an occasion, openly to -show the
detestation which lurked in their hearts of the masters im-
posed upon them. Francesco, who, without the good qualities,
inherited the vices of his father, was still more the object of
their abhorrence: while, incensed at the oppression and arro-
gance of the upstart chamberlain, they meditated his ruin,
which his own indiscretion precipitated.
In consequence of her connexion with the prince, a cold-
ness had taken place between Bianca and her husband, whose
intriguing spirit reviving, he sought to console himself for the
infidelity of his wife in gallantries with the ladies of the court,
Buonaventuri particularly attached himself to Cassandra Bon-
giani, a beautiful Florentine, of the family of the Ricci; with
this lady, whose favours he imprudently boasted, he passed his
hours of leisure from the business of his office. The Ricci,
zealous for the honour of their family, and irritated byūhe
vanity and presumption of Buonaventuri, complained to the
duke, whom they entreated to chastise the insolence o : His
chamberlain. In compliance with this remonstrance, Brancesco
mildly represented to him the impropriety of his corºuct
warned him of his danger, and advised him to greater mode-
ration and reserve; concluding with a hint, that his protection
could but little avail him against the poniard of the assassin.
Vol. I. 2 K












treated the ima
ice of his enemies, and
him as calumnies, fabricated by them,
he favour with which he was honoured
master. Francesco affected to admit these apologies,
ved, on dismissing Buonaventuri, that, for the conse-
quences of his conduct, he would henceforth have himself
* The imprudent chamberlain, confiding in the forbearance
bf his patron, repeated with aggravation, his indiscretion;
while the Ricci continued daily to solicit the duke for justice.
&#32 rid himself of their importunities, and to save his chamber-
1, he at length determined on sending him to France.
anca, to whom he communicated this project, felt, on the
idea of a separation from her husband, her regard for him re-
vive: imploring the prince to suspend his purpose, she pro-
mised to use all her influence with Buonaventuri to induce
him to alter his conduct. On the same day, she remonstrated
ith him on the peril to which he exposed himself; repeated
hat had passed between herself and the duke; and entreated
m with tears to dissolve the connexion in which he was
angled. She was answered by her husband with rudeness
nd violence; he refused with imprecations to make the
sacrifice required of him; and, after treating his wife with in-
sult and menace, left her overwhelmed with indignities and
ºf Francesco, in an adjoining apartment, to which he had
ation by a secret door, overheard the conversation;
, on entering, his mistress in tears. “If,” said he,
º º herself, ‘your husband will
im to his fate.” . .
he street, after he had quitted
ticci, who was engaged in con-
* applied a pistol to his breast, and, in terms of outrage,
§ ºś ci, justly i ncensed at this new insult,
n his friends to the duke, of whom he de
..º.º.º.º.º.º.º.º. e garden, held with him a
















































BIANCA capello, asa
* In the
you please, I shall take no notice of your conduct.
evening the duke quitted the city.
The chamberlain returning on the night of the same day
(December 21st, 1569), attended by two servants armed, from
the house of Cassandra, was attacked on the bridge Della
Ininita, by more than twelve banditti: the combat was un-
equal; in the beginning of the fray, one of the servants made
his escape, the other fell by his master. Buonaventuri, having
kihed the leader of the assassins, defended himself with
vigour, cleared the bridge, and had nearly reached his house,
where a fresh band of assassins awaited him, so intent were his
enemies on his destruction: exhausted at length by his exer-
tions, and unable to evade assailants thus multiplied, the im-
petuous chamberlain rushed on his fate, and fell covered with
wounds. Ruffians, at the same time, broke into the chamber
of his mistress, whom they murdered in her bed. By these
barbarous sacrifices was the ferocious honour of the Ricci
appeased. 3.
Bianca, informed in the morning of the miserable destiny
of her husband, flew to the palace, to implore vengeance on
the murderers. The duke was still absent, at Pratolino, whither
he had retired, and whence he returned not till the second day
after the catastrophe, when he endeavoured to console Bianca
by a solemn promise to investigate the transaction, and to
punish the assassins of his chamberlain. By tardy proceedings,
however, the murderers were suffered to escape, and take
º
refuge in France. This circumstance rendered the princ
pected of being privy to the outrage, an opinion wi
events tended to strengthen; and which was, some y
wards, confirmed by his own confession, to Giovan Bat
Confetti, his chaplain. Too weak to risque of
cited, without energy to punish the presumption of the creat
whom he had raised, or resolution to refuse redre i.
jured subject, there remained to Fran cesco no ot her alt.
tive. To these, it is probable, private motives mi
of sufficient force to precipitate the fate of a capri




























BIANCA cAPELLo.
Bianca now became, and from whom he could scarcely sepa-
rate himself for the necessary avocations of his station. The
Florentines, offended and disgusted with the conduct of their
vernor, circulated, at his expense, severe satires; but the
influence of Bianca was not to be shaken: all favours were
solicited through the medium of her interest; her support was
fortune, and her displeasure ruin. It was scarcely possible that
a power thus absolute should be always used with moderation;
and it is certain that Bianca incurred the hatred of the nation.
Alarmed by the public discontent, she courted, to strengthen
her interest, the friendship of the Medici. Cosmo, father of
the reigning duke, lived retired with Camilla Martelli, the wife
whom he had espoused, and interested himself but little with
public affairs. Donna Isabella de Medici, sister to Francesco,
and his brother, cardinal Ferdinand, appeared to Bianca of
greater importance to her cause. Isabella, beloved by her
brother, but unfortunately married to Giordano Orsino, with
whose nephew, Troilo, she had formed an attachment, which
timately led her to a tragical death, finding her inclinations
ed by Bianca, attached herself to her in return, nor did
1 to flatter the passion of the duke. Cardinal Ferdinando,
ose temper was rough and severe, thou gh but littl beloved
ir confided in by Francesco, had, of all the Medici family, the
greatest popularity. His favour was sought by Bianca as a se-
rity against the people, while, to effect her purpose, she
1 his character, and contrived to render herself necessary
rough his love of pomp and expense, which led him.
hits of his fortune. Having repeatedly applied
his revenue, or a temporary re-
%
ir interfer
* :ular, when a
his suit, complained
it, on his return
Ferdinando, en-
















































BIANCA CAPELLO.
surprised by the sum he had demanded. To these substantial
services, Bianca added the most flattering testimonies of re-
spect and deference: mistress of every avenue to the heart,
the cold and severe nature of the cardinal yielded to her blan-
dishments; while soliciting his advice, his assistance, and his
prayers, to him she affected to hold herself indebted for the
distinctions she enjoyed in his family. . . ... º. º.º.º.
Her influence with the Medici thus secured, her ascen-
dency at court rested on a solid basis. To personal charms,
she added an address the most insinuating; pleasure followed
in her train, while distrust and jealousy fled before her. Fran-
cesco, unhappy in his marriage, and at variance with his kin-
dred, sought refuge in the vivacity and facility of his mistress. --
The grand-dutchess, educated in a bigotted court, harsh and
unyielding in her manners, narrow in her intellects, and rigid
in her opinions, was little calculated to engage an alienated
heart. Severe to the frailties of her husband, she embittered
his mind by reproaches; and by her incessant complaints and
appeals to his father completed his aversion and disgust. By
her jealousy, her severity, and her violence, the indifference of
her husband was converted into hatred, and the chains rivetted
which bound him to her rival. The example of the duke was
y the court; while adulation and splendor
of course followed b
surrounded Bianca, the unfortunate dutchess sunk into ne-
glect. Exasperated by the consequences of her own indiscre.
tion, she redoubled her importunities, her appeals, and her
complaints; till irritated by her deserted state, the unt
Joanna felt herself one day, on accidentally meeting her hu
band, with his mistress, on the bridge of La Trinita, roused
to fury and revenge. Count Heliodoro Costelli, by whom she
was attended, observing her emotion, and that she was about
to give orders to her servants to throw into the Arno her hated
rival, stepped forward, at th
senting her purpose as a suggestion of the devil, dissuaded her
from so desperate a measure. The dictates of vengeance
yielding to those of superstition,the dutchess recalled h
delivered mandate, and the favourite passed on in safety. Not
long after this incident, Bianca contrived, by her address, to
mitigate even the rage of her rival, and, for a time, to obtain
from her some marks of favour.
te critical moment, and by repre- .



















In 1574, the death of Cosmo, which secured the sove-
reignty to Francesco, removed from the conduct of his mis-
tress a watchful eye, and determined her on the execution of
a long-meditated project. The grand-dutchess had borne to
the duke several daughters: averse to the succession of either
of his brothers, the want of a son afforded to Francesco a per-
petual source of vexation and grief. Since nature had refused
him a legitimate heir, he had been frequently heard to express
a wish, that he might, out of wedlock, enjoy the satisfaction of
being father to a boy. To secure her power over her lover,
Bianca, earnestly desired to become a mother, since Francesco,
to the promise of making her his wife, should it ever be in his
power, had added as a condition, that she should first present
him with a son. One obstacle to her elevation had been removed
by the assassination of her husband; while the declining health
of the dutchess seemed to promise, at no very distant period,
the completion of her hopes: by these circumstances her in-
genuity was stimulated. Since the birth of her daughter Pele-
grina, the pledge of her first attachment, dissipation had im-
ired her constitution, and rendered a future pregnancy but
. i tº probable. The efficacy of medicine, of every nostrum and
superstition, which the knowledge or the temper of the times
afforded, had been long resorted to by Bianca in vain; when,
despairing of success, she resolved to have recourse to subtlety
and fraud. An habitual refinement and policy, aided by the
court morality, in which she had become an adept, determined
ner, in the prosecution of her purpose, to shrink from no mea-
hich might ensure success. A project had been for
*
me ripening in her mind, and the agents, whose assist-
which only he had knowledge,
gned; the entire scheme was entrusted but to the con-
nt and attendant of Bianca, Jo
hole was to be arranged and conducted. In conformity to the
n of her mistress, Santi selected several Florentine women
circulated that the favourite
nt: no one appeared to doubt of her situa-









































BIANCA CAPELLO.
transport of her lover was sincere and unbounded. August
29th, 1576, one of the women, marked by the confidant, was
delivered of a son, and the mother, with the child conveyed to
a house belonging to Bianca. Santi, making the woman a
visit, took the infant, under pretence of shewing it to some
person in an adjoining room, from its mother, and, in the
night, had it secretly conveyed to the palace of Bianca, to be
produced as occasion should serve. The crafty Venetian had
acted through the day the part of a woman in the pains of
child-birth: the duke, full of anxiety, and impatiently expect-
ing her delivery, quitted not the room for a moment, till, at
length, exhausted by fatigue and watching, the night being far
advanced, he was prevailed on to retire, and to leave his
beloved mistress with her nurses and attendants. Bianca con-
trived, on some pretence, to rid herself, for a few moments, of
the physicians, who waited in her chamber, and who seems
not to have been in the plot; and in the interval; surrounded
only by her confidential friends, pretended to have brought
forth a son. Francesco, who had just laid down to repose,
hastened, on the joyful intelligence, to the chamber of his
mistress, from whose arms he received the boy, which he
acknowledged as his own: in compliment to saint Anthony,
whom he believed had been propitious to the prayers of Bianca,
the child received from the duke the name of Antonio.
Thus successful in fraud, cruelty succeeded in the mind of
the ambitious Venetian, who sought to rid herself of the wit-
nesses of her falsehood. The real mother, ignorant of the fate
of her infant, was, by an agent in the interest of Bianca, con-
veyed to Bologna. This man, being some time afterwar
the point of death, revealed to her the mystery, and cauti
her to be mindful of her safe y. S
of this event, under a feigned
through Italy; and, after the decease of Bianca, revealed
transaction, in confession, to a Bolognese priest, whose intere
she requested, with the successor of Francesco, to enable
to return to Florence.
The wet-nurse, with a waiting woman, conscious to a p
of the secret, were precipitated into the Arno; while S ant
the confidant and principal agent, was, a year afte .
action, sent to Bologna, and, on her passage over th
She wandered, in consequence
| name, during twelve years,















nines, assaulted by ruffians, from whom she received several
wounds with musket shot. Having, notwithstanding, reached
the city alive, she made, in revenge, an authentic declaration
of the whole transaction, of the fate which had overtaken those
who had been employed in it, and of her belief that her own
assassination had been intended. . x . &
The timidity of conscious guilt is ever cruel; thus the
barbarity of Bianca defeated its own purpose: by a deviation
from integrity, the mind becomes bewildered in error, while
the desperate measures suggested by increasing perplexity, lead
but the more certainly to detection and shame.
The deposition of Santi was forwarded to cardinal Ferdi-
nando, who, for political reasons, made no present use of it.
The artifices of Bianca had not been sufficiently subtle to elude
the suspicions of her physician; her part was probably over.
acted; some of the symptoms which she had exhibited of a
woman in child-birth, had an appearance not perfectly in na-
ture: the doubts of the medical men were even whispered in
the ear of the grand-duke, accompanied by other reports of
the deceptions that had been practised. Francesco seemed to
give no credit to the tale; choosing rather to believe what
flattered his wishes, without a too curious investigation of the t
truth, he publicly acknowledged the little Antonio as his son. "
s Bianca omitted nothing, on her part, that might tend to
endear the boy to his reputed father: when scarcely two years
of age, she made him write, or wrote for him, letters to the
duke, which are yet in the archives of Florence. It was
y possible that she should long remain ignorant of the
of her falsehood, which h
. iad been carried to her lover:
ous that the fraud could not be eventually concealed,
e had the temerity, some years afterwards, to confess to the
ke the whole affair. Thus was the secret disclosed that had
so many precautions and so much blood. In the midst of
avowal of guilt, Bianca preserved, by her address, the at-
hment of the infatuated prince, who, before the public, still
wning the child. The depositions of the real
of the confidant, are not the only evidence of
nsaction: to these were added the testimony
illo, the physician, who attended Bianca during
egnancy and delivery, and who avowed to the


























* BIANCA CAPELLO. 265
duke his suspicions; while the confession of Bianca herself,
and the subsequent communications of Francesco to his con-
fessor, which are authenticated facts, remove every remain-
ing doubt. If Ferdinando preserved silence in an affair that so
nearly concerned his interest, the enmity between the brothers,
the good offices of Bianca, her ascendency over her lover, with
other prudential motives, sufficiently account for his moderation.
About this period, 1576, the father of Bianca, whose re-
sentment time, and the splendid destiny of his daughter, had
combined to appease, visited her at Florence: the grand-duke
overwhelmed him with presents, while Bianca purchased for
him a house at Venice, and increased his yearly revenue. The
family of Bartolomeo, more noble than wealthy, was, on this
occasion, regarded with jealousy by the senate, whose decree
was still in force against Bianca: displeased with the conduct
of her father, though they still allowed him to attend the grand
council, he was never afterwards admitted to the senate. His
daughter's residence and connexions in a foreign court, were,
to a jealous aristocracy, a sufficient ground of distrust.
The duke, involved by his love for his mistress in so much
scandal and perplexity, was at this time exposed, on her ac-
count, to serious apprehensions. The arch-dutchess had, since
the birth of Antonio, reiterated her appeals to her brother,
Maximilian II. ; who no longer refused to listen to her com-
plaints. Ferdinand, the arch-duke, brother to the emperor,
and an enemy to Francesco, interested himself also in the dis-
tress of the neglected dutchess; while he sought to render
odious the conduct of her husband in the eyes of the German
princes. Francesco was menaced by Ferdinand, who talked
loudly of redressing or avenging his sister. A rupture between
the states appeared to be inevitable, when the death of Maxi-
milian dispersed the gathering storm. Rudolph, his successor,
whose interest inclined him to keep terms with the duke,
having ordered the case to be laid before him, listened to the .
grievances of both parties, and appeared bent on conciliating
measures. The avarice of her husband, and his predilection
for her rival, were vehemently urged by the grand-dutchess;
while the duke, in his turn, accused his wife of austerity and
profusion. The emperor earnestly recommended
modation; and advised Francesco to sacrifice his m
and to treat his wife, who deserved from him more cons
VoI. I. 2 L.









ºn, with greater respect. The duke, refusing to relinquish
Bianca, reproached the dutchess with violence and exaggera-
tion. From this negotiation, as might have been foreseen,
nothing resulted. ś,
In 1577, an event happened more auspicious to the cause
#.
of the injured wife: the grand-dutchess, in giving birth to a
son, presented her consort with a male heir, so long and so ar-
dently desired by Francesco. Don Filippo de Medici (the
name given to the child) seemed to conciliate the alienated
feelings of his parents. All Florence triumphed in the event,
and clamoured for the removal and disgrace of the mistress.
Bianca, to avoid greater mortification, prudently withdrew
for a time from the city, and retiring either to her villa, or to
Bologna, affected to relinquish her connexion with the prince.
Her absence but added strength to the affection of her
lover: habituated to her cheerful and complaisant tenderness;
originally averse to a wife forced upon him, whose behaviour
had not tended to soften his distaste; abhorring the constraint
which her present situation, and the wishes of the people, im-
posed upon him; he languished for the society of his mistress,
in whicl me yet at times secretly indulged. In the ensuing
year Bianca returned to Florence, though still affecting to live
retired. Appeased by her exterior prudence, and persuaded
of the reformation of her husband, the dutchess treated her
º rival with less acrim ony: but it was not long before this un-
fortunate woman became, with embittered grief and resent-
ment, undeceived. Having one day encountered her husband
r rival, she reproached her, it is said, with bitterness,
aced her with the justice of Heaven: on her return
itated and dejected, a profound melancholy seized
panied by an indisposition, which terminated in her
ath. This catastrophe was by some attributed to the conse-
nces of a fall during her pregnancy; by others to poison
ldministered to her by the duke; but a heart sincerely wound-
l, with an infirm constitution, seems fully adequate to pro-
~. t. . . . .
, callous and impolitic, exhibited on this occasion
of gr
ief or compunction: while attending the
hom the dutchess had been pitied and beloved,



































with his levity and indecorum. Bianca shewed, on the death
of her rival, so little sensibility and delicacy, as to behold from
her window the burial cavalcade: it was also observed, that the
duke in passing by, looked up and saluted his mistress; while
from the interment he proceeded immediately to a rout at
her house. The triumph of Bianca on the decease of the
dutchess was ungenerous, indecent, and disgusting. ‘Give
me your hand,’ said she, to one of her confidants, who brought
her the intelligence; “it will now be in my power to make
your fortune. I have the promise of the duke to become his
wife: my views are all accomplished.” These hopes grew into
conviction, when Francesco refused to listen to proposals
made to him of an alliance with the daughter of another so-
vereign prince. After the death of the dutchess, the cardinal
in vain pressed upon his brother several advantageous mar-
riages. The duke constantly replying, ‘that he had already
sufficiently sacrificed to the interest of his family; and that he
had determined never again to barter his liberty for matri-
monial fetters.” . ºf ~ .
In the pursuit of her favourite purpose, Bianca had yet for-
midable obstacles to combat and vanquish. By the Floren-
times, attached to the memory of the grand-dutchess, she was
detested; to Francesco, her enemies represented her as an
impostor; by a marriage with the rival of his late wife, the
duke would incur the enmity of the house of Austria, her re-
lations; his ministers and ecclesiastics pressed him to burst
the chain by which he had been so long dishonoured and
bound. Urged by motives thus pressing and various, his own
inclinations seemed to waver. His spiritual and tempor.
sellors, whom the duke consulted upon the propriety º
ing his engagements with Bianca, unanimously absolved him
from his vow: his chaplain and confessor, Giovanni Confletti,
especially pressed upon him the more important duties
owed to himself, his country, and his family; duties whi
rather behoved him to fulfil; and enforced his opinion by:
guments drawn from reason, from religion, and from the law
Francesco, overcome by considerations which on all si
sailed him, determined on doing violence to his h
yielding to the wishes of his counsellors and peopl
compensation to his mistress, who, on hearing his res




























268
, he was informed, refused all nourishment, fallen sick and
taken to her bed, he purposed to legitimate the child she had
adopted; a measure which his confessor opposed, as replete
with impropriety and injustice. The duke, allowing himself to
be convinced that he had no right to deprive his brothers of
their title to the succession, was prevailed on at length to
abandon his plan, and content himself with the determination
of securing to the young Antonio a large and independent re-
venue. His counsellors, to secure their victory over the incli-
nations of their prince, and wholly to wean him from his mis-
tress, advised him to quit Florence, for a time, and to travel
through Tuscany. . . . . .
Notwithstanding the opposition of Bianca, the duke com-
menced a journey, so perilous to her hopes: during his ab-
sence, she availed herself of her pen, varying her style, and
addressing herself, alternately to his honour, his conscience,
his generosity, and his heart. Affecting to submit to her des-
tiny, she seemed preparing to leave Florence, but delayed her
departure under various pretences. Having, by her agents,
repared the way for a last effort to move him in her favour,
inly appeared, on his return, in the presence of Fran-
º e thed in tears, and humbled at his feet, her pathetic
eloquence triumphed without difficulty over the heart of her
lover; prudence and precaution were suddenly put to flight,
and divines and politicians remembered no more; the dictates
of state, and the suggestions of interest, were silenced by the
louder and more persuasive voice of nature, and reason van-
quished by habit and passion. The remaining scruples of the
lded to the suggestions of a monk in the interest of
Apartments were prepared in the ducal palace for the
eption of the conquering Venetian, and the attachment of
lovers renewed and cemented. A fit of sickness which
cesco suffered about this time, completed the victory of
a, whose tender cares endeared her to the heart of the
a thousand new and affecting ties. º
»rning of t he 5th of June, 1579, Bianca, enterin g
of the duke, offered him refreshments, which she
to take: on his declining them, alleging his want
“I pray you,” said his tender nurse, ‘accept this
convinced it will do you good.’ The prince,
h
3%.



























BIANCA CAPELLo.
having complied, declared that he felt himself revived, and,
expressing his grateful sense of the cares of Bianca, added,
* I have long been your debtor, it is just that I should make
the recompense your kindness and affection deserve. Take
my hand; from this moment you are my wife.” On the same
day they were secretly married by Bianca's friendly monk.
During the term of mourning for the grand-dutchess, this
event was carefully concealed: as a pretence to lodge Bianca in
the palace, it was reported, that she had been appointed gover-
ness to the young princesses. Francesco employed agents to
procure the opinion of the king of Spain, whose concurrence
he considered as important, on the measure he had adopted:
having obtained this sanction, he avowed at the expiration of
the term of mourning, his marriage. . .
Cardinal Ferdinando was not apprised of these nuptials till
the middle of the year 1579: he received the intelligence, which
he had long been prepared to expect, with little emotion.
During the sickness of his brother he had been at Florence;
had witnessed the attentions of Bianca; and, it is even report-
ed, had received from Francesco himself an intimation of the
step he had taken. Ferdinando, however averse to this union,
prudently forbore an opposition that, without being availing,
might have been injurious to himself: he forsaw not the future
elevation of Bianca; his father, Cosmo, had contracted an in-
ferior alliance with Camilla Martelli, without thinking of rais-
ing his wife to the dignity of grand-dutchess. In a letter to a
friend on this subject, he thus expressed himself: “However,
it does not follow that Bianca will be proclaimed grand-
dutchess. I rather believe she will hold the same rank as did
signora Camilla.” With this conviction, he appeared to re-
gard the event with tranquillity, even congratulating his bro-
ther upon the occasion.
To cover the disgrace of this connexion, and to conciliate
the public mind, Francesco applied to the Venetian senate,
entreating it to confer upon his wife the title of daughter of
the republic; a title created by the Venetians for political pur-
poses, by which the daughters of their patricans, assuming the
&
rank of princesses, might form alliances with crowned h ads.
A daughter of the republic of Venice, the first Italian stat
took precedence of the other princesses of Italy. Abbioso, the



agent of the duke at Venice, prepared the business: the nego-
tiation previously arranged, Mario Sforza, the duke's general
bearing letters from Francesco and Bianca, conducted a
splendid embassy to the republic, and obtained from the
senate, to whom the marriage was announced in form, the
dignity solicited. . . •
On the 17th of July, 1579, Bianca was, by a decree of the
same senate by which she had been banished and persecuted,
created daughter of the republic. At the same time, her father
and brother were made knights of the Stola d'Oro. Splendid
entertainments were given to the ambassador, who returned
to Florence laden with honours, and bearing a letter to his
master, in which the doge congratulated him upon his nuptials,
thanked him for the attachment he had manifested to Venice,
in his choice of a consort from one of the most illustrious of
their patrician families, and expressed his satisfaction in the
event, of which an honourable monument should be left to
posterity: “for which purpose,” added he, “we have this day
unanimously, in council, created and proclaimed Bianca Ca-
pello, grand-dutchess of Tuscany, daughter of the republic, &c.”
Francesco, gratified by the conduct of the Venetians, de-
puted his foster-brother, don Giovanni de Medici, a youth of
twelve years of age, to return his solemn acknowledgments to
the senate. Giovanni was received and treated at Venice as a
sovereign prince. It was yet doubted, notwithstanding the splen-
dor of these embassies, if Bianca would be raised to the ducal
throne, which seemed not, at the time of his marriage, to have
been the purpose of the duke. Francesco, in his letter, had
informed the doge of his nuptials, calling Bianca his wife,
without allusion to any higher title. Nor was it mentioned in the
letter of Bianca, which was sealed, not with the arms of the
Medici, but with her own crest. If the doge, in his answers,
ive to Bianca the title of grand-dutchess, it was because he
affected to believe, that the title of daughter of the republic,
by rasing her to the rank of a princess, gave her a cl the
duca thro le. This circumstance, which plit 11t:
pectations of the senate, with the honours lavished on
assadors, aided in determining Francesco on the eleva-
measure so flattering to the ambition of Bianca being































271
decided, it was the desire of the duke, that the double cere-
mony of the coronation of his consort as daughter of the
republic, and her presentation as grand-dutchess, should be
performed on the same day with solemn pomp: the Venetians
were, for this purpose, requested to send ambassadors to assist
on the occasion; a request to which they willingly acceded.
Giovanni, Micheli, and Antonio Tiepole, were appointed
by the republic to place the ducal coronet on the brow of their
adopted daughter: accompanied by the father of Bianca, her
relations, and a train of Venetian nobles, they were received
at Florence with princely honours. The commonwealth of
Venice, in its most flourishing periods, had never sent an
embassy of equal splendor. 3. . . . . .” . . . . . .
On the 13th of October, 1579, the ceremony took place:
Bianca, in the presence of the Florentine nobles, the magis-
trates, the ambassadors (with the exception of the Austrian
minister), and other foreigners of distinction, was proclaimed
grand-dutchess of Tuscany, and crowned daughter of the
Venetian republic, from the ambassadors of which she receiv-
ed the oath of allegiance. The benediction was given to the
royal pair by the uncle of Bianca, the patriarch of Aquileia,
after which the decree of the senate was read by Micheli, who
placed on her temples the ducal crown. Previous to the cere-
mony, a protest against the whole transaction had been entered
by the pope's nuncio; to appease whom, the duke and the
Venetian ambassadors jointly declared, that their purpose ex-
tended but to the crowning Bianca daughter of the republic: on
this assurance, the ceremony was suffered to proceed. Fran-
cesco displayed on this occasion all his magnificence, the ex-
penses being computed at one million of scudi. The father
of Bianca received from the duke a considerable annual pen-
sion, while a ring, valued at fifteen hundred scudi, was pre-
sented to each of the ambassadors. In a private letter to the
republic, Francesco, after returning his acknowledgments, pro-
mised the obedience due from a son to a father.
The political views of Venice, which, notwithstanding the
decrease of its power, was intent on plans of aggrandisement,
were eminently flattered by this event. The ducal pair had
been inaugurated by the Venetian patriarch, while their am-
bassador had placed the coronet on the brow of Bianca: the




ducal crown had been used in the ceremony, and not the
Venetian cap. The instruction of the senate to the ambassador,
stated, “that the grand-duke had requested that his consort
should be crowned by the Venetian ambassador with a ducal
crown; thereby publicly to show his devotion to the republic.”
It is conjectured that the request of Francesco was made at
the instigation of the senate, that the elevation of Bianca
might be attributed to Venice, which might thereby avail itself
of her gratitude. Nor had the duke, in the power and confi-
dence he had given to the senate, been, on his side, without
political views: having embroiled himself with several of the
Italian states, a powerful party opposed him at Rome; his
union with Bianca had given umbrage to Austria; with France
he had an open rupture: Spain treated him as its vassal; he
stood in need of a foreign connexion to give him a prepon-
derancy in Italy, while none appeared more eligible than that
offered by Venice. £ 3.
Cardinal Ferdinando, by whom the elevation of Bianca had
been unforseen, could not conceal his chagrin at an event in
which his interest was so nearly involved: don Filippo, son to
the late arch-dutchess, was in a feeble and precarious state of
health; Ferdinando was next in succession: should Bianca yet
bear a son, his hopes were cut off, and, even in failure of this,
he dreaded those arts and intrigues of which she had already
given a specimen. Disgusted at the part taken by Venice in
the affair, the cardinal could not hide his displeasure: he ex-
pressed his feelings to the ambassador of the republic at Rome;
nor would he take a journey to Florence to assist the corona-
tion, but deputed in his stead, two of his chamberlains. Fran-
cesco, resenting this conduct, withdrew from his brother all
correspondence, while Ferdinando determined on never again
returning to Florence. Thus the Medici were once more
divided. . 3 . - x
The Italian princes availed themselves of the rupture to
injure the grand-duke; against whom, and Bianca, while they
published bitter satires, they formed a coalition. Previous to
these circumstances, the union of Eleonora, eldest daughter
of Francesco, with the son of the duke of Mantua, had been
negotiated: on the exaltation of Bianca the treaty was broken
: the duke of Mantua alleging, that he had never been
3%








BIANCA CAPELLO. 273
greatly inclined to the marriage; and that since the princesses
were under the direction of the new arch-dutchess, he deter-
mined to abandon it altogether: his son, he likewise hinted,
was but little disposed to the nuptials, in which they no longer
perceived those advantages they had once expected. So humi-
liating to the duke was the conduct of the confederate princes,
that the name of Medici became the contempt of Italy.
A reconciliation with the cardinal was the only mean of
affording to Francesco the consequence he had forfeited, and
this reconciliation Bianca resolved to effect. To her husband
she endeavoured to soften the conduct of his brother, using
all her influence to inspire him with sentiments less acrimoni-
ous. Nor did her arguments and persuasions, strengthened by
the effects which had flowed from the dissension, prove in-
effectual. The cardinal, gratified by her exertions to restore
the peace of the family, observed with pleasure the favourable
dispositions of the duke, whom he addressed in a conciliating
letter, in which he affected to approve the connexion with
Venice, and treated Bianca with grateful friendship. In proof
of his sincerity, he repaired, in the autumn of the following
year, 1580, to Florence, where he remained with his brother
till the ensuing winter. During this interval, Bianca, by her
respect and attentions, conciliated the regard of the cardinal,
while the behaviour of the duke banished from his mind every
remaining trace of enmity. Ferdinando was, on the most im-
portant occasions, consulted by his brother, who undertook
nothing without his approbation. Gratified by the confidence
of the duke and dutchess, the cardinal joined with theirs his .
interest at Rome, for the purpose of dividing the confederate
princes. The house of Medici thus united, had a prospect of
defeating the projects of their enemies. Ferdinando returned,
laden with favours and presents, to negotiate for his brother.
at Rome. The adversaries of the grand-duke, whose succe
depended on the division of the brothers, found, in the
reconciliation, the frustration of their plans, while the Medici
regained their former importance. Bianca received from the
while her ascendency was, by these measures, not less pol
º ent, firmly established. For the stability of h
cardinal the flattering title of ‘the restorer of the family peace
*











ilia te through his m the affe times.
Bianca laboured to anticipate his wishes
%
to be eradicated. They considered her as the seducer of
Francesco, and as the occasion of the premature fate of his
former consort; they viewed all her actions through a pre-
udiced medium, and murmured at the sums expended by the
e for her honour and gratification: his present liberality
was contrasted by his parsimony towards the late dutchess:
they were even reluctant to receive benefits from a woman,
against whom they had been in the habit of indulging invec-
tive. Francesco had erected for Bianca a magnificent villa at
cruelty and oppression practised in this place, which received
the title of Villa Tribolina, were invented by popular hatred.
Among similar fables, a room was shown after her death,
callet the Stillatoio of Bianca, in which it was gravely assert-
that from the fat distilling from infants, suspended over
ling water, cosmetics were prepared for the preservation of
ir beauty. Bianca had a taste for ingenious machinery, with
which she delighted to surprise the duke and her visitors: the
people, credulous and superstitious, imputed to witchcraft
the causes of which they were unable to comprehend.
With the weak and prejudiced, even the talents and accomp-
º Hist ments of those they dislike serve but to aggravate their
jealousy and hatred. A juster motive of disgust against Bi-
er encouragement of spies and informers; a perni-
!, which multiply in turbulent times, amidst frequent
…
º
tly eld in
*





















































abhorrence. By these means, it is said, she made important
discoveries, defeated more than one conspiracy, and purchased
security for herself and the grand-duke at the expense of
popular hatred. She is also accused of having fostered fa-
vourites, who enriched themselves by the oppression of the
people. Among these is mentioned Vittorio Capello, her
brother, as one under whose injustice and rapacity the public
suffered. Vittorio had remained at Florence after the corona-
tion of his sister, and, trusted by the duke, had abused his
confidence. With him was united father Jeremia, of Udine, of
the order of St. Francis; a spy, who had been long in the ser-
vice of Francesco. 2- : & g
Under the domination of these men, for whose removal
they clamoured, the people loudly complained. Bianca, whom
the hauteur assumed by her brother had alienated, withdraw-
ing from him her protection, an opportunity soon offered of
removing him from Florence. Vittorio had obtained from the
duke a loan of three thousand scudi; on presenting it to the
treasurer for payment, he added an additional cypher. Suspi-
cious of fraud, the treasurer carried the note to his master,
who rebuked the Venetian with just severity. Vittorio boldly,
in the presence of the treasurer, denied the forgery; when the
duke, incensed at his audacity, resolved to dismiss him his
service. Bianca approving the determination, her brother
was compelled within three days to abandon Florence; while
father Jeremia, accused as an accomplice in his oppressions,
shared a similar fate. .
Octavio Abbioso, whose negotiations with Venice had
prepared the way for the elevation of Bianca, had obtained,
by his management and address on this occasion, the favour
of the duke and dutchess, who bestowed on him the office
vacated by the exile of Vittorio: with him was associated
Serguidi, the secretary of state. The public, a case but too
common, experienced in the change of the ministry but a
change of oppressors; on Bianca, to whom the new promotion
was attributed, popular aversion continued to rest.
To internal disqui gn di :

















ment of Tuscany, in violation of the laws of the republic; and,
with a view of acquirng information of what passed in the
court, it had indirectly encouraged the stay of Vittorio at Flo-
rence, with whose return it was of course dissatisfied. To
, this was added jealousies respecting the connexion of the duke
with Spain, which the Venetians, by means of their ambassa-
dors, secretly endeavoured to dissolve. But Francesco, who
had in consequence of their intrigues received from the cabi-
Madrid severe reproaches, defeated by his vindication
net of M
the schemes of his treacherous allies. . ; :: * , .
* Vittorio Capello, on his return to Venice, had fermented,
* in revenge, the discontents of the senate, who affected to re-
sent his dismissal as an insult offered to themselves, in the per-
son of one of their patricians. Informed of the measures taken
by the republic to embroil her husband with Spain, Bianca
conceived a just displeasure: to both parties an opportunity
only seemed wanting, which was not far distant, to break out
into open hostilities. . .
In 1582, a marriage was negotiated between don Caesar,
son of the duke of Ferrara, and the niece of the doge of Ve-
nice: the title of daughter of the republic, lately conferred
upon Bianca, was also required by the duke for the bride.
This negotiation, which had not yet been laid before the se-
nate, was to be preserved a secret: Bianca, nevertheless, was
informed of what was passing; and conceiving the title would
be degraded, if conferred on the wife a petty prince, she
warmly remonstrated with the republic on the occasion. Such
a measure, she observed, added to the previous conduct of the
Venetian ambassador in Spain, would be considered as a dis-
respect to the grand-duke, and would prove their professions
of amity to have been wholly selfish; originating rather in po-
litical motives than in friendship for her and the duke. This
monstrance was at first treated by the senate with contempt
nd derision; but, farther reflection on the probable conse-
ºnces of the displeasure of Francesco, led them to consider
ith greater seriousness. The doge declared, he too well
le senate, on such a treaty; while th
such
























BIANCA CAPELLO.
to the dignity of the republic. It was observed, “that it be-
came the mother, rather than the daughter, to determine on
what was proper to be done.” Bianca vindicated her conduct
with spirit, while she proved the ignorance pleaded by the se-
nate of this transaction to be pretence and affectation. On this,
dispute the marriage was postponed; the mutual jealousies of
the contending powers broke forth; and, being by other cir-
cumstances father aggravated, terminated in a final rupture.
The harmony which seemed to have been established in
the Medici family, received, at the same time, some interrup-
tion. Though gratified by the kind offices of Bianca, the cardi-
nal yet entertained a distrust of her character: on her eleva- *
tion to the rank of grand-dutchess, she had employed, in the
hope of giving an heir to the duke, every means for the re-
establishment of her health; her pregnancy had been fre-
qently reported in Florence; and, after the death of don Fi-
lippo, in 1582, Ferdinando conceived himself justified in
adopting measures calculated to defeat any artifices which, for
such a purpose, might be put in practice. With this view, he
entreated his brother, don Pietro, who had remained in Spain,
to return home and marry. Failing in this design, he deter-
mined on resigning his ecclesiastical dignities, and taking a
wife himself, to secure his succession to the ducal government.
His jealousy received an increase, when, in 1583, the duke, in
opposition to the advice of his ablest counsellors, declared
don Antonio, on whom he had already bestowed several
estates, his legitimate son. Antonio was also appointed by the
king of Spain as his legate in Italy; to which was added the
title of prince of Capestrano; German guards were assigned
to him, while from many of the Florentines, who already re-
garded him as the next in succession, he received the honours
due to the second person in the state. These measures, the §
cardinal, not without foundation, imputed to Bianca; who,
skilled in dissembling, betrayed no consciousness of his altered
behaviour; but, seizing every opportunity of treating him
with esteem and distinction, avoided an open rupture; while,
by continuing to confer benefits on his family, she disarmed
displeasure and awakened his gratitude. The cardinal wa
father gratified by the address and skill displayed b
dutchess in the management of a difficult and delicate ne








tion, which respected the marriages of two princesses of the
house of Medici, with the son of the duke of Mantua, and
don Caesar d’Este of the house of Ferrara; which alliances, after
various obstacles and interruptions, were concluded towards
the close of the year 1584. In testimony of his sense of the
talents and prudence manifested by Bianca on this occasion,
Ferdinando presented to her reputed son one of his villas.
In the beginning of the year 1585, soon after the union be-
tween the houses of Medici and Ferrara, the dutchess used
her influence with her husband in favour of Torquato Tasso;
who, residing in the court of Ferrara, had, in the dispute be-
tween the dukes for precedence, taken part with his parton,
and highly offended Francesco. In the prospect of a reconcili-
ation, the poet, to avert the apprehended consequences of his
imprudence, had paid court to Bianca. The academy Della Crus-
ca, instituted for the purpose of purifying the Italian language,
had likewise declared war against him: having arraigned at
their tribunal the contemporary writers, the “Gierusaleme Li-
berato” of Torquato Tasso was one of the first works on which
they sat in judgment; while Francesco, irritated by the sar-
casms of the poet, secretly urged the academy against him.
Tasso, whom in this instance the confidence and dignity of
genius seems to have forsaken, vainly sought to avert the criti-
cal verdict; while Bianca, whose praises he chanted to his
lyre, exerted her good offices with as little success: the duke
was inflexible in vengeance, and the academy disgraced itself
y the condemnation of a work that continues to live in the
admiration of posterity. . . . . . .
The harmony of the Medici family, always precarious, suf-
fered about this period a new interruption: the cardinal, who
could not conceal his distrust of Bianca, exposed himself to
the machinations of her favourites. Serguidi and Abbioso,
aware that he was not their friend, observing a coolness be-
tween the brothers, availed themselves of the occasion, to re-
e in the mind of the duke his jealousy and dislike of Fer-
om whom he gradually withdrew his confidence.
as the situation of affairs, when don Pietro returned
1584, bringing in his suit a person named Dovaro
means of Serguidi, with whom he join-

























BIANCA CAPELLO. are
self into the favour of the duke and dutchess. In 1586, Ferdi- tº
nando, coming to Florence to assist at the nuptials of one of
the princesses, found the mind of his brother wholly alienated.
An open rupture ensued, and, immediately after the marriage,
the cardinal returned to Rome.
The pregnancy of the dutchess was now confidently re-
ported; suspicions of fraud were again roused in the mind of
the cardinal; who, on his departure from Florence, charged
his brother Pietro to observe narrowly the conduct of Bianca.
Pietro, on the point of returning to Spain, postponed his jour-
ney for the purpose of performing the commission entrusted
to him; but, rash and impetuous, he overacted his part; while,
through the medium of a heated imagination, he saw trick and
design in the most indifferent circumstances. The countess
Bentivoglio, the daughter of the dutchess, being to reside with
her mother during the absence of her husband, Pietro per-
suaded himself that she was pregnant, and was to supply
Bianca with a child, to be produced as her own offspring.
This scheme, in itself improbable, and of difficult execution,
carried with it to the cardinal, to whom it was reported, but
little evidence: he admonished his brother, in a letter, to
greater sagacity and caution. ‘The pregnancy of the princess,’
said he, ‘gives me but little concern; there are women, in ob-
scure corners, better fitted for such occasions.” Pietro exposed
to Serguidi the motive of his stay in Florence, which being
communicated to the duke and dutchess, he received an inti-
mation, that his speedy departure was expected; he was re-
fused access to the apartments of Bianca, and treated by Fran-
cesco with haughty coldness. He complained of the infelicity
of his situation to the cardinal, who exhorted him, in return, to
patience and perseverance. .
Bianca herself, at length condescended to assure Pietro, that
the duke had been deceived by his wishes; that she did not
believe herself to be in a state of pregnancy; and that if she
were, it would be yet many months before it could be deter-
mined by the birth of the child. On this information, Pietro
withdrew from Florence, and commenced his journey to
Spain.
Francesco, still persuading himself that Bianca was about
to bring him an heir, was incensed by the suspicions of his bro-

thers: he wrote with warmth to the cardinal, requesting him
to remove his distrust by coming to Florence, and being him-
self present at the delivery of the dutchess. To this Ferdinando
replied, that unless the pregnancy of Bianca was proved, he
could not undertake the journey. This letter drew from Fran-
cesco a retort yet more poignant, with a repetition of his de-
mand. The cardinal answered with increased vehemence;
complained of the ill offices of his enemies; declared he would
not come to Florence for the purpose mentioned, and justified
his conduct and attachment to his brother. To put a period to
these altercations, in which the duke still persisted, the cardi-
nal took no more notice of the pregnancy of the dutchess,
which terminated in a dangerous sickness.
Notwithstanding the assertions of the Florentine writers,
that Bianca had, on this occasion, meditated a new deception,
it appears rather that she was herself deceived, and from equi-
vocal symptoms fluctuated in uncertainty as to her situation;
her shape was enlarged, and several physicians called to her
aid from Bologna and Venice, together with those of Florence,
believed her to be pregnant. In her letters to the cardinal she
expressed her doubts and her anxiety. In the following year,
1587, the physicians owned their mistake. Of this likewise
she informs the cardinal. After speaking of the medicines
which had been administered to her, “I shall soon set out to
Pratolina,” says she, “and there, in the favourable season of
the year, continue my cure.” The whole of her conduct, on
this occasion, appears to have been open and candid, yet her
former duplicity excuses the suspicions of Ferdinando. The
possibility of her having again meditated an imposition must
»e allowed: on this supposition, finding the difficulties and
jealousies attending a second attempt of this nature multiplied,
she might, with a refined management, calculated to sooth and
conciliate the cardinal, have gradually relinquished her design.
Whatever success may attend on the practice of artifice, the
erpetual distrust it inspires more than counterbalances its
ness between the brothers, by dividing their
led their mutual interest at the court of Rome,
h the death of cardinal d’Este (1586), the friend of
rdinando, tended to contribute. The enemies of the Medici
* º a. *














availed themselves of these circumstances, and, on a promoti
of cardinals, the candidates proposed by the grand-duke were
overlooked. In reply to the complaints of Ferdinando, he was
reproached with the enmity between himself and Francesco:
perceiving his interest involved in a reconciliation, he de-
termined on making the attempt, through the medium of
Bianca, who had invariably preserved towards him a complai-
sant conduct. In consequence of this prudent resolution, to-
wards the end of the year 1586, when the report of her preg-
nancy had scarcely subsided, he addressed a letter to the
dutchess, filled with professions of respect and friendship, with
praises of her meekness and moderation, with complaints of
adversaries, who had sowed between himself and his brother
the seeds of dissension, with expressions of regret and allegi-
ance, and with representations of the detriment which their
mutual interest suffered from their disagreements. To this he
added, that had not his presence been indispensable at Rome,
he would, instead of writing, have paid at Florence his per-
sonal respects. x
Bianca, availing herself, with pleasure, of this opportunity
of regaining his confidence, replied to the letter of the cardinal
in an epistle full of encouragement, sagacity, and good coun-
sel. Earnest to accomplish the mediation she had undertaken,
and to restore peace between the brothers, she engaged the as-
sistance of the archbishop of Florence, who, with the friend-
ship of the cardinal, enjoyed the esteem and confidence of the
duke. By this prelate, the consequences of their family dis-
cord were forcibly represented to Francesco, the advantages
which it gave to his enemies, the zeal of his brother for the
honour and welfare of their house, the slight grounds of their
difference, the selfish motives by which, by the parasites of
both, it had been widened and aggravated, and the beneficial
effects which would follow a reconciliation. These sensible re-
monstrances were supported and strengthened by Bianca, who,
describing to her husband the earnestness with which his
brother desired a renewal of their amity, appealed to his feel-
ings and affections. Perceiving him affected by their mutual
representations, she pursued her purpose, till, overpowered by
her persuasive eloquence, every objection was va quished. . 3.
The duke promised to forget what was past, and professed
Vol. I. 2 N





himself ready to accept the overtures of his brother, whom he
desired Bianca to inform of his favourable dispositions. The
same assurances were, through his agent at Rome, given to
the cardinal, and, as an earnest of their sincerity, a sum of
money was transmitted to him, for which he had long sued in
vain. The only condition insisted upon, as a test of their
mutual amity, was, that the cardinal should pay a visit to the
duke and dutchess at Florence. .
Ferdinando, in the beginning of 1587, received with joy
the intelligence of Bianca's successful mediation: a chamber-
Iain was commissioned by him to repair to Florence, to return
his acknowledgments to the duke and dutchess in form, and to
assure them of his intention of making them a visit in the
autumn. The union of the brothers revived their importance
in the papal court: Sixtus V. expressed on this occasion, his
admiration of the talents and management of Bianca, whose
conduct he declared had been a “master-piece of politics.”
. Sixtus, who had a turn for intrigue, was accustomed to
profess his admiration of those who had, by skill or artifice,
elevated their rank in life: having observed the behaviour of
the arch-dutchess, he did justice to the power she displayed,
in counteracting the caprices of her husband, and in conciliat-
ing the family dissensions: her prudence, her judgment, and
her moderation, on delicate and trying occasions, are undoubt-
edly worthy of admiration. It is imputed to the curiosity of the
pope to see a woman of whose talents he had conceived so
favourable an opinion, that he determined on making a visit
to the duke; the pretence for which was to be a journey to
Padua, for the purpose of returning thanks to St. Anthony,
for the destruction of a numerous banditti, that had, in the
commencement of his reign, infested the states. He received,
on declaring this purpose, invitations from the Italian princes,
through whose dominions he must pass; but those of the grand-
duke only were accepted. Bianca prepared to receive her
guest with extraordinary magnificence; but, from the disap-
probation expressed by the king of Spain, and the jealousy
lanifested by the Italian princes, the journey was postponed.
he beginning of October, Ferdinando arrived at Flo-
eived by the duke and dutchess with affec-
; every past difference seemed to be buried
was r
endship



















in oblivion, and confidence and harmony were perfectly re-
established. Mutual apologies, promises, and professions, were
given and received: the brothers, with Bianca, repaired
together to Poggio a Cajano, a hunting villa of the duke's. In
this retreat the dutchess wholly occupied herself in preparing
amusements for the cardinal, and in contributing to his con-
venience and satisfaction.
But this serenity received a sudden interruption from the
illness of Francesco, who, on the 13th of October, was seized
with an intermittent ſever. Alarming symptoms soon appeared,
which the irregularity of his conduct tended to increase:
refusing to be governed by his physicians, he would take no
medicine, nor conform to the rules which his situation requir-
ed. The fever rapidly increased, while his strength hourly
sunk. Feeling the approach of death, he delivered to the cardi-
nal the plans of his fortresses, named him his successor, recom-
mended to him his wife, don Antonio, and his ministers, and
expired October 20th, at forty years of age.
Two days after the commencement of his illness, Bianca
sickened of the same disorder. The cardinal tried to conceal
from her the fate of her husband, but the confusion in the
palace, and the sadness depictured in the face of her attend-
ants, but too plainly revealed to her the truth: with this con-
viction, her malady acquired strength. Ferdinando, visiting
her, endeavoured to administer consolation: she appeared sen-
sible that her own dissolution was near, thanked the cardinal for
his kindness, recommended to his protection her son Antonio
and her family, and resigned herself to her fate. In this situa. sº
tion she was left by Ferdinando to the care of the archbishop
of Florence, her daughter, and Bentivoglio.
The cardinal returned immediately to Florence, where,
having received the oaths of allegiance, he made preparations
for the funeral of his brother. Intelligence arrived, on the
following day, of the decease of the dutchess, who expired
nineteen hours after the death of her husband, in the forty-fifth
year of her age. The remains of the duke were conveyed to
Florence, and, after a private ceremony, deposited sº
mily fault. Two days afterwards, the body of Bianca
brought to the city, it was met at the gates by the clergy o
church of St. Lorenzo, bearing in their hands wax tal






BIANCA CAPELLO.
the guard of German lance bearers, and the houseshold of the
late duke: the streets were lighted up through which the pro-
cession passed. The corpse was opened, by order of the car-
dinal, in the presence of don Antonio, of the daughter and
son-in-law of Bianca, and of several physicians: the interior
parts were found in a state of decay, and the physicians de-
clared themselves of opinion, that the death of the dutchess
had been occasioned by a dropsy. After the examination, the
body being removed to the church of St. Lorenzo, it was
placed, during the celebration of the mass, on a bier, previously
erected for that of the duke: on the conclusion of the service,
it was carried into the vestry, till the new duke had been con-
sulted, respecting its exhibition to the public adorned with the
ducal coronet. “She has worn the crown long enough,’ was
the reply of Ferdinando; nor would he suffer her to be inter-
red in the vault of the Medici; her remains were therefore
deposited under the church of St. Lorenzo. Some days after-
wards her escutcheon was, by order of the duke, removed
from the public edifices, and replaced by that of donna Joanna
of Austria. By a special deed, don Antonio was declared ille-
gitimate.
Bianca bequeathed to her daughter, countess Bentivoglio,
thirty thousand scudi; to don Antonio the same sum, with
part of her jewels; the remainder of her effects were to be
given to her father. Five thousand scudi were also left to her
secretary. The will, having been declared valid by the grand-
duke, was fully executed. §
The premature death of the duke and dutchess, at nearly
the same period, gave rise to various conjectures and reports.
By some it was asserted, that Bianca attempted to destroy the
cardinal by a poisoned tart, which she presented to him at
dinner; that, apprised of her design, he refused to partake of
it, when the grand-duke, ignorant of the circumstance, un-
warily tasted it, reproaching his brother for the distrust his
refusal seemed to imply. To this it is added, that Bianca, in
. . . . he moment, unable to prevent the fate of her
nd swallowed the
is charged with the
Privy autu. me aggravated by a pretence, that he
y opposed any assistance being given to the victims,
hom he insulted in their expiring agonies.














BIANCA cAPELLo. 285
These stories, which are defective in evidence, appear to
have but little foundation in the situation or conduct of the
parties, or in the circumstances and publicity which attended
the event. The physicians who examined the body of Bianca,
were previously put upon oath, and an instrument of their de-
position drawn up and deposited in the archives of Florence.
The report, it is not improbable, might have originated with
Venice; it is certain, that the senate courted the friendship of
the new duke, and expressed their resentment for the conduct
of the late dutchess, by prohibiting her family from wearing
mourning. The disrespect which the cardinal shewed toward
the remains of Bianca, for whom he had so recently professed
gratitude and affection, seems to have been occasioned by the
accusations which, at the instant of his succession, were brought
against her. Her enemies, and even those on whom she had
showered favours, threw upon her, as a palliation of their own
conduct, every charge of oppression and mal-administration
preferred against themselves. Nor did they scruple to accuse
their benefactress, now incapable of confuting their treachery,
of every crime, however atrocious; even of conspiring the
destruction of Ferdinando. The cardinal, shocked at these
charges, and impressed with an idea of the duplicity of her
character, remembered not that the persons who now abused
his credulity were those who had been heretofore instruments
of the dissensions which had distracted his family. In treating
the remains of Bianca with indignity, he violated the laws of
honour and generosity, and insulted the memory of his brother.
The Florentine writers, avowed enemies of the dutchess, con-
fess, that the conduct of the cardinal is to be attributed to those
who, having participated during her life in the liberalities of
Bianca, sought, at her death, their safety and interest in tra-
ducing their patroness. - º:
The subsequent behaviour of Ferdinando proves his dis-
satisfaction, on reflection, with his own facility: he solemnly
adopted again into his family don Antonio, declared him his
nephew, provided for him an establishment suited to a prince
of the house of Medici, and procured for him the grand prior
ship of the order of Malta. He settled also on the father of
Bianca a liberal annuity, and made presents to the officers of
her household. Thus he endeavoured to efface the rem m.
brance of his past severity. -- -







§
as . BIANCA CAPELLo.
On a survey of the life of Bianca Capello, whatever may
be thought of the qualities of her heart, which it must be con-
fessed are doubtful, it is impossible not to be struck with the
powers of her mind, by which, amidst innumerable obstacles,
she maintained, undiminished, through life, that ascendency
which her personal charms had first given her over the affec-
tions of a capricious prince. The determination and perseve-
rance with which she prosecuted her plans, sufficiently testify
her energy and talents: if, in effecting the end proposed, she
was little scrupulous respecting the means, the Italian charac-
ter, the circumstances of the times, the disadvantages attend-
ing her entrance into the world, subjected to artifice and
entangled in fraud, must not be forgotten. Brought up in
retirement and obscurity, thrown at once into the most trying
situations, her prudence, her policy, her self-government, her
knowledge of the human mind, and the means of subjecting it,
are not less rare than admirable. She possessed singular pene-
tration in discerning characters, and the weaknesses of those
with whom she conversed, which she skilfully adapted to her
purposes. By an eloquence, soft, insinuating, and powerful,
she prevailed over her friends; while, by insnaring them in
their own devices, she made her enemies subservient to her
views. Such was the fascination of her manners, that the pre-
judices of those by whom she was hated, yielded, in her
presence, to admiration and delight: nothing seemed too
arduous for her talents; inexhaustible in resource, whatever
he undertook she found means to accomplish. If she was an
impassioned character, she was uniformly animated by ambi-
tion. In her first engagement with Buonaventuri, she seems to
have been influenced by a restless enterprising temper, dis-
gusted with inactivity, rather than by love: through every
scene of her connexion with the duke, her motives are suffi-
ciently obvious. With a disposition like that of Bianca, sensi-
bility and tenderness, the appropriate virtues of the sex, are
t to be expected. Real greatness has in it a character of
simplicity, with which subtlety and craft are wholly incompa-
ible: the genius of Bianca was such as fitted her to take
part in political intrigues, to succeed in courts, and rise
pinnacle of power; but, stained with cruelty, and de-
by falsehood, if her talents excite admiration, they pro-
















CAROLINA. 287
duce no esteem; and while her accomplishments dazzle the
mind, they fail to interest the heart.
Majestic in stature, beautiful in her person, animated,
eloquent, and insinuating, she commanded all hearts; a power
of which the tranquillity and silence of her own enabled her to
avail herself to the utmost. Ill health impaired her beauty at
an early period; many portraits of her remain, in all of which,
she is represented as grand-dutchess, when the first bloom of
Jher charms had faded. A beautiful portrait of her, in the
ducal robes, is preserved in the palace of the Capelli at Padua;
several are likewise to be found in the Palazzo Pitt; at Flo
rence, and one also, said to be still superior, in the Palaz.
Caprara at Bologna.
Life of Bianca Capello, wife to Francesco de Medici, Grand-duke of
Tuscany; from the German of T. P. Siebenkees, translated by c.
Ludger, &c.
CAROLINA,
WIFE TO GEORGE II,
CAROLINA WILHELMINA DoRo THEA, daughter of John
Frederic, marquis of Brandenburg-Anspach, and of Eleanor
Erdmutch Louisa, his second wife, was born March 1, 1682-3.
She was sought in marriage by Charles III. of Spain, after-
wards emperor of Germany, whom the fame of her beauty had
attracted. To prepare the way for a connexion so flattering
to the ambition of her family, every possible method was used
to get, over the difficulty which the difference of religion
opposed to the union; but Carolina, steadily adhering to the
principles in which she had been educated, rejected every so-
licitation and expedient that was proposed to her. Her forti-
tude, on this occasion, procured her the esteem of the elector
of Hanover, and induced him to make choice of her for the
wife of his son, the electoral prince, a circumstance particularly
gratifying to all the protestants of Europe. The nuptials were
accordingly celebrated at Hanover, August 22d, 1705.
Carolina was crowned (with her husband) queen consort of
Great Britain, on the 11th of October, 1727. Four sons and
five daughters were the fruits of this marriage. The following
character of this princess is extracted from the Memoirs of






º attained to a degree of knowledge very particular and ur
288 CAROLINA.
the Baron de Pollnitz: “The queen is a woman who com-
mands at once both respect and affection. Her appearance
bespeaks majesty, blended with modesty, and softened by good-
nature. Her manners are courteous, and her mind, solid and
brilliant, is adorned with a thousand fine accomplishments.
She disdains the frivolous occupations and amusements of her
sex, nor does she affect ornament in her dress. In reading
select authors she finds her greatest pleasure: she may with
truth be accounted one of the most learned princesses in Eu-
rope. Having lost her father when young, she was placed, on
e second marriage of her mother, under the guardianship of
Frederic, elector of Brandenburg, afterwards king of Prussia,
by which means the early periods of her life were passed at
the court of Berlin, where she acquired from the electress,
sister to George I. those polished manners and elevated senti-
ments by which this princess was peculiarly distinguished.
Having refused to share the throne of Charles III. of Spain,
from attachment to her religion, she afterwards gave her hand
to the electoral prince of Brunswick-Lunenburg, with whom
she was called to ascend one of the first thrones in Europe.
She betrayed no emotion on her advancement to this dignity,
which she filled with true moderation. While princess of
Wales, her prudence enabled her to conciliate the two parties,
into which the royal family were divided. The late king, her
father-in-law, had for her the sincerest regard, which she re-
turned with gratitude and respect. When raised to the dignity
of queen, she studied to contribute to the happiness of the
people. She was entrusted with affairs of state by the king,
who, during his absence, left her regent of the kingdom.”
Dr. Clarke also gives a testimony to the merit of Carolina,
in his dedication to the letters, which passed through her
hands, between himself and M. Leibnitz. “It is,” says he,
“with the highest pleasure and satisfaction, that the following
papers, upon so important a subject as the foundations of
natural religion, are laid before a princess who, to an inimi-
table sweetness of temper, candour, and affability towards
all, has joined, not only an impartial love of truth, and a de-
sire of promoting learning in general, but has herself likewise
tº COR 1=
* Vol. II. page 445, &c.






CAROLINA. 289
mon, even in matters of the nicest and most abstract specula-
tion.” “The learned M. Leibnitz well understood how great
an honour and reputation it would be to him, to have his
arguments approved of by a person of your royal highness’s
character: but the steady impartiality, and unalterable love of
truth, the same constant readiness to hear, and to submit to
reason, always so conspicuous, and shining forth so brightly in
your royal highness's conduct, which justly made him de-
sirous to exert in these papers his utmost skill in defending
his opinions, was an equal encouragement to such as caught
him in an error, to endeavour to prove that his opinions could
not be defended.” º
A gentleman of honour and probity, who resided at Hamp-
stead, and who was frequently admitted into the presence of
the queen, who entertained for him a great esteem, declared
that he had conversed with her upon various subjects, divinity,
morals, ecclesiastical polity, commerce, &c. on all of which she
displayed great knowledge, promptness, judgment, and acute-
ness. To an informed and cultivated understanding, she
added fluency of expression and an elegant address: she re-
flected upon what she had read, and applied her principles to
the regulation of her passions, and the practical philosophy of
human life. She studied human nature, and knew how to in-
fluence the mind by an address to the affections. Theology
and civil polity were her favourite studies; she distinguished
between religion and its establishment, and acknowledged the
foundations of government in the laws enacted by the chosen
representatives of a free people. z º
In private life she was an example of the social and do-
mestic virtues; she was sincerely attached to her husband,
superintended the education of her children, cultivated their
reason, and implanted in their minds the seeds of virtue. She
encouraged the sciences, was the patroness of letters, and the
benefactress and protector of the miserable and oppressed.
She expired, after an illness of twelve days, on the 20th of
November, 1737, in the fifty-sixth year of her age, sincerely
lamented by her husband and family, and regretted by the
whole nation.
Biographium Femineum, &c. &c.
*VoI, I. 2 O




ſ 290 I
CATHERINE OF ARRAGON.
The daughters of Ferdinand of Arragon, the sixth king of
Spain, and of Isabella queen of Castile, were distinguished for
their learning and piety. Catherine, the youngest, was, in the
eighteenth year of her age, November 14th, 1501, espoused
to Arthur, prince of Wales, eldest son of Henry VII. with
whom she lived four months and nineteen days. Arthur died
April 2d, 1502. After his decease, his widow was contracted
to his brother Henry, who was then but in the twelfth year of
his age. -
In his fifteenth year the prince publicly protested against
the marriage; but, overpowered by the solicitations of his
council, he at length agreed to ratify it, and gave his hand to
Catherine, June 3d, immediately after his accession to the
throne. On the 25th of the same month, 1505, Henry and
Catherine were crowned at Westminster, by Dr. Warham,
archbishop of Canterbury. . . .
The queen, by her sweetness of manners, good sense, and
superior endowments, engaged the affections of her husband,
and contrived to retain the heart of this fickle and capricious
monarch for near twenty years. Catherine, devoted to litera-
ture, became the patroness of learned men: the celebrated
Erasmus and Ludovicus Vives were more particularly dis-
tinguished by her favour. She engaged the latter to draw up
instructions for the assistance of her daughter in the study of
the Latin. This essay, written by her command, is dedicated
to the queen, by an epistle, dated from Oxford, 1523, under
the title of “De Ratione Studii Puerilis.” The same year Lu-
. . . . . . . . . .” also addressed to his patroness a work entitled “De
me Femina Christiana, lib. 3.” The queen was one of
. tors when he read the cardinal’s lecture on humanity,
in the hall at Christ-church college, which she had recently
founded. Ludovicus Vives was also appointed by her Latin
tutor to her daughter, the lady Mary. Several foreign authors
have asserted that Catherine composed “Meditations upon
the Psalms;” also a book entitled “The Lamentation of a
inner:” but this seems to be a mistake; these productions are
ribed, with better evidence, to Catherine Parr. In “Bur-
& Ca-
History of the Reformation,” are two letters from
º

















CATHERINE OF ARRAGON. 291
therine of Arragon to her husband; and, in “The Life of
Henry V.” by Livy, one addressed to the king, then in France,
on a victory gained over the Scots, 1513; and another, re-
questing permission to see her daughter, the princess Mary.
Notwithstanding the deference paid before the Reforma-
tion to the papal authority, by which a dispensation had been
granted for the marriage of Henry with the widow of his
brother, the nuptials had not taken place without scruples,
which respected the affinity of the parties: the prejudices of
the times were against it, even the late king proved his inten-
tion of annulling the contract, at a future opportunity, by
having enjoined his son to enter a protest against fulfilling the
engagement when he should come of age. On his death-bed,
his last injunction to Henry was, to avoid completing a union
liable to so many objections, from its singularity and opposi-
tion to the customs of the age. After the accession of the
prince, the primate, with several members of the privy-council,
though over-ruled by the majority, were of the same opinion.
Henry entered not at that time into scruples, to which several
circumstances afterwards combined to awaken his attention.
The marriage of Mary, his daughter, with the emperor Charles,
was opposed by the states of Castile, under pretence of the il-
legitimacy of the birth of the princess; and to an alliance,
afterwards meditated with France, the same objection was
made by the French ambassador. These events, however hu-
miliating, appeared, at the time, to produce but little effect.
upon the mind of the king, till strengthened by nearer and more
personal motives.
The blameless conduct of the queen, whose beauty, with
the decline of her health, began to fade, proved insufficient to
retain the affections of her husband: the children she had borne
to him, excepting one daughter, had died in th
Henry either began, or affected, to suspect, that the curse of
being childless, denounced by the Mosaical law against him
heir infancy.
who espoused the widow of his brother, was, in his case,
about to be fulfilled. Ardently desirous of male issue, it is
believed that, with this view, he had a few years previous to
this period formed a connexion with Catherine, daughter of
Sir John Blount, a young lady who had borne him a son, a cir.
cumstance which seemed to afford him great satisfaction: the




292 cATHERINE of ARRAGoN.
infant had, on his birth, been immediately created duke of
Richmond. º
The succession was also liable to be involved in difficulty,
from the doubts suggested respecting the legitimacy of Mary,
the disadvantages of her sex, and the vicinity of the next heir,
the king of Scots. The evils attending a civil war were yet
also recent in the minds of the people. To these public mo-
tives, specious if not valid, private passion, still more in-
auspicious to the cause of the queen, added its force. Anne
Boleyn, a beautiful and accomplished woman, maid of honour
to Catherine, had attracted the attention, and fascinated the
senses of Henry. Anne, educated in the French court, had but
lately returned to England; the spirit and vivacity of her con-
versation, added to the graces of her manner, completed the
triumph of her beauty, and secured her a powerful ascendency
over the heart of her royal lover. Her virtue, or her ambition,
enabled her to resist the solicitations of the monarch, whose
passion, inflamed by opposition, at length prompted him to
cherish the design of raising its object to the throne.
Addicted to casuistry, his scruples, reinforced by passion,
respecting the legality of his marriage, became hourly more
formidable. He proposed his doubts to his confessor, to car-
dinal Woolsey his minister, to the bishops and ecclesiastics:
he examined the writings of the fathers, attended to the
opinions of his courtiers, and listened more especially to the
suggestions of his own heart. Woolsey politically flattered the
inclinations of his master; the bishops, excepting Fisher, bishop
of Rochester, were no less complacent, unanimously indulging
the royal conscience, by declaring their opinions of the illega-
lity of the title of Catherine. The wavering mind of Henry
yielded at length tomotives thus pressing; eager to procure
the mandate that should give him the privilege of following
the dictates of his passions, he commissioned his secretary
to apply to the court of Rome for a divorce. All intercourse,
epting that of civility, was broken off with the devoted
herine, while the power of her rival continued hourly to
ild be unnecessary to detail the ecclesiastical par-
process, given at large by the English historians;
jay, that the interest of Clement induced him tº









CATHERINE of ARRAGON. 293
favour the inclinations of the monarch; an encouraging answer
was therefore given to the petition of the secretary, and a dis-
pensation promised. The negotiation was however protracted
by objections and difficulties. Catherine was protected by the
emperor, who exhorted her to persevere in her claims: the
timidity of the pope, and his dependence upon the empire,
confounded his politics, and involved them in ambiguity and
deceit. . §
The queen, whose temper was resolute and firm, swayed
by motives the most powerful, determined to withstand the
machinations of her adversaries: the imputation of incest
thrown on her marriage, roused her indignation, and filled her
scrupulous mind with horror and anguish. To these, a consi-
deration yet more tender was added; the pride of the queen
and the distress of the wife were aggravated by the feelings of
the mother; in yielding her own privileges, the rights of her
daughter were also involved. Nor can it be supposed that as a
woman and a queen she could be wholly insensible to the
triumph of her rival, who, not satisfied with having supplanted
her in the heart of her husband, aspired to usurp her dignities
and rank. . - 3 &
Under the influence of these motives, she ceased not to
implore the interference and protection of the emperor, her
nephew; while she earnestly entreated an evocation of the
cause to Rome, where justice, she conceived, could only be
fxpected.
A commission had been granted by the pope to cardinal
Campeggio, in which Woolsey was joined, for the trial of the
king's marriage. After various delays and subterfuges, the
legates at length opened their court in London, May 31st,
1529, and cited the king and queen to appear.
When called upon by the court, Henry immediately an-
swered to his name. But Catherine, rising from her seat,
threw herself at the feet of her husband, and, deprecating the
injustice she was about to suffer, reminded him, that she was
a stranger in his dominions, without protection, without coun-
sel, without assistance, exposed alone to the malice of her
enemies; that, quitting her native land and natural protect,
she had reposed her safety and her happiness in his hon
and affection; that, during twenty years, she had, with aſ







294 CATHERINE of ARRAGON.
tionate submission, practised the duties of a wife, and resigned
herself in all things to his will. In testimony of her truth, she
appealed to his own heart. Her fidelity and her tenderness had
surely deserved a better fate, than that she should thus be
hurled with indignity from her privileges and her station. A
ceremony only, she protested, had made her the wife of his
brother. The objections now urged against the validity of her
marriage, reflected on the wisdom and honour of their parents,
by whom the union had been formed and sanctioned. In their
judgment it was her determination to acquiesce; nor would
she submit her honour and her cause to a court, whose de-
pendence upon her enemies was but too apparent, to afford her
any prospect or hope of an equitable decision. Having thus,
with firmness, delivered her sentiments, she arose, and, bow-
ing to the king, quitted the court, in which she never again
could be induced to appear. %
The king, after her departure, acknowledged her virtues,
the honour, the consistency, and the propriety of her whole
conduct, insisting only on his own scruples respecting the
legality of their marriage, and narrating (possibly with some
reserve) the origin and progress of the doubts by which he had
been assailed. He laboured to acquit cardinal Woolsey of all
improper conduct in the affair, and requested a sentence from
the court conformable to truth and justice. * ...
The legates having again cited Catherine to appear before
them, declared her contumacious, notwithstanding her appeal
to Rome. They then proceeded to an investigation of the
cause, in which the consummation of the marriage of Catherine
with Arthur was examined and presumed: many reasonings
also were entered into which respected the extent of the papal
authority, and the power of the pope on occasions of this na-
ture. To these discussions Campeggio listened with impatience;
and, notwithstanding his instructions to delay the cause, was
tempted to cut short the debates on a subject thus delicate and
. questionable. The trial was, however, protracted till the 23d
O
y, waiving his privilege as elder cardinal, allowed
s to be conducted by Campeggio, to give to the
more specious appearance of candour and im-
lving presumed to counsel Catherine to submit to






CATHERINE of ARRAGON. 295
the pleasure of the king, she retorted upon him with acrimony,
in the following reflections: “Of these my miseries,” said she,
‘I can accuse none but you, my lord of York; because I could
not away with your monstrous pride, excessive riot, whore-
dom, and intolerable oppression, therefore do I now suffer.
And because my nephew, the emperor, did not satisfy your
insatiable ambition to advance you to the papacy, you threat-
ened to be revenged on him and on his friends: and you have
performed your promise. You have been the plotter of wars
against him, and raised this storm against me.’
A conclusion to the business seemed to be now approach-
ing, while Henry daily expected a sentence in his favour. At
this critical moment, Campeggio, on a frivolous pretence,
suddenly prorogued the court till the first day of October: the
evocation, which arrived a few days afterwards from Rome,
frustrated at once the expectation of the king. This measure,
as may be supposed, had originated in the influence of the
emperor, who had practised upon the fears of the pope for his
more immediate interest. In this stroke, which he was unable
to avert, Woolsey foresaw his own ruin. The temper of
Henry, impatient of opposition, led him to judge his ministers
by the event rather than by the intention, and to make them
responsible for every impediment to his desires. Anne Boleyn,
who also imputed to Woolsey the failure of her hopes, fortified
the prejudices of her lover. To the animosity of the queen
and her party he was already exposed; opposing factions com-
bined against him, his fall was rapid and decisive.
By the advice of Dr. Cranmer, who was afterwards pro-
moted to the primacy, the cause was at length referred to the
judgment of the universities of Europe, on the presumption that
Rome would be unable to resist a reinforcement thus powerful,
added to the solicitations of a great monarch. Agents were
accordingly commissioned for the execution of this project.
As a question of reason or morality, the controversy admitted
of an easy decision; but, in the conflict of the passions, and
the clamours of superstition, the still voice of truth had little
chance of being heard. The Levitical law of the Jews, wholly
“remonial, was wrested and applied to the present purpose;
*law, in certain cases, not merely dispensed with, but invali-
"ated by precepts of an opposite nature. Thus, in quitting the


direct road of reason, endless perplexities embarrass our steps.
ticular breach of common observances, the minds of the peo-
ple had not been familiarised; the novelty of the object occa-
sioned them to start. More than one of the universities both
of Italy and France, gave a verdict in favour of the king;
though Oxford and Cambridge yet demurred, their hesitation
reflects on them not more credit; the progress of lutheranism
having alarmed their fears, they scrupled to sanction a measure
which, bearing the appearance of innovation, seemed to menace
the ancient superstitions: but means, were at length adopted
which induced them to waive their objections.
* Strengthened by these authorities, an application was once
more made to Rome, and menaces mingled with supplication.
In the mean time, the convocations of Canterbury and York
had pronounced the king's marriage irregular and invalid; but
'lement, still awed by the power of the emperor, persisted in
ing the parties to Rome. Henry, aware of the consequences
lding a compliance, refused to submit, while he affected to
: the citation as an insult, and a violation of the royal pre-
tive. His reply was carried to the pope by the father of
e Boleyn, who declined on this occasion to salute the toe
is holiness, graciously tendered to him for the purpose.
uch was the first instance of disrespect manifested by England
the papal dignity, which gradually led to a total separation,
nd laid the foundation for the success of the Reformation.
Thus, perhaps, might, in most instances, be traced from the
issions of private life, and events seemingly insignificant, the
1st important changes and revolutions of society.
In a subsequent parliament and convocation, the king was
- - upreme head of the church, while means were, at
&x- me, devised for the depression of the clergy and
humiliation of Rome. These steps naturally led to the
r which they had been adopted, the marriage of Henry
Boleyn. The nuptials were privately celebrated,
ards made public by the pregnancy of the bride;
s were taken for a formal declaration of the
's former marriage. Henry still affected
le with respect and
























cATHERINE of ARRAGoN. 29,
persuasive art, he sought to engage her to resign her claim,
and withdraw her appeal from Rome: but, finding her tena-
cious of the justice of her cause, and bent on maintaining her
privileges, he relinquished her society, signifying his wish
that she should retire, and requested her to choose for her
future residence one of the royal palaces. She fixed her court
for some time at Amphill near Dunstable, where Cranmer,
now primate, examined the validity of her marriage. Having
refused to answer the citation either in person or by proxy,
she was declared contumacious, while the cause proceeded as
before. §
The opinions of the universities being produced, and other
preparatory steps taken, the primate proceeded to pass sen
tence, and the marriage of Henry with Catherine was formally
annulled. The nuptials of Anne Boleyn were ratified by a sub-
sequent sentence, and she was soon after publicly crowned.
September 7th, 1533, she was delivered of a daughter, on
whom was bestowed the name of Elizabeth, who afterwards
swayed the British sceptre with so much ability and renown.
Lord Mountjoy was commissioned to inform the unfortu-
nate Catherine of these events, and to announce to her, that
she must henceforth submit to be treated as princess dowager
of Wales. Catherine still refusing to renounce her pretensions,
and submit to the king, Henry became incensed by her per-
tinacity, and, contrary to his first intentions, excluded her
daughter from the succession, by appointing the crown to
descended to the issue of Anne Boleyn. .
The divorce being completed, Chatherine retired to Kim-
bolton castle in Huntingdonshire, where, devoting her life to
the observances of an austere piety, she adopted a plain dress,
and wore under her garments the habit of St. Francis; she
confessed and fasted, arose at midnight to prayer, and received
a weekly communion. Six hours of the morning were appro-
priated by her to prayer, and two hours after dinner dedicated
to a perusal of the Lives of the Saints; after which she return-
ed to the chapel, which she quitted not before night. Erasmus,
who professed for this princess high reverence and esteem,
dedicated to her his “Christian Matrimony,” as a book suited
to her piety and situation. From a conviction of the injustice
she had suffered, he also addressed to her a consolatory letter,
VoI. I. 2 P




cATHERINE of ARRAGoN. #
in which he directs her hopes and views to another world, and
her confidence to a Being who would not fail her in her dis-
tress, enforcing his spiritual counsel by the common topics and
arguments used on these occasions. But the humiliation of her
circumstances, and voluntary mortifications, rendered her not
less tenacious of regal honours: from those who refused to
acknowledge her claims, she would accept no services, parting
with several of her domestics on this account. Vain were the
remonstrances or menaces of the king; since the pope had
judged her marriage valid, she declared, that rather than sub-
mit to the indignity imposed upon her, she would prefer death.
A jointure had been assigned to her as princess dowager; but
from her personal attendants, she still exacted the honours of
a queen. x
Her constitution originally weak, soon sunk under the
severities of her life: she beleived the air of Huntingdonshire
prejudicial to her health, and requested permission to come
nearer to London: this request was refused, and a proposal
made for removing her to Fotheringay castle, where prepara-
tions were made for her reception. When informed of this
design, Catherine protested, with vehemence, that, unless she
were bound with ropes, and carried as a prisoner, she would
r go thither. ; : . .
After three years' residence at Bugden and Kimbolton, she
was seized with symptoms of approaching dissolution, Decem-
ber, 1535. The king, on being informed of her situation, de-
puted Eustachius Caputius, the emperor's ambassador, to visit
and console her in his name. A short time before her decease,
she dictated to one of her women a letter to Henry, of which
the following is a transcript: “My king and dearest spouse,
insomuch as already the hour of my death approacheth, the
love and affection I bear you, causeth me to conjure you to
have a care of the eternal salvation of your soul, which you
ought to prefer before mortal things, or all worldly blessings.
: is for this immortal spirit you must neglect the care of your
body, for the love of which you have thrown me headlong into
*
many calamities, and your own self into infinite disturbances.
But I forgive you with all my heart, humbly beseeching Al-
mighty God he will in heaven confirm the pardon I on earth ,
give you. I recommend unto you our most dear Mary, your















CATHERINE of ARRAGON. 299
daughter and mine, praying you to be a better father to her
than you have been a husband to me. Remember also the
three poor maids, companions of my retirement, as likewise all
the rest of my servants, giving them a whole year's wages be-
sides what is their due, that so they may be a little recom-
pensed for the good service they have done me; protesting
unto you, in the conclusion of this my letter and life, that my
eyes love you, and desire to see you more than any thing
mortal.”. ..w …
The simplicity and tenderness of this letter drew tears
from the king, whose remorse was doubtless heightened by
the death of the writer, who expired a few days after, at Kim-
bolton, in the fifty-second year of her age, January 8th, 1535-6.
By her will, she appointed her body to be privately interred,
in a convent of observant friars, who had suffered in her cause;
five hundred masses were to be performed for her soul; and a
pilgrimage undertaken, to our lady of Walsingham, by a per-
son who, on his way, was to distribute twenty nobles to the
poor. She bequeathed considerable legacies to her servants,
and requested, that her robes might be converted into orna-
ments for the church, in which her remains were to be depo-
sited. The king religiously performed her injur ctions, ex.
cepting that which respected the disposal of her body, rese it. º •
ing probably the opposition which the convent had given to his
divorce. The corpse was interred in the abbey church at Pe-
terburgh, with the honours due to the birth of Catherine, be-
tween two pillars, on the north side the choir, near the great
altar. Her hearse was covered with a pall of black velvet,
crossed with cloth of silver, which was afterwards exchanged
for one of black say. g .
It is recorded by lord Herbert, in his “History of Henry
VIII.” that, from respect to the memory of Catherine, Henry
not only spared the abbey church at the general dissolution of
religious houses, but advanced it to be a cathedral. º
. Hume's History of England–Ballard's Memoirs of British La-
dies—Biographium Foemineum, &c.





[ 300 J
. CATHERINE of MEDICis.
CATHERINE or MED101s, celebrated by the French histo-
rians for her talents and her crimes, daughter of Lorenzo de
Medicis, duke of Urbin, and of Madeline de la Tour, coun-
tess of Boulogne (in whom ended the house of Auvergne),
was born at Florence, April 15th, 1519. She is thus described
by Varillas: “Her form was admirable; her aspect expressed
majesty blended with softness. In the delicacy of her com-
plexion, and the vivacity of her eyes, she surpassed every
other lady of the court. She adapted her habit to her person
with such exquisite taste, that, though she frequently changed
its form, every dress appeared to her equally advantageous.
She introduced the fashion of wearing silk stockings, drawn
tight, to display the fine turn of her ancle; for the same reason,
she first adopted the mode of placing one leg over the pommel
of the saddle in riding on horseback. She invented, at different
times, a variety of new fashions, not less becoming than su-
perb. Her suite, in which she took a pleasure in collecting
beautiful women, was particularly brilliant. It seemed as if
nature had combined in her all the virtues and the vices of her
family. Attached, like her ancestor, the count de Vieux, to
riches, she managed them not better than Peter I. son of the
count, her great grand-father. She was magnificent beyond
every age that had preceded her, like Laurent, her great grand-
father; nor was she less refined in her policy; but she pos-
sessed not his rectitude of intention, nor his liberality to men
of letters. In ambition she yielded not to Peter II. her grand-
father; nor, in pursuit of her end, was she scrupulous respect-
ing the means. After the example of her father, she loved
amusements but in proportion only to the expense with which
ere accompanied.” . - - - - -
she was exposed during her childhood to great danger,
hrough the animosity of the Florentines to the house of Me-
, which a faction had expelled from the city. Not content
depriving her of the possessions of her family, her ene-
confined her in a monastery. At the siege of Florence,
30, Baptista Cei, a violent opponent of the Medicis,
. id that Catherine (then eleven years of age) should be
laced on a wall, between two battlements, exposed to the fire


















CATHERINE OF MEDICIS. so
of the imperial artillery. Bernaud Castiglioné, yet more bru-
tal, advised in the council that she should be given up to the
lust of the soldiery. These propositions, so horrible and atro- º
cious, were received with the indignation they merited. Phili-
bert, prince of Orange, commander of the imperial army
before Florence, aspired to the hand of Catherine: but his
death, previous to the surrender of the city, dissolved the ne-
gotiation, and left her free to fulfil a higher destiny. .
At fourteen years of age, she was given in marriage, by
pope Clement VII. her great uncle, to Henry, duke of Or-
leans, second son of Francis I. The nuptials were celebrated
at Marseilles, October 28th, 1533, in the presence of the pope
and the king of France. But her beauty and insinuating man-
ners failed to captivate the heart of her husband, who had de-
voted himself to the maturer charms of Diana de Poitiers. The
character of Catherine, repressed by the circumstances of the
times, had not yet discovered itself. She possessed no political
influence, nor any seat in the cabinet: her sterility also contri-
buted to lessen her consequence: it was even proposed that the
marriage should be dissolved. . .
In this situation her address and command of temper were
admirable: to the king, her father-in-law, whose health began
to decline, she assiduously paid her court: she accompanied
him to the chace, and made one in the celebrated party known
by the name of Le petite bande de dames de la cour. She at-
tended him, likewise, on his private excursions to the palaces
of Chambord, Fontainbleau, and St. Germain, where he unbent
in the company of a select number of favourites. These assi-
duities rendered her infinitely dear to Francis. To her hus-
band she was no less submissive, while she suffered the
ascendency of her rival with mildness. By the humility and
flexibility of her conduct, in circumstances the most delicate
and critical, she rendered herself acceptable to all parties.
Her talents were reserved for a more favourable occasion; for
the present she was content to remain in obscurity.
Ten years after her marriage, when she had begun to des-
pair of having issue, she was delivered of a son, on whom the
name of his grandfather was conferred. On the decease of
Francis I. she was crowned with her husband at St. Denis,
June 12th, 1540. But she possessed only the title of queen.
&






CATHERINE of Medicis.
Diana de Poitiers engrossed, with the favour of the king, the
most unbounded political influence, while Catherine submitted
to her destiny with a grace that commanded the esteem of her
husband, who daily passed with her two hours after he had
dined. & 3 : 3 &
Previous to his departure for the Milanese, so long and so
unfortunately contended for by the French, Henry vested the
regency in the queen, with whom he associated Bertrandi,
keeper of the seals, and devoted to his mistress the dutchess
of Valentinois. Catherine, during this short administration,
was guilty of no public act injurious to the state: her character
had not yet developed itself; her intriguing genius and perni-
cious policy were still latent or unobserved. Pliant in her man-
ners, and mistress of her passions, she yielded, without affect-
ing opposition, to the power of her rival, whose regard she
conciliated. .
An event now approached which enabled her to throw aside
the mask, and to assert the native force of her mind. A tour-
nament was proclaimed in the French court, on the double oc-
casion of the return of peace, and the marriage of Elizabeth of
France, the daughter of Catherine (who since the birth of
Francis had borne several children), with Philip II. of Spain.
Henry, on this occasion, having distinguished his skill and
gallantry, was desirous of breaking a lance with the count de
Montgomery, captain of his life-guards, and celebrated for
his military prowess. Catherine, as if from a presage of the
event, besought her husband not to enter the lists; but, resist-
ing her intreaties, he declared his resolution to break one more
lance in her honour. Montgomery accepted with reluctance
the challenge of the king, from which he sought in vain to be
excused. Henry commanded his obedience, and, with a fatal
temerity, even fought with his visor raised. The lance of the
count having in the rudeness of the shock, broke against the
helmet of the king, the stump entered his right eye, and threw
him to the ground. He survived the accident eleven days, but
never recovered his speech or his senses. Being conveyed by
ueen, to the palace of Tournelles, every assist-
was procured for him but in vain: an incurable abscess
i in the brain, of which he expired, in the forty-first








cATHERINE of MED1cis. 303
The court on this catastrophe, was filled with consternation,
and divided by intrigues: the contending factions, held in awe
by the vigour and activity of Henry, now declared their various
pretensions. Diana de Poitiers, while the monarch yet breath-
ed, had received an order from the queen to retire to her own
house, and not to presume to enter the chamber of the dying
king. “Does he yet exist?” replied Diana: ‘Know, that so
long as he shall retain the least appearance of life, I fear not
my enemies, however powerful, nor will show any deference
to their menaces or commands. Carry this answer to the
queen.’ . w - ? 2.
Catherine, so long obscured, now came forward, and rose
into importance: as mother to the young king, her favour was
eagerly courted, while her capacity and her talents fitted her
for the most arduous offices. Endowed with a thousand great.
qualities, she wanted only virtue to direct them to useful and
honourable purposes. Her love of pleasure, of letters, of mag-
nificence, were her inferior passions, over which ambition pre-
dominated: possessing a calm and intrepid temper, no circum-
stances, however sudden, however trying, threw her off her
guard: she knew how to bend to circumstances, or to accommo-
date every thing to her purposes. Consummate in dissembling,
her manners were seductive, and her conversation insinuating.
Sprung from the blood of Cosmo de Medicis, and emulous of
the reputation acquired by Francis I. she affected to protect
learning, and cultivate the fine arts, amidst the horrors of civil
war; even in the most exhausted state of the finances, she was
the munificent patroness of men of letters. Expensive and
lavish in the entertainments and spectacles which she exhibited
to the court, she covered under the mask of pleasure the most
atrocious designs; planned a massacre in the midst of a fes-
tival, while she caressed the victims of her sanguinary policy.
Cruel from ambition rather than from temper, profuse from
taste, and rapacious from necessity, she united in her character
qualities the most apparently discordant. The majesty of her
Person, the dignity of her aspect, and the elegance of her dress,
added lustre to her beauty, which remained unimpaired to ar
advanced period of life. Her hands and arms were remarka
for their beauty; her shape, faultless in her youth, became
after wards injured by corpulency; her head also was dispro-








portionably large, nor could she walk any distance without
being subject to dizziness: this disorder was probably occa-
sioned by a severe blow on the head, which she had received
in hunting, and which subjected her to the operation of the
trepan: she also once broke her leg in the same exercise, of
which she was peculiarly fond, and which she continued till
her sixtieth year. She piqued herself on her skill and boldness
in managing a horse. .
When Henry lay expiring, the mind of Catherine, though
apparently overwhelmed with grief, was intent on the conduct
it would be proper for her to pursue. She dreaded the power
of the Guises: Montmorenci the constable, who had united
himself with her rival, was yet more obnoxious to her. He
had dared to suggest suspicions injurious to her honour, by
hinting, that of all the children of Henry, one only, a natural
daughter, bore any resemblance to him; he had beside uni-
formly persecuted the Florentines who followed Catherine into
France, or who had sought promotion in the court.
These mortifications were submitted to by the queen dur-
ing the life of her husband, but, when released from the ne-
cessity of dissimulation, they were remembered by her and
resented. Thus was Catherine induced to lend an ear to the
princes of Lorrain, who, as a cement of their union, promised
to sacrifice to her the mistress of her husband. Diana, aban-
doned by the crowd of parasites and courtiers, sunk, in her
turn, into neglect and humiliation. Some magnanimity must
be allowed on this occasion to Catherine, who, tempted to a
bloody and exemplary vengeance on her rival, rejected with
firmness the barbarous expedients suggested to her by her
courtiers, and, contenting herself with a political victory, re-
‘essed, from respect to the memory of her husband, all per-
sonal recrimination. Diana was suffered to retain the splendid
proofs of affection lavished; on her by her lover, and to retire
to the palace of Anet, where she passed the remainder of her
life. She expressed her sense of this clemency by presenting
to the queen the superb palace of Chaumont-sur-Loire, situated
in the midst of the lands which had been assigned as a dowry
to Catherine, who, in return, gave to the duchess the castle of
e. Touraine.
, the instant her husband had breathed his last,












quitted the body, contrary to the customs of th
France, who, by ancient and invariable usage, were no
lowed on such occasions to leave their chamber during twenty
days; nor, till the royal obsequies were performed, even to
behold the light of the sun. But Catherine, superior to com-
mon forms, when in pursuit of a favourite purpose, followed
the princes of Lorraine to the Louvre, whither they had car-
ried the young monarch, and obtained by that means the ex-
clusive possession of his person. º § 3
ere not
Animated by an intemperate and barbarous zeal, the new
ministers persuaded their youthful sovereign, that in persecut-
ing the Huguenots he would adhere to the maxims and conduct
of his father. Courts of ecclesiastical judicature, invested with º
inquisitorial powers, were accordingly erected, which took
cognizance of heresy, and which, from the severity of their
inflictions, received the denomination of chambres ardentes.
These rigorous measures, not confined to the capital, were
imitated throughout the provinces; till the calvinists, forced
into resistance, and rendered furious by despair, defended
themselves against their oppressors. º
Catherine, with a temporising policy, endeavoured, as in-
terest suggested, to adjust the balance between the conte
parties. Michael de l'Hôpital, an able minister, and devo
to the queen-mother, confirmed her by his temperate and ,
dicious counsels in that intricate policy, and those arts o
vision, by which she was characterised. She soon became se
sible, that she had committed an error in joining the G
against the princes of the blood; the former, distrusting
sincerity, observed but little deference towards her,
sought to divesther of all authority. But the evil was not n
to be remedied: the princes were already in the power of th
enemies, who meditated against them a mortal blow,
by an unforeseen event they were rescued from imm
ss and stupor; an imposthum
ed, was succeeded b
feelings ambiti
lation to which she had Î




























minority leaving the regency open to her hopes, she refus-
ed her concurrence with the sanguinary projects of the Guises.
'hile both parties courted her as the arbitress of their future
fortunes, she employed, with infinite address and coolness, the
measures necessary to secure to herself the first place in the
government, under Charles, her son, who had scarcely attained
his eleventh year. With this view she obtained from the king
of Navarre, to whom, as first prince of the blood, the regency
belonged, a written promise to cede to her his claims. The
g Guises, while they swore to her allegiance, had urged her as
the means of securing her authority, and assuring the tranquil-
lity of the approaching reign, to put to death the prince of
Condé and the king of Navarre. This counsel was opposed
by the dutchess of Montpensier, who represented to Cathe-
rine, that by such a measure she would confirm the power of
the interested advisers, to whom she would herself be ulti-
mately the victim. While she hesitated respecting the conduct
proper to observe, de l'Hôpital fixed the wavering balance,
determined her to spare the princes, with whom he had ad-
her to negotiate. It was in compliance with these salu-
counsels, that a messenger was dispatched to bring the
of Navarre privately, by night, to her apartment, where a
erence was held, in which the king was assured by Cathe-
rine of her concurrence with his views in repressing the power
of the house of Guise.
* * *
This interview and compact took place but a few hours
re the death of Francis II, who expired on the eighteenth
from the commencement of his malady, aged seventeen
º ºa º fortnight, of which he had reigned a
reservation of the princes, and
§jº o the queen-mother, gave rise to suspicions
oison; for this report there appears to have been no just
ound; the hereditary maladies of the young king, added to
º ness of his constitution, sufficiently account for his
‘. While the court was occupied by ambition
quies of the monarch were indecently ne-
who had at the funeral of her husband
whom he had lavi
~ ritical to the p
* 3-
11





































CATHERINE of MEDICIs.
bounties, preserved on the occasion a frigid indifference: un-
der pretence of remaining to console their niece, Mary Stuart,
the widowed queen, they excused themselves from attending
the remains of her husband. Francis leaving no issue, the
crown descended to Charles his brother.
On the death of the king, the constable Montmorenci,
whom distrust had till now withheld from the court, hastened
his return, accompanied by six hundred horse. The Guises
excused their conduct by throwing blame on the memory of
Francis, their too credulous and indulgent sovereign; while -
the queen-mother, by an address the most flattering and mas-
terly, conciliated the constable, and won him to her purposes.
Seduced by her blandishments, he agreed to become the me-
diator between the princes of Bourbon and of Lorraine: by
this measure the regency was secured to Catherine, and Mont-
morenci, independently of either of the factions, firmly attach-
ed to her son. Solicitous to lengthen the minority of the king,
and to preserve her own power, Catherine sowed divisions
among the principal nobility: negligent of the public tran quil- º
lity, and attentive only to her own interest, she opposed with
Italian subtlety one party to another. Placed by the premature
fate of Francis in the first post of government, from the instant
that Charles conceived the desire of reigning alone, she forgot
that she was a mother, and regarded him as an enemy. -- a
The states assembled at Orleans opened with a speech
from the chancellor de l'Hôpital, in which he exhorted them
to toleration and unanimity. Some attempts were made to de-
prive Catherine of the regency, which she had assumed by a
sort of polical violence; but her address extinguished all oppo-
sition. Having dissolved the assembly, whose deliberations
she feared might tend to abridge the regal privileges, she con-
voked them to meet again in the following May. Between
Montmorenci and the princes of the blood, a powerful combi-
nation had been formed: Catherine exerted herself to dissolve
a confederacy which she suspected might set bounds to h º
authority: regardless of the means by which her
might be effected, she recalled to court the late mis
husband, whom she ordered to essay on the consta
ancient friend and adherent) her powers of persuasion.
ºbeyed, and this her last public act was crowned wit






















º .
The ceremony of the coronation of Charles, delayed by
these dissensions, was at length performed at Rheims, with
. the customary magnificence. The wounds of the state were
not to be healed by this pageantry; while the ambiguous conduct
of the regent, by spreading an universal distrust, tended to
irritate the malady. In opposing to the power of the great
lords the king of Navarre, she affected to favour the reformed
religion, while the constable was by her influence secretly
prompted to complain of the innovation. Too weak to suppress
by force the numerous parties by which the state was distract-
ed, she substituted in its stead cunning and artifice: but her
talents, though great, fell short of her purpose; the fire she had
flattered herself with being able to fan or extinguish at pleasure,
blazed forth to the destruction of her son and the kingdom.
Between the prince of Condé and the duke of Guise a
feigned reconciliation had taken place; while the king of
Navarre had, in the assembled states, renounced his pre-
tensions to the regency. Catherine, acquainted with the hu-
an heart, knew how to flatter its propensities; she had sub-
Ed Navarre, by an allurement adapted to his voluptuous
indolent temper. Among the most beautiful of her maids
of honour, she selected one, who served as her instrument on
this occasion. º - * M * .
The states being opened with great solemnity at St. Ger-
main, the young king, seated on a throne, was present at the
debates: his mother was placed by his side, and, on his left
hand, his sister the princess Margaret. Catherine returned her
obligation to the king of Navarre by an avowed patronage of
he calvinists. This seeming partiality, in which conviction
l no share, was the result of a profound political hypocrisy,
ich was equally displayed at the disputations of Poissy,
ere a vain attempt was made to accommodate these re-
a
o
\ fatal and bloody quarrel, which accidentally took place,
he retinue of the duke of Guise and the calvinist in-
assy, a little town in Champagne, whose devo-
disturbed by the train of the duke, hastened a
e contending factions. The prince of Condé
egent justice and reparation for what had
d by this requisition, Catherine promised hi





















CATHERINE OF MEDICIS.
satisfaction. The duke was accordingly commanded to repair
instantly, and unattended, to court; but with this mandate he
refused to comply, and soon after arrived at Paris accompanied
by twelve hundred horse. Terrified by an approach thus appa- *
rently hostile, Catherine wrote to the prince of Condé, and
recommended to his protection, in terms the most affecting,
herself, her son, and the kingdom. To this appeal she added
a declaration, that she was held in captivity by the combined
nobles. The prince, having thus a pretence to arm his asso-
ciates, availed himself as an excuse of these letters of the
regent's: but, being yet too feeble openly to oppose his
enemies, he withdrew a second time to his seat of La Ferté-
Aucou, near Meaux. § & 4
Catherine, accompanied by the chancellor, carried her son
to Fontainbleau, while she beheld in prospect the horrors of a
civil war, accelerated by her own ambiguous policy, and which
she now in vain endeavoured to avert. To prevent the effusion
of blood, was no less her wish than her interest: conscious
that by joining either party, she should give the signal for
open hostility, she still sought to hold her neutrality, and to
adjust the wavering balance. But this conduct was no longer
practicable. The duke of Guise, with a numerous train, having
arrived at Fontainbleau, she again, in secret, summoned Condé
to her aid; vainly flattering herself, that by his presence she
would be rendered common arbitress of the disputes. But her
hopes and her schemes proved alike abortive. , .
The prince appeared in arms on his way to join her, while
the confederate lords availed themselves of the occasion to
make themselves masters of the person of the king; an act of
violence, of which they pleaded the necessity to prevent his
falling into the hands of the Huguenots. This intelligence was
brought to Catherine by the king of Navarre, who observing
her hesitate, declared that he was come to conduct his sovereign
in safety to Paris; roughly adding, that if she chose not
accompany him, she was at liberty to remain alone. N
was allowed her to deliberate on this important me:
Charles, turning towards his mother, as if to inquireh
ments, and observing her constraint, and th
reply, burst into tears of indignant resentment.
resist, he suffered himself to be conveyed weeping
&
















self and her son; she had even prepared a boat in which she
meant to have carried him off during the night. On finding her
schemes defeated, she wisely determined to yield with a grace:
mounted on horseback, with the king and her two younger
sons, surrounded by the triumvirate and their attendants, on
the third day of their journey she arrived at Paris.
Finding all her projects overthrown, and foreseeing a
civil war, Catherine had during her journey, preseved a gloomy
silence; while the duke of Guise, regardless of her distress,
or the tears of the king, who felt himself a prisoner, insult-
ingly declared ‘That good is always good, whether it proceed
from love or force.” § s'
No alternative remained to Condé, deceived as he appre-
hended by the queen, and the king in the hands of his enemies,
but open war. Setting off therefore with the utmost expedi-
tion, he made himself, after a vigorous resistance, master of
Orleans. Thus commenced the civil war, destined to deluge
France with blood. 3.
The taking of Orleans became the signal of revolt throughout
the kingdom. The Huguenots, excited by the example of their
leader, expelled the catholics in various places; several cities
fell into their hands; while they were driven by a furious zeal
into the most sanguinary excesses. Catherine exerted all her
powers to procure an accommodation: while beholding Condé
already in possession of half the kingdom, she dreaded lest
the adverse party should avail themselves of the precedent,
between the contending factions, should be
: without revenue or dominions. Prompted by
e sought to concili ate the rival princes, and by
d and masterly manoeuvres to detach Condé from the
lots; with this view she allured him by the most seduc-
mises, and tempted him by flattering proposals. An
ook place between them at Toury near Orleans:
varre accompanied the regent, while each party
by thirty-six horsemen. The two bands were sta-
ldred paces from the place of rendezvous, and
n hour in their respective posts, At length,










CATHERINE of MEDicis. 311
gradually approaching, they joined, embraced, and lamented
the fate that armed them against each other. An instructive
and affecting spectacle! A conference of two hours was, in the
mean time, held between Catherine, the prince of Condé, and
the king of Navarre. Catherine affected to lament her inability
of complying with the demands of the prince, and the inter-
view terminated without effect. ; : ºº &
The queen, however unsuccessful, was not discouraged: by
her sagacity and penetration, she was enabled to avail herself of
the weaknesses of the human mind, to which, on this occasion,
she failed not to apply. The prince was at length prevailed on, by
her artifice and address, to give his word to quit the kingdom, on
condition that the triumvirate should relinquish the administra-
tion, the promise of which had been previously obtained. Condé,
summoned by Catherine to fulfil the terms of his agreement,
made his feigned submissions to her and the king: but admiral
Coligny, distrusting the regent, persuaded the prince to break
the treaty. The admiral's entreaties and remonstrances having
prevailed, Condé suffered himself to be led back to his party.
By this scene of mutual duplicity, the suspense which the
negotiation had occasioned was terminated, and the war re-
newed with all its terrors. .
The royal army, in which was the queen and her son, after
taking Blois, Tours, and Bourges, laid siege to Rouen, de-
fended by Montgomery, famous in the annals of France for
his fatal tournament with Henry II. The courage of Cathe-
rine on this occasion was truly heroic; every day during the
siege she exposed herself to the most imminent personal dan-
gers. The duke of Guise and the constable remonstrated with
her in vain on this temerity. “Why,” she nobly replied, “should
I spare myself more than you? Is it that I have less courage
or less interest in the event? It is true that I have less per-
sonal force, but in resolution of mind I am not your inferior.”
Of what had not Catherine been capable, had this grandeur o ;
sentiment been directed by proper principles The soldiers, in
imitation of the Romans, gave to her the title of “Mater
Castrorum.’
Thrice was the duke of Guise prevented by the queen from
storming the place; but the besieged, obstinately rejecting an




§: ;# .
While the royal arms prevailed at Rouen, the kingdom
became a scene of desolation and blood: inflamed by civil
discord and religious rage, the parties emulated each other in
savage ferocity. In this situation of affairs, the prince of
Condé, taking the field with twelve thousand men, determined
on marching directly to Paris, in the hope of inducing by ter-
ror its inhabitants and the queen to form an accommodation.
Catherine, skilled in subtlety and delay, while she amused the
prince by fruitless conferences, and seduced from his party his
bravest officers, gave the Parisians time to recover themselves,
till, convinced of the futility of her offers, Condé, after vainly
attempting the capitol, was compelled to decamp. The trium-
virs following on his steps, an engagement became unavoida-
ble. The Huguenots, in the commencement of the battle, by
the impetuosity of their charge, bore down all before them;
but, imprudently dispersing to plunder, the duke of Guise,
who watched his opportunity, fell upon them, and put them to
flight. Condé, who disdained to retreat, was surrounded and
made prisoner.
Numbers of the royalists had, at the beginning of the en-
gagement, when victory seemed to declare for the Huguenots,
fled to Paris, where they exclaimed, “That all was lost.”
Catherine, always self-possessed, indifferent to religious opi-
nions, and viewing every object through a political medium,
received the intelligence with great composure: ** Eh bein,”
said she calmly, “il foudra done prier Dieu en Francois!” Intent
nly on retaining the possession of power, whether Condé or
e Guises, the Catholics or the Huguenots, prevailed, was to
indifferent. The news of the succeeding day gave her
mortification, foreseeing in the triumph of the Guises
future H umiliation. But, dissembling her feelings, she or- ~
d rejoicings to be made for the defeat of the Huguenots,
nferred upon the duke the supreme command of the
ir with which the troops had already invested
king of Navarre met his fate before Rouen.
after this triumph, that death blasted the
Guise, and set bounds to his a r bition.
y well, we must then pray to God in French.' ...

















cATHERINE of Medicis. :
He fell at the siege of Orleans by the hand of an assassin.
Catherine, who was present at the siege, alarmed lest this
catastrophe-should involve her in suspicions, caused herself to
be interrogated in the chamber of the dying man, before his
family and a number of the mobility. The duke, in his last
moments, earnestly conjured her, as the common mother of
her people, to terminate a contest which desolated France;
while he pronounced that person who should presume to offer
other counsels, an enemy to his king and country. :
It was the duke of Guise only who had opposed limits to
the intriguing genius of the regent; his death, which must be
considered as a misfortune to France, left her without a com-
petitor. To pro-ve her respect for his dying counsels, she made
immediate overtures towards a pacification. Through the me-
diation of the constable and the prince of Condé, a peace was
accordingly concluded in terms not unfavourable to the Hu-
guenots. .
During the tranquillity that succeeded to this storm, the
restless spirit of Catherine could not remain passive : she
sought to sow distrust between the admiral and Condé, by the
insidious proposals which she made to the latter; but, aware.
of her duplicity, he avoided the snare. His political caution,
however, availed him little; Catherine knew how to suit to
the character of her victims the proper temptation. It was by
voluptuousness and effeminate pleasures that she sought to
enervate the mind of the hero; and, by destroying his activity,
to disgust him with the fatigues of a camp. For this purpose
she used with success the charms of the ladies in her train.
The princess of Condé expired a victim to grief from the ne-
glect and infidelities of her husband. º
Having amused the prince with promises of admitting
him to a share in the government, Catherine, to evade his de-
mands, employed a subtle expedient. By an edict of Charles
V. in 1863, it was necessary that a king of France, before he
attained his majority, should have completed his fourteenth
year. Charles IX. wanted yet twelve months of this period.
By a declaration of his being no longer a minor, Catherine was
aware that she should retain, in his name, the su reme autho-
rity unmolested: she accordingly procured an act Łº
pose to be registered in the parliament of Rou
Vol. I. : 2 R .







young king addressed on the occasion in a speech from the
throne. The queen-mother arose as her son ceased to speak,
and declared before the parliament, that it was with infinite
joy she resigned to him the administration. Having thus said,
she prepared to take the oath of allegiance, when Charles, de-
scending from the throne, uncovered himself, and advanced to
meet her: Catherine embraced him on her knees, while the
king declared, that he should more than ever desire her coun-
sel and assistance. Paris refused to confirm the edict, but
Charles, tutored by his mother, reprimanded them in terms so
severe, that after a considerable delay the decree passed the
parliament. :
The queen, splendid in all her plans, caused the palace of
the Tournelles, in which her husband had expired, to be de-
stroyed, and that of the Tuilleries to be erected in its place. In
this design the most celebrated artists of the age were employed,
and rewarded with a magnificence truly liberal. Every branch
of polite literature received the patronage of Catherine, while,
for the embellishment of France, Italy, her native country,
was despoiled. She piqued herself on her respect for the me-
mory of Francis I. in whose court her youth had passed, and
whom she affected to emulate. Her refinement, her delicacy,
the magnificence of her projects, and the elegance of her taste,
outstripped the period in which she lived.
Having determined, from various motives, to carry her son
on a progress through his dominions, she concealed, under the
mask of pleasure, the deep designs she secretly planned. In-
fractions had been made by each party in the treaty of peace,
which seemed to promise no long duration. It was conjectured
by many, that a principal inducement to the tour proposed by
Catherine, was to enable herself to estimate the real strength
Huguenots. All her magnificence was displayed in the
arations for this journey; during which the celebrated in-
few between the king and his sister, the queen of Spain,
ook place. The latter, escorted by a splendid train, advanced
the frontiers to meet her brother; while Catherine, impatient
favourite daughter, crossed the river Bidassou,
e two kingdoms.
een was received at Bayonne with extraor-
: interview lasted more than three weeks,





















eATHERINE of MEDIcis,
during which was exhibited every brilliant spectacle and ele-
gant diversion which the genius of Catherine, fertile in expe-
dients, could invent or procure. It was amidst the reign of
pleasures, over which the queen-mother presided as the tutelar
deity, that projects of ambition were formed, and sanguinary,
schemes of vengeance deeply meditated. A gallery of secret
communication was constructed between the houses of the
queen of Spain and her mother: their meetings thus facilitat-
ed, Catherine held with the duke of Alva, the Spanish minis-
ter, frequent conferences, which respected the extirpation of
the Huguenots. This circumstance is avowed by Davila,
though in a manner somewhat softened. “The duke of Alva,”
says he, “advised the most sanguinary measures, while the
queen inclined to temporise: she dreaded the renewal of civil
commotions, and felt reluctant to embrue her hands in the
blood of the princes and first nobility of France.” However
this might have been, it appears certain, that during these in-
terviews a foundation was laid for the tragical events that suc-
ceeded. <-- - - -
Rumours of this confederacy for the destruction of the
protestants got abroad; suspicions, which the character of
Catherine but too well justified, distrust, and jealousy, hourly
increased. §. § . . . . .” .
*: The queen-mother, after this meeting, conducted her son
to Nerac, a city of Gascony, in which Jane queen of Navarre
resided, and thence continued their progress. New sources of
war were daily disclosing themselves; the edicts in favour of
the reformed were violated with impunity in every province.
It was long before the calvinist chiefs could be induced to
break the truce, till a combination of causes urged them to
commence hostilities; when, as a preliminary to their under.
taking, they sought to possess themselves of the person of the
king. This enterprise, of which Catherine received intelli-
gence, failed: ineffectual conferences followed: animosities
were mutually inflamed. The Huguenots, though few in num-
ber, attempted to block up the capital in which Charles had
taken refuge. The constable was compelled to give them
battle, while numbers secured his victory. The field was ob-
stinately disputed, and dearly gained by the royalis º
leader received in the conflict a mortal wound, of which he
died on the ensuing day. . º





316 catheRINE of Medicis.
In him expired the last check to the authority of Cathe-
rine, who henceforth, freed from every rival, found herself un-
controlled mistress of the mind of her son. It was the constable
only who could have inspired the young king with the emula-
tion of reigning alone, of emancipating himself from the
tutelage of his mother, and of feeling those powers which
Catherine was solicitous to repress. .
The Huguenot armies, though repulsed, were not subdued:
new proposals were tendered to them by the crown, by which
a treaty was at length effected, on principles similar to that by
which it had been preceded. A temporary suspension of hos-
tilities, rather than a solid peace, once more took place. The
perfidious system of policy pursued by Catherine, added to the
sanguinary zeal which animated both parties, rendered a per-
manent accommodation impracticable and hopeless. The con-
ditions of forbearance were but little observed; mutual rage,
alternate insults, and acts of violence, still existed. The trea-
cherous intentions of the court were but too apparent: a plot
was laid to seize the person of the prince of Condé, the calvi-
nist chief: the chancellor de l'Hôpital, a mild and virtuous
minister, who had, by moderating counsels, opposed, in some
degree, a check to Catherine, was deprived of the seals, dis-
graced, and confined to his house: preparations on all sides
were made for fresh hostilities, which broke out in the ensuing
spring. The Huguenots were at length forced to a decisive
action, when the fatal day of Jarnac, in which the royalists
conquered, put an end to the life of the prince of Condé, the
hero and the leader of the calvinist forces. .
The news was received at Paris with universal joy; the
king rose at midnight to sing Te Deum; the intelligence was
announced in triumph to every court in Europe; and the stand-
ards, torn from the Huguenots, a most acceptable offering, were
presented to the sovereign pontiff. The real advantages result-
ing to the royalists were however inconsiderable; the calvinists
appeared again in the field more terrible from their defeat, and
determined to carry the war to the gates of Paris. But this
resolution was postponed; new enterprises were projected,
followed by new battles and new defeats.
º duke of Anjou, the second and dailing son of ca.
e, who headed the royal troops, enjoyed the honours of










cATHERINE of Medicis. 31,
their success. Charles becoming jealous of the glory of his
brother, to whom Catherine was attached with fond affection,
would no longer be restrained from appearing in the field.
He saw with discontent the partiality of his mother, of which
he vehemently complained. Catherine, fearing his capacity for
business would not always submit to tutelage, preferred the
indolent submission of her youngest son, which, should any
accident place him on the throne, would secure to her the
power for which she sacrificed. .
After many struggles between the contending parties, with
alternate loss and advantage, peace, so long and so ardently
desired, was re-established, on terms not unfavourable to the
Huguenots. Charles swore to preserve the treaty inviolate, and
to protect the calvinists in every benefit it promised to confer;
but under these fair appearances lurked the most cruel and
treacherous designs. Catherine, convinced from experience
that the Huguenots were not to be subdued by force, had
already planned the tragic spectacle which two years after-
wards astonished Europe. A project so horribly flagitious
and unprecedented has stigmatised with indelible and deserved
infamy, the comprehensive, yet detestable, genius which gave
it birth. “Like some minister of an angry deity,” says an in-
genious and entertaining writer,” “Catherine appears to have
been occupied only in effecting the ruin of her people, and to
have marked her course with carnage and devastation.”
To strengthen the union of the parties, a marriage was
proposed by the queen-mother, between the princess Margaret,
sister to the king, and Henry prince of Navarre. During the
preparation for these inauspicious nuptials, pleasure and dissi-
pation appeared to engross the whole court. It becoming
necessary also to marry the king, who had entered his twenty-
first year, Catherine solicited for him the hand of Elizabeth of
r
England: failing in her suit, she turned her attention to the
arch-dutchess Elizabeth, daughter of the emperor, Maximilian
II. a princess whose slender capacity threatened no diminu-
tion of her influence over the mind of her son.
The marriage having been celebrated, the young queen
was crowned at St. Denis. Catherine displayed on this occa-
* Wraxall’s Memoirs of the House of Valois.


sion the magnificence of her spirit, and the elegance of her
taste. The entertainments exhibited at court were heightened
by the fictions of antiquity, and embellished by the allegories
of Greece and Rome. The amusements of Catherine were
characterised by a genius, a spirit, and a refinement, that
emulated those of more advanced periods, and were scarcely
surpassed under the splendid reign of Lewis XIV. the Au-
gustan age of France. “Her extraordinary and universal ge-
nius,” says the writer before quoted, “comprehended every
thing in its embrace, and were equally distinguished in the
cabinet or at a banquet, whether directed to the destruction
or the delight of mankind: in her qualities the most opposite
and discordant in their nature seem to have been blended.
She was enabled, by the universality of her talents, to pass,
with the easiest transition, from the horrors of war to the dis-
sipations of indolence and peace; and we are forced to lament,
that a capacity so exalted should, from the principles by which
it was actuated, produce only more general and lasting evils.”
In the coronation entertainments the situation of the state
was enigmatically shadowed forth under various forms. By
the character of Jupiter the king was pourtrayed; Catherine,
under that of Juno; while the Huguenots were represented by
Tryphon and the giants. Even the tragedy of St. Bartholomew
was darkly alluded to by mottos and devices. The attention
of the queen-mother was wholly occupied in spreading toils to
ensnare the Calvinists, and allure them to their fate. The
young king received from her the lessons of a profound dis-
simulation: under her contagious touch, his virtues became
corrupted, his great qualities perverted, and his good disposi-
tions changed into crimes; his penetration degenerated into
subtlety, and his prudence into treachery; his vivacity became
fury, and his courag e ferocity; while a thirst of blood and
vengeance irritated his temper and inflamed his heart.
Every artifice was put in practice that might lull into
security the destined victims, and give them confidence in the
of the prince of Condé in the command of the Hug
observance of the treaty. Coligny, the admiral, and successor
uenot
ces, was more particularly loaded with favours and caresses;
king embraced him, hung on his neck, and addressed
a by the endearing name of father; he was re-admitted to







CATH] 'RINE OF MEDICIS. s19
his seat in the council, and his estates restored to him, to which
a royal donation was added: so far was this duplicity carried,
as to excite the alarm of the Catholic leaders.
The admiral, a dupe to Italian cunning, prevailed on the
queen of Navarre to pay a visit to the king and his mother, by
whom she was received with an excess of adulation. The ne-
gotiation for the marriage of her son with the princess being
concluded, the nuptials waited only to receive a dispensation
from Rome. It is related by de Thou, that Charles, after the
interview with the queen, demanded of his mother whether he
had not played his part well? “You have begun well, undoubt-
edly,” replied Catherine, “but, unless you go on, of what avail
will this be?’ ‘I will take them all in a net, rejoined he,
swearing as was his custom, “and deliver them over to you.”
Pius V. still refusing his consent to the union of the prin-
cess with a Huguenot, Charles implored the legate to remove
the objections of the holy father, adding with warmth, while
he affectionately pressed his hand, “Oh that it was but per-
mitted me to explain myself farther!' By Gregory XIII. who
succeeded to Pius, the dispensation was at length granted,
when a day was appointed for the celebration of the nuptials.
The queen of Navarre, who, with her son and the young
prince of Condé, had arrived in Paris for the occasion, was,
in the midst of the preparations for the approaching ceremony,
seized with a fever, which, after five days’ illness, terminated .
in death. This event, at a moment so critical, roused the jea-
lousy of her party, and drew on Catherine the most injurious
suspicions. Coligny, dreading treachery, yet irresolute, had
retired to his castle at Chatillon, still delaying his appearance
at court, whither new artifices were employed to allure him.
Subdued, at length, he came to Paris, and fell into the snare
which was laid for him: a train of Huguenot nobility accom-
panied him, followed by the young king of Navarre. Every
testimony of respectful friendship was lavished on the admiral
and the Calvinist nobles, while nothing was omitted that could
tend to remove their fears. º
The inhabitants of Rochelle, still distrustful, implored
Coligny, by repeated messages, to doubt the caresses of a
monarch implacable as violent, and the blandishments of their
mortal foe, a faithless Italian woman. To these cautions the



320 CATHERINE of MEDICrs.
admiral magnanimously replied, ‘that, though aware of his
peril, he would rather suffer himself to be dragged through
the streets of Paris, than renew the horrors of a fourth civil
war, and replunge his unhappy country in blood.’ The maréchal
de Montmorency, less heroic, or more clear sighted, obtained
permission, under pretence of illness, to retire to his castle,
and thus saved himself and his family.
The nuptials of the princess Margaret with Henry of Na-
varre were soon after solemnized in the church of Notre Dame.
The entertainments, given by the court on the occasion, sur-
passing in splendor all that had preceded them, continued
during three days. In these scenes of festivity, over which the
queen-mother presided, the projected massacre was determin-
ed, its circumstances arranged, and its execution fixed. The
purpose of the king and the jesuits was the exclusive destruc-
tion of the Huguenots; but Catherine, whose heart ambition
had seared, inaccessible to tenderness, to pity, or to compunc-
tion, superior to bigotry, and governed by the thirst of power,
had formed a project more extensive, in which the Guises and
Montmorencies were with the Calvinists comprehended in one
common ruin.
. The prelude of the tragedy was to be the assassination of
the admiral, of which a man named Mourevel, already infa-
mous by the murder of a Huguenot leader, was appointed the
instrument. Posted for the purpose, in a place where Coligny
was accustomed to pass, the assassin deliberately waited his
arrival. The admiral, walking slowly, engaged in the perusal
of some papers, received the balls from a harquebusse, levelled
at him from a window; when turning calmly, without betray-
ing any emotion, he pointed to the place whence the shot
came, “Le coup vient de la,” said he, holding out his finger.
The assassin had escaped, and Coligny was, by his attendants,
conveyed to his house.
The king received intelligence of what had passed while
playing at tennis in the court of the Louvre. He affected on
the news the most furious indignation; he threw down the
racket, denounced vengeance on the assassin, and played over
every extravagance that might tend to give an appearance of
ty to the barbarous farce he was acting. The same day, ac-
• ‘The blow came thence.”








companied by the queen-mother, he visited the wounded ad-
miral, repeated his hypocritical lamentations, and exhausted
every conciliating art.
Having passed an hour with Coligny in private conversa-
tion, and listened to his counsels with seeming approbation,
Catherine herself took the alarm, and earnestly demanded of
her son, what advice the admiral had given to him? “Why,
replied he with an oath, ‘Coligny has counselled me to reign
alone, and to be no longer governed by others.”
The just apprehensions of the Huguenots were not extin-
guished by the affectation of Charles; the king of Navarre
and the prince of Condé requested permission to leave Paris,
in which they no longer considered themselves to be safe; it
was with difficulty that they were retained by the solemn and
repeated denunciations of vengeance imprecated by the king
and his mother on the assassin of Coligny. The calvinist no-
bles called loudly on the throne for justice: one among them
entered the Louvre at the head of four hundred gentlemen,
and threatened to revenge the deed of the assassin. By a con-
duct so rash and imprudent, the massacre was accelerated:
Catherine persuaded her son, that by speedy measures only
could his own safety be assured. The Huguenot leaders con-
sulted among themselves on the steps necessary to be taken at
a juncture thus critical; various measures were urged, and a
retreat proposed before it should be too late; but the extreme
reluctance of the admiral to rekindle the flames of war, deter-
mined him, at the hazard of his life, to remain in the capital.
The conferences of the Huguenots were, by one of their
party, betrayed to the king and his mother, with the secret
council assembled in her apartment. It was resolved, on this
deposition, immediately to begin the slaughter. As it drew
near, Charles appeared to recoil from the atrocity of the pur-
pose, and, shuddering at the consequences, long hesitated. A
reluctant assent being at length wrung from him: ‘Eh bien,’
said he, “puisqu'il le faut, je ne veux pas qu’il en reste
seul qui me le puisse reprocher.” The same night was appoin
n of the sanguinary tragedy. The du
ed for the e
* ‘very well,' said he, “ since it must be so, I will not let on
reproach me.' " .
Vol. I. 2 S





















:ATHERINE of Medicis.
Guise, who cherished a peculiar animosity towards the admi-
ral, from a belief (however lightly founded) that he had been
accessary to the murder of his father, was constituted chief of
the bloody enterprise, of which the great bell of the palace
was to give the signal of commencement. As the terrible mo-
ment approached, Charles became yet more irresolute, and
discovered strong relenting symptoms: the pernicious coun-
sels of his mother had not yet extinguished in his youthful
bosom every spark of honour, every sympathy of humanity:
an internal conflict rent his mind, cold sweats bedeved his
temples, his whole frame trembled, while dreadful images of
his slaughtered people filled his imagination with disorder and
horror. He paused on the threshold of an enterprise that
would deliver his name with infamy to the latest posterity,
and overwhelm his memory with execration and abhorrence-
Catherine exerted every power to stifle his compunction,
and confirm his wavering purpose. At midnight, at the mo-
ment the butchery was about to commence, she entered his
apartment, where Guise and his partizans were already assem-
bled. Observing the irresolution and agitation of his mind,
- Vaut-il pas mieux,’ said she, among other arguments used for
his encouragement, “dechirer ces membres pourris que le sein
de l'église, epouse de notre Seigneur?" To which she added a
passage from the sermons of the bishop of Bitonto; “ Che pietà
lor ser crudele; che crudeltà lor ser pietosa.’ Observing the
paleness of his countenance, and the drops which hung on his
forehead, she reproached him with pusillanimity: “Quoi,” said
she, vous n'osez vous defaire de gens qui ont si peu menagé
votre autorité & votre personne?”f Piqued at this contemptu-
- ou reflection, the unhappy Charles gave the order demanded
m. Catherine, seizing the opportunity lest he should once
int, anticipated by an hour the signal of carnage.
ill of the church of St. Germain de l'Auxerrois
dreadful knell, new pangs seized the heart of
urch. The report of pistols was heard in the street.
in an agony of remorse, sent to countermand his or-
atter to tear these rotten members than the bosom of the
our Lord?
afraid to rid yourself of those who have so little re-
and your person?” -
- ºf



















ders, but it was too late, the work of death had already begun.
The people, become furious, could no longer be restrained.
The Huguenots who lodged in the vicinity of the palace came
forth, awakened by the tumult, to inquire into its cause, and
rushed on the swords which opposed their progress. The ad-
miral, roused from the slumbers into which he had fallen, pre-
pared himself for death, which he met with the courage of
a man and a hero: ‘Young man,’ said he, to the assassin who
burst into his chamber, “respect these gray heirs, nor stain
them with blood.’ A rapier plunged into his bosom was the
answer. His body was thrown into the court, at the feet of
his enemy, the duke of Guise, who suffered it to be treated
with the basest indignities. The son-in-law of Coligny, an
amiable and beautiful youth, with numbers of the Huguenot
nobles, shared the same fate. The bodies were gathered in
heaps before the palace, a prospect with which Catherine glut-
ted her vindictive and malignant nature. Even the king forgot
his temporary remorse, and fired from the windows of the
palace on the wretched fugitives. Over a detail so atrocious
and horrible, sickening humanity draws a veil.
While this tragedy was performing in the capital, simi-
lar orders had been circulated through the provinces. The
extirpation of the Calvinists was every where decreed; but,
through various accidents, motives of policy, or individual
friendship, many escaped the fate prepared for them. The king
of Navarre and the prince of Condé were, not without great
opposition, exempted from the slaughter. By the order of
Charles they were conducted to his presence, and, with violent
menaces, urged to abjure their faith. The king of Navarre
º
temporised and complied, but Condé persisted in his refusal.
vehemence, that terrified the young prince into submission
could devise, . lasted ź through º th £ w e ek. 1. ſ º ore º t han º
sand persons, of eve º rank, p erishe d: their in
the Seine, passed in the view of the tyrant, ur
v. b sted to t
• ‘Death, mass, or the Bas


















had himself mur-
ºi II* Lyº. nots. Catherine of Medicis, the
uction, beheld, without pity or compunction,
been the cause:
he miral, which was presented to her, with a savage
delight, she sent it to Rome as the most acceptable present to
the sovereign pontiff. Some weeks after these scenes of horror,
she carried her son to be a spectator of the execution of an old
Huguenot gentleman, seventy-two years of age, and the master
of requests, who had escaped in the general carnage. Refin-
ing upon cruelty, torches were, by the orders of the king, held
to the faces of the victims who were executed by night, that
# ſ
he mig
monoſhi, dest
the misery of which she had
ad of the admiral
having gazed on the
º
ſht observe in their features the effects of death.
The widow and elder branches of the family of Coligny.
escaped the messengers dispatched for their destruction; the
younger children were seized and conducted to Paris, where
neither their youth nor innocence could save them from the
cruel policy of the court. The example of the capital was,
with a few magnanimous exceptions, but too well imitated
in the provinces. The answer of the viscount d’Ortez, on this
asion, to the king, deserves to be ever remembered: “Sire,’
d he, “I have received your letter, enjoining the inhabitants
Bayonne to a massacre of the Huguenots. Your majesty has,
: ; *… . . .33° 33' 3& 3. faithful servants, but not one executioner.”
nists put to death in the various pro-
zerai at twenty-f
7-five thousand, the
Navarre." T
therine, a design which was















































•pposed by the princess herself. Never was a siege carried
on with greater vigour, or suffered with more determination,
than that of Rochelle. .
The king, though slowly, began to rouse himself from the
delirium into which he had been plunged by his mother. Im-
pressed with terror from a recollection of the blood-stained
vigils of St. Bartholomew, he sunk into profound melancholy;
nor did he dissemble his resentment of the pernicious counsels
by which he had been precipitated on so barbarous an outrage.
Catherine having one day rebuked him for his passion and fury
with one of his domestics, added, he would do better to exert
his wrath against the rebels of Rochelle, before which so
many of his loyal subjects had fallen. ‘Madame,' replied he,
“qui en est cause que vous? Par la mort vous étes cause de
tout.” . * * . . . . º
While the duke of Anjou was ineffectually wasting his
forces before Rochelle, news arrived of his election to the
crown of Poland. This intelligence afforded a pretence for
withdrawing from the siege a broken and exhausted army.
Deputies were accordingly appointed on either side, and a
general pacification, on terms less favourable to the calvinists
than those by which it had been preceded, was once more con-
cluded. ..x. : .…. . . . . .::::::::
tion of her favourite son to the Polish crown, Catherine dis-
In the entertainments with which she honoured the elec.
played anew all her magnificence. Sixteen ladies of the court
represented on this occasion the sixteen provinces of France:
clothed in emblematical and appropriate habits, they formed a
; wºº hich was performed in the palace of the Tuilleries. The
utelage of his mother, and to pursue measures more
through the counsels of his mother, entrusted an authority but
too extensive. Various motives combined to render Henry
averse to quitting France, while Catherine favoured hi
The king at length declared, with his accustomed veh.
that he would no longer suffer his stay: Henry affecte to
* * Madam, who but you are the cause of what has happened. By the
death — you are the cause of all."
is people, beheld with joy the preparations for the
his brother, in whose hands he perceived he had, º,
















#
obey, yet still lingered; when the king, persuaded that his
mother withheld him from treasonable motives, became irritat-
ed to fury, and, no longer preserving with Catherine any
measures, ordered the door of his apartment to be shut against
her. Alarmed by this displeasure, she implored Henry to
hasten his departure, if he regarded his own personal safety.
The king of Poland thus urged, began his journey with ex-
treme reluctance: the king and the court accompanied him on
It was from motives to prudence that Charles had chosen
to conduct his brother, when extreme indisposition compelled
him to stop at the town of Vitry in Champagne. The queen-
mother, with a train of nobility, proceeded with Henry to the
frontiers, where a separation took place. Catherine, her voice
broken by sobs, held her son in her arms a long time, unable
to bid him farewel: at length, making an effort to recover her-
self, ‘Allez, mon ..fils,’ said she, ‘vous n'y demurez pas long-
tems.” This expression, added to her recent quarrel with
Charles, his illness, the extraordinary symptoms by which it
was accompanied, with the known partiality of Catherine for
her second son, gave rise to the darkest suspicions; of which,
however, the character of the queen-mother affords the only
probable foundation. The disorder of the king appears to have
been attributable to natural causes: since the night of St. Bar-
tholomew, he had betrayed strong marks of internal agitation
and distress; his constitution also had suffered by violent ex-
ercises, and his lungs were said to be affected by constantly
blowing the horn at the chace. He was accustomed daily to
pl is attennis, till his blood was heated and in-
lea him to the grave; and the assurance of Catherine to the
king of Poland followed naturally from the state of the king's
health and his pe ged
his pernicious habits, in which he still indulg
d which he could not be persuaded to relinquish:
iction of the queen-mother arisen from any othe
n of her character. The strength of Charles
** Go, my son, you will not long remain there"




















began to fail at the period when his maturity, capacity, and
laudable resolutions, promised happier times to his people:
unable to resist the progress of his disorder, he rapidly ap-
proached his end, amidst plans of reform and amendment,
before he had time, by a change in his conduct, to expiate the
fatal errors of his youth.
Calvinism arose with renovated vigor in every province
of France: the duke of Alençon, the king's younger brother,
who, by the advice of his mother, had been refused the post
of lieutenant-general, conspired with the enemies of Charles.
The court became a scene of disorder, while Catherine, with
a view of throwing an odium on the conspirators, affected a
terror which she did not feel, and, followed by her ladies and
courtiers, fled to Paris at midnight, whither the king removed
the next day. .
On an examination of the persons suspected, before Charles
and his mother, Henry of Navarre boldly asserted, that the
life of the king was threatened; that after the departure of his
brother for Poland, a council was held to deliberate on the
means of dispatching Charles, whose death was wished by the
Catholics, for the purpose of raising to the throne the king of
Poland, who, they trusted, would complete the destruction of
the Huguenots. He complained also of ill offices from the
queen-mother, at whom his deposition glanced. In a second
examination two days afterwards, he repeated, with additional
warmth and energy, what he had before affirmed.
In the ensuing spring the maladies of the king revived with
redoubled violence, while the renewal of the civil war, with the
disaffection among the nobles and princes of the blood, affected
him deeply. “At least,” said he, “they might have waited for
my death; it is too much to distress me now, debilitated as I
am by sickness.” Catherine perceiving his end approach, took
measures to possess herself of the regency. The declining
health of the king had in a great degree restored to her the au-
thority, of which she availed herself to become mistress of
hose who might oppose themselves to her designs. A pretence
was made to arrest the marshals de Montmorenci and Cossé,
from whom she feared impediments, after the death of Charles,
to the succession of the king of Poland, Orders wer ****, *.*










32e CATHERINE of MEDICrs.
for arresting the prince of Condé, who contrived nevertheless
to escape. Having taken shelter at Strasbourg, the prince so-
lemnly abjured the Catholic religion, which he had been com-
pelled to profess, and publicly resumed the principles of the
Calvinists. w *
The Huguenots, pressed in Normandy, were obliged to
lay down their arms, when the count de Montgomeri, one of
their greatest leaders, was, after stipulating for his life, neces-
sitated to surrender himself: Catherine, careless of a breach
of faith, violated this treaty, to sacrifice to the manes of her
isband a man who had innocently been the occasion of his
death. *
The king, sinking under his disorders, at length took to his
bed, at the palace in the Bois de Vincennes. His mother, un-
touched by his sufferings, availed herself of his weakness to
induce him to invest her with the regency: while he retained
his faculties, he persisted to refuse her this mark of his confi-
dence, and could only be prevailed upon to grant letters to
the provinces, enjoining them, during his illness, and in case
of his demise, to obey his mother, till the return of the king
of Poland. His struggles and agonies were augmented by the
ºpproach of death: three days previous to this event, he was
informed by his mother of the capture of Montgomeri; intel-
ligence which he appeared to receive unmoved. “What, my
son,’ said she, “do you not rejoice that he who killed your
father is taken?’ ‘ I am no longer interested, replied the dy-
ing monarch, “in that or any other affair.’ This indifference
was regarded by Catherine as a presage of speedy dissolution.
On the morning of the day on which he expired, the queen-
mother, unaffected by the awful scene, reiterated her intreaties
to be named to the regency, and extorted by her urgency a re-
luctant assent: she immediately dispatched letters, announcing
the will of the king. Ambition, the strongest and most destruc-
tive of the passions, had extinguished in her heart the affec-
tions of humanity. Henry, king of Navarre, having approach-
'd the bed of Charles, a few hours previous to his death, the
onarch affectionately embraced him: ‘je me fie en vous,’
he, “de ma femme de ma fille; je vous les recommend
























CATHERINE of MEDICis.
Dieu vous garderal Mais ne vous fez pas à”— Catherine,
apprehensive he was about to name herself, interrupted him
with “Monsieur, ne dites pas cela.’ ‘je le dois dire,' replied the
dying king, “car c'est la vérité.” Preparing himself with com.
posure for his end, he declared, to the assembled princes and
nobles, Henry, king of Poland, successor to the crown of .
France, his own daughter being, by the Salic law, excluded
from the throne. He obliged all present to take the oath of al-
legiance to their absent monarch, and of obedience to Cathe-
rine till his return. Having performed these last duties, Charles
expired May 30th, 1574, in his 25th year, which he had nearly
completed. Reports of his death having been procured by slow
poison were again circulated; in these suspicions his mother
was involved; yet, of so atrocious a crime, she has, by an
impartial examination, been generally acquitted by historians.
Catherine, sensible of the necessity for the speedy return of
the king of Poland, dispatched two messengers to him, two
hours after the death of his brother. The first reached Craco-
via in a few days, and, according to one of the principal arti-
cles of his instructions, advised Henry to confirm immediately,
by letters patent, the queen-mother in the regency.
In the mean time, Catherine employed all her sagacity and
address to keep the Huguenots and the malecontents in awe;
for which purpose she quartered troops in those provinces
where she apprehended most danger, and raised six thousand
Swiss and some German horse. The chiefs of the Huguenots
persisted, notwithstanding, to harass and alarm her; and hos- |
tilities, though not violent, still continued. The queen was con-
firmed in the regency by letters patent from her son, from
whom she received at the same time a promise of his return,
whenever he should be able to effect his escape from the Po-
landers, who sought by every effort to detain their monarch.
Catherine, with her court, repaired to Lyons, there to wait
the arrival of Henry. Their meeting was tender and affecting:
the king assured his mother, that the obligations he owed to
her would never be effaced from his mind; and that the royal
* “I trust to you my wife and my daughter;
you! But confide not — .
f : Sir, say not that.” “I ought to say it; for it is t
Vol. I. 2 T







NHERINE OF MEDICIS.
power with which he was invested should diminish nothing
from the respect which he had for her counsels. Catherine
presented to him the princes of the blood, to whom he gave a
courteous reception. No alteration was made by Henry in the
cabinet, in which the queen-mother held a distinguished place.
The weakness of the king's subsequent conduct, which
drew on him the contempt of the nation, threw Catherine into
a profound melancholy: she foresaw the ruin of the state,
which she knew not how to avert. Her remonstrances and en-
reaties had lost all influence over the mind of Henry, who was
sunk in debauchery and the most abject superstition.
To enter on the disastrous history of this reign would be
irrelevant to the present purpose; let it suffice to say, that
Henry, deserted by his subjects, and alike contemned both by
Catholics and Huguenots, involved himself with both in the
most fatal contentions: the kingdom was divided by factions,
and torn by intestine wars. In vain were all the endeavours of
Catherine to rouse the mind of her degenerate son, and to in-
spire him with a portion of her own vigour and capacity. She
alternately sought by negotiation and address to allay the vio-
lence of all parties, and to heal the wounds of the state. By
her instances and influence, she succeeded in bringing back to
the king the duke of Alençon, his brother, who, in disgust had
joined himself to the Huguenot party. A new treaty of pacifi-
cation followed, which did little towards removing animosity
and distrust. Entire liberty of conscience was demanded and
granted to the Huguenots, with the public exercise of their
religion. g . x
The Catholics now took the alarm; dreading lest their
church should sink under the efforts of heresy, they confede-
or its defence, and formed the celebrated league;
kindling a flame throughout the kingdom, eventually
d the destruction of the king. .
ıg these commotions, Catherine temporised and ne-
1 with various success. Her death, which took place at
of Blois, January 5th, 1588, in the 70th year of her
ed the misfortunes of her son, whose feeble mind,
| situation of his affairs, required the support of
nd capacity; and who, menaced and opposed by
rew himself for protection on the Huguenot party.






















CATHERINE of MEDIcis. 331
The memory of Catherine has been, by the Protestant histori-
ans, uniformly execrated and branded with infamy; the part
she took in the fatal massacre of St. Bartholomew has left
upon her name an indelible stain. The following testimony to
the talents and character of this princess is, with much good
sense, and apparent candour, given by Daniel, a catholic, and a
French historian. “ The accounts of those times that have
come down to us, distorted by party prejudice, render it
doubtful, even to this day, whether the praises or reproaches
bestowed upon Catherine are most worthy of credit. All,
however, agree that she had a great capacity for government,
a rare and unusual talent for the most important affairs, a po-
lished, fertile, and magnificent mind; and that these qualities
were supported with an air of majesty that commanded the
respect of all who approached her, and gave to her an ascen-
dency in council to which every one felt himself compelled
to yield. The point in dispute seems to be, whether her con-
duct was principally governed by religious motives, or politi-
cal views. A question not less difficult to decide than it is to
penetrate into the secret sentiments and designs of princes,
who on subjects of this nature more particularly affect disguise.
But, however this may be determined, it has always appeared
to me an equal breach of equity, and of the respect due to the
memory of great persons, to convey them with infamy down
to posterity upon the strength of equivocal symptoms, and of
actions with the springs of which we are unacquainted, and
which possibly might originate in laudable motives. Of this
injustice many have been guilty when speaking of Catherine,
who, all circumstances duly weighed, and without passing into
extremes, ought to be considered as one of the most able and
accomplished princesses that ever sat upon the throne of
France.”
Catherine, on her death-bed, subduing the aversion, she
had always felt for the king of Navarre (afterwards Henry IV.
of France), advised her son to engage to his interest both him
and the other princes of the blood by regard and kind usag
and to grant liberty of conscience for the good of the st
The turn which affairs soon after took obliged the king to
low her counsels. . . . .
wraxall’s History of the House of Valois–Daniel's History ofFrance-
Les Femmes Célébrées, &c. ... ---... . . . . . . .





* . EMPREss of Russia. 3.
ČAriferine I. whom a series of accidents raised f
humblest obscurity to the possession of empire, was the illegi-
timate daughter of a female peasant. She was born at Ringen,
a small village upon the lake Virtcherve, near Dorpt, in Li-
vonia, on the 5th of April, 1689. Her original name was
Martha, which, on embracing the Greek religion, she changed
for that of Catherine. Both the mother and child were, ac-
cording to the custom of the country, supported by count Ro-
sen, owner of the village, a lieutenant-colonel in the Swedish
service. Many persons, from this circumstance, believed the
count to be the father of the infant.
The little Martha was scarcely three years of age, when
death robbed her of her mother; count Rosen, her benefactor,
expired also about the same time, when the orphan, thus left
wholly destitute, was received into the house of the parish-
clerk of the village. Gluck, lutheran minister of Marienburgh,
rneying through Ringen a short time after, saw Martha,
I took her under his protection: in his family she was
ght up, and employed in attending his children. In 1701,
about the fourteenth year of her age, she espoused a dragoon
of the Swedish garrison of Marienburgh. …:-- .
Of this transaction there are various accounts: by some it
is asserted, that the new married pair remained together for
ght days after their nuptials; others, on the contrary, affirm,
lat, on the morning of the ceremony, the bridegroom was
sent with a detachment to Riga, whence he never returned. It
in, that, on the surrender of Marienburgh to the Rus-
he was absent, and that Catherine, reserved for a higher
, saw him no more.
•ral Bauer, beholding Catherine among the prisoners,
taking of Marienburgh, and being captivated by her
beauty, took her to his house, to superintend
ere, in a situation considered by many
#




































CATHERINE I. & was
who was not less struck with her attractions, and with whom
she remained till 1704, when, in the seventeenth year of her
age, she became the mistress of Peter the Great. It is related
by Weber, that she was first seen by the emperor as she was
carrying some dishes through the hall of the prince: by the
Austrian minister it is asserted, that she was laundress to
prince Menzikof, and that she was recommended by him to
Peter at the close of an entertainment, when the company
were in a state of intoxication. However this might be, it ap-
pears that she gained over the affections of the emperor .
so great an ascendency, that, on the 29th of May, 1711, he
made her his wife. The ceremony was privately performed, in
the presence of general Bruce, at Jawerof in Poland. On the
20th of February, 1712, it was publicly solemnized with pomp
at Petersburgh.
By assiduity and attention, by the softness and complacency
of her manners, and by a temper singularly gay and cheerful,
Catherine acquired over the mind of the emperor an absolute
sway. Peter was subject to an occasional depression and
horror of spirits, by which his passions were at times exalted
to frenzy: in these dreadful moments, Catherine only dared
to approach him: her presence, the sound of her voice, had an
immediate power over his senses, and calmed the agony of his
mind: she became necessary to his comfort, and even to his
existence: she accompanied him in all his journeys, and on his
military expeditions.
Of the peace of Pruth, by which the Russian army was
rescued from destruction, and of which the following is a brief
narration, Catherine was the instrument. In 1711, Peter, in
his campaign against the Turks, imprudently led his troops
into a disadvantageous situation; thus circumstanced, he des.
perately determined to cut his way through the enemy during
the darkness of the night. With this resolution, after giving
positive orders that no one should approach him on
of death, he retired to his tent in an agony of spirits
vice-chancellor Shafirof, and the princi * ----- ~~~~
at this important crisis in the presence
up certain preliminaries, in order to obtain a truc
enemy. Plenipotentiaries were, without the knowle
ter, immediately di spatched to the grand vizier, an






















ass . CATHERINE I.
obtained on conditions more moderate than in so desperate a
situation could have been reasonably expected. Catherine,
having charged herself with the office of prevailing on the
emperor to ratify what had been done, ventured to enter his
tent, where her efforts were rewarded with success... She ob-
tained on this occasion great popularity: her conduct at Pruth
was even mentioned by Peter, as one of the reasons by which
he was induced to crown her publicly at Moscow with his
own hand. This ceremony, which led to her subsequent eleva-
tion, took place in 1724. 3.
It is asserted by some writers, that the crowning of Cathe-
rine was intended by Peter as a preliminary to his future de-
signs in her favour; it has even been said, that he absolutely
named her as his successor. But of these assertions there
exists no proof. In her manifesto, after her accession, Cathe-
rine rests her right to the throne solely upon her coronation
at Moscow, and on the resolutions of the senate, the generals,
and the clergy, in her favour: had she been positively appoint-
ed by the emperor, such a plea would most assuredly have
. been urged. It was by other means that a woman of obscure
and ignoble birth superseded the grandson of Peter the great,
the lineal heir to the Russian empire.
The influence of Catherine over the mind of Peter con-
tinued undiminished till within a short time of his decease,
when she justly forfeited his confidence. The origin of this
change was a discovery made by the emperor of a secret con-
§
exion between Catherine and Mons, her first chamberlain.
ter, suspicious of what was passing, had recourse to a stra-
em to remove his doubts. Under pretence of repairing for
w days to a villa, he quitted Petersburg, but returned pri-
had been still in the country, one of his pages, with a mes-
of compliments to the empress, and private orders to ob-
rd night, surprised Catherine with her favourite
he garden. Madame Balke, the sister of Mons,
of the bed-chamber to the empress, was, accom-
appointed to keep watch without the arbour,
of the lovers. The passions of Peter being
covery, and by the ingratitude of Catherine,























CATHERINE I. 88s
he struck her with his cane, as well as the page, who sought to
prevent him from entering the arbour. A few days after this
transaction, Mons, his sister, and the page, were taken into
custody: Mons was conveyed to the winter palace, where he
saw only the emperor, who himself brought him his provisions.
A report was put in circulation, that these persons were im-
prisoned for having received bribes, and making their influence
over the empress subservient to their rapacity. Mons, exa-
mined by Peter, in the presence of major-general Uschakof,
and menaced with the torture, confessed the offence laid to
his charge. He was sentenced by the czar to lose his head,
and soon after suffered his fate. His sister, having received
five strokes of the knout, was banished to Siberia: two of her
sons, court chamberlains, were also degraded, and sent, as
common soldiers, among the Russian troops in Persia.
On the day following the execution of Mons, Peter con-
veyed Catherine, in an open carriage, under the gallows, to
which was nailed the head of her lover. Without changing
countenance at this horrible sight, the empress exclaimed with
much sang froid, ‘What a pity it is, that there is so much.
corruption among courtiers!”
This event, which took place towards the latter end of the
year 1724, was soon followed by the death of the emperor.
As Catherine, on her accession, recalled madame Balke to
Petersburgh, it was suspected that she had accelerated the
death of her husband; but for this suspicion there appears no
foundation. The circumstances of the disorder of Peter were
well known, and the peculiar symptoms attending his last ill-
ness were wholly sufficient to account for his death.
In the year 1724, it had been decreed by Peter, that the
power of appointing a successor should be vested in the r
ing sovereign; but, when seized with his last illness, he had
neglected to appoint an heir to the throne. The disorder on its
first attack had not threatened immediate danger, but, hº
suddenly increased to a violent degree, it in a sho
deprived him of his senses. In a lucid interval he
pen and paper, but was incapable of tracing legible cl
arac
He then called for his daughter Anne,’ but, before she
" It is said by Gordon, that the princess Anne was one of several ch
which Catherine bore to Peter before he espoused her














CATHERINE 1.
proached, speech and recollection forsook him: he still breath-
ed, but in a state of entire imbecility, for six-and-thirty hours,
and then expired. .
It appears from the foregoing account, drawn from un-
questionable authority, that a successor was not appointed by
Peter, though his conduct affords a presumption that he had
intended to name his eldest daughter Anne, had not his disorder
suspended his power of acting. While he yet lingered in the
agonies of death, cabals were formed to dispose of the crown.
At a meeting of the principal nobility, it was secretly deter-
mined to arrest Catherine, on the moment of the emperor's
dissolution, and to place on the throne his grandson Peter
Alexievitch. Bassevitz, apprised of this project, hastened to
inform the empress, though it was already night. “My grief
and consternation,” replied Catherine, ‘render me incapable of
acting: do you and prince Menzikof consult together, and I
ll embrace the measures which you shall in my name ap-
prove.’ Bassevitz awakened Menzikof from sleep to inform
him of the danger by which the empress and her party were
menaced. No time remained for demurring; the prince seized
the treasure, secured the fortress, and gained by bribes and pro-
.#
mises the officers of the guards, together with a few of the nobi-
lity, and the principal clergy. The partizans of Catherine being
convened in the palace, she appeared among them, and, having
claimed the throne in right of her coronation at Moscow, pro-
eeded to expose the dangers of a minority. “So far,’ said she,
from depriving the grand-duke of the crown, I will receive
t only as a sacred deposit, to be restored to him, when, in
nother world, I shall be re-united to an adored husband,
m I am now about to lose.” The tears which accompanied
athetic address, added to the previous distribution of
and money, produced the desired effect. The remain-
: the night was devoted to the necessary preparations, to
he accession of Catherine on the emperor's decease.
ºrning of the 28th of January, old style, Peter
last. The senate, the generals, the principal
lergy, hastened, on the news of this event, to
sovereign: the adherents of the grand-duke
. ess; while the friends of Catherine






































CATHERINE 1.
this crisis, thus whispered to one of the opposite party:
empress is mistress of the treasure and the fortress: she has
gained over the guards, the synod, and the chief of the n ol les:
she has even here more adherents than you suppose: advise,
therefore, your friends, as they value their heads, not to oppose
her.” These intimations were rapidly propagated: at the ap-
pointed signal, given by Bassevitz, two regiments of guards,
who had by a largess been gained to the cause of Catherine,
and who had already surrounded the palace, beat to arms.
‘Who, exclaimed prince Repnin, the commander in chief,
‘who has dared to order out the troops without my knowledge?
‘I,’ replied general Butturlin, “without pretending to dispute
your authority, in obedience to the commands of my most
gracious mistress.’ A profound silence followed this reply.
Menzikof, in the moment of suspense, entered, preceding
Catherine, whom the duke of Holstein supported. “I come,’
said she, with a voice broken by tears and sighs, “I come,
notwithstanding the sorrow which overwhelms me, to assure
you, that, submissive to the will of my departed hus-
band, whose memory will ever be dear to me, I am ready
to devote my days to the arduous occupations of the state, till
Providence shall summon me to follow my lord.” “If,’ add
she, after a short and artful pause, “if the gi . …ii -->
and-du º
by my instructions, I shall perhaps have the consolatio
ing my wretched widowhood, of forming for you an emp
worthy of the blood and of the name of him whom you .
now irretrievably lost.” “The present crisis,” replied Me
“so important to the empire, requires mature deliberat
your majesty will therefore permit us to confer unrestrai
that the whole affair may be subject to no reproach, ei
the present age, or from posterity.’ “ Acting,' ans'
therine, “as I do for the public good, rather than f
advantage, I shall not hesitate to submit myself
ment of an assembly, so enlightened: gº
permission
Whatever may be the result
ned by Menzikof and his party; the guards, who s
Vol. I. 2 U







































: 1.
with drums beating and colours flying, effectually
i opposition: to give a colour to the pretensions of
ess, it remained only to persuade the assembly, that
een the intention of Peter to name her as his succes-
Menzikof, for this purpose, demanded of the secretary
the emperor, whether his late master had left any written
aration of his design? To which interrogation the secre-
eplied, “That, a short time previous to his last journey to
scow, Peter had destroyed a will; that he had frequently
ked of making another, but had been always prevented by
the reflection, that if he thought a people whom he had raised
from a state of barbarism to a high degree of power and glory,
could be ungrateful, he would not expose his final inclinations
to the insult of a refusal; and, if they recollected what they
owed to his labours, they would regulate their conduct by his
tentions, which he had disclosed with more solemnity than
ould be manifested by any writing.” An altercation now took
lace in the assembly, some of the nobles having the courage
bose the succession of Catherine; when Theophanes,
of Plescof, called to their remembrance the oath
lad been taken by them all, in 1722, to acknowledge the
sor which Peter should appoint. To this he added, that
timents of the emperor, expressed by his secretary,
effect the appointment of Catherine. That the senti-
is, insinuated by the secretary, were so apparent, was de-
y the opposite party; who insisted, that, as their late
ad failed to nominate his heir, this privilege re-





























eATHERINE
next presented herself at the window to the guards and popu-
Hace, whose acclamations of “Long live Catherine” were
shouted aloud, while Menzikof scattered among them. º
fuls of money. A Livonian peasant was thus exalted
imperial throne.
Menzikof reigned in the name of Catherine, whi .
abilities nor inclination fitted to direct the helm of gove
ment; in the man who had been the original and final instru-
ment of her elevation and good fortune she reposed all her
confidence. Her reign was of short duration, and her life
irregular: when the weather was fine, she would often pass
whole nights in the open air; she indulged herself in the use
of Tokay wine, of which she was fond to an intemp erate ex- ºz. . .x
cess. A cancer and a dropsy, aggravated by this conduct,
hastened her dissolution: she expired, May 7th, 1727, in the
third year of her accession to the throne, and about the thirty-
ninth of her age. Her death was by many attributed to poison,
a common suspicion in despotic states, but for which in the
present case there was no occasion; her conduct and her dis-
orders were adequate to the catastrophe they produced. It
was asserted by some persons, that she was poisoned by a
glass of spirituous liquor, others said, by a pear, presented to
her by general Diever. Nor did Menzikof escape suspicion;
a short time before the decease of the empress, a trifl
pute had occurred between them: he was accused of
rating her death, for the purpose of enjoying, unde
minority of her successor, a more absolute authority
these reports appear to have been calumnies, the breath
pular rumour, or fabricated to serve the purpose of a part
n-
Catherine was, in person, under the middle height;
youth she had been delicate and well formed, but in
years inclined to corpulency. Her complexion wa
eyes dark, and her hair light, which she was acci
change with a black dye. She was wholly illiterate
neither write nor read: her daughter Elizabet
. her name for her, which she did particularly to h
and testament: to public decrees and dispatches,
man put her signature. Her abilities have been,
gyrists, greatly exaggerated. By Gordon, who fr
her, she is thus represented: “She was a very prett




























g woman, of good sense, but not of that sublimity of wit, or
er that quickness of imagination, which some people have
believed. The great reason why the czar was so fond of her,
was her exceeding good temper: she never was seen peevish
or out of humour; she was obliging and civil to all, never for-
getful of her former condition, and withal mighty grateful.”
Catherine maintained her dignity with a mingled air of ease
and grandeur: Peter frequently expressed his admiration at
the propriety with which she supported a rank, for which by
her birth and youthful habits she had been so little fitted.
The following anecdotes are greatly to her honour. Wurmb,
tutor to the children of Gluck, the clergyman in whose house
Catherine was a domestic, presented himself before her after
the public solemnization of her marriage with the czar:
“What, thou good man,’ said she, recollecting and immedi-
ately addressing him with great complacency, ‘art thou still
alive? I will provide for thee.’ A pension was soon after set-
tied upon him. She was not less attentive to the family of
Bluck, who died a prisoner at Moscow : she pensioned his
w, made his son a page, gave portions to his two eldest
ghters, and made the youngest a maid of honour. It is said
Weber, that she frequently inquired after her first husband,
I used secretly, when she lived with Menzikof, to send him
sums of money, until, in 1705, he was killed in a skir-
with the enemy. In a conference with general Schlippen-
, who, in 1702, had commanded the Swedish army, when
ine was taken captive by the Russians, she asked him,
ther her spouse John was not a brave soldier?’ ‘Am not
lso?’ replied Schlippenback. To this she assented, but
her question. ‘Yes, please your majesty,’ answered
ral; “and I may boast to have had the honour of
m under my command.” .
compassion for the unfortunate were the
cs of Catherine, of which Motraye thus
some sort the government of all the
º even saved the lives of a great many
* was able to do; she inspired him
sh, in the opinion of his subjects, na-.
rite of the czar.
ſº




























, cATHERINE II.
ture seemed to have denied to him. A word from her mouth
in favour of a wretch, about to be sacrificed to his anger, wold
disarm him; but when fully resolved to satisfy that passion,
he would give orders for the execution when she was absent,
for fear she should plead for the victim.” To adopt the ex-
pression of the celebrated Munich, “Elle étoit proprement la
mediatrice entre le monarque & Se& sujets.”
Coxe's Travels into Poland, Russia, Sweden, and Denmark, &c.
CATHERINE II.
EMPRESS OF RUSSIA, . :
Sophia August A FREDERICA, (afterwards Catherine II.),
was born at Stettin, May 2d, 1729. Her father, Christian Au-
gustus of Anhalt-Zerbst-Dornburg (a small district in Upper
Saxony), was major-general in the Prussian service, comman-
der-in-chief of the regiments of infantry, and governor of the
town and fortress of Stettih. Her mother, a woman of talents,
born princess of Holstein, was the friend and correspondent of
Frederic prince-royal of Prussia. Intelligence and vivacity
characterised the young Sophia, who was educated under the
eye of her mother: her temper was commanding, and her
manners dignified; in her childish sports with her companion
she assumed to herself the direction and control with a spil
and firmness that admitted of no appeal. By a lady of rank,
whom she was personally known at that period, she is th
described; “Her deportment was good; her figure large
her years; her countenance, to which her gaiety and courtesy
gave an additional charm, without being beautiful was agreea.
ble. Her education had been conducted wholly by her
who, watching her strictly, carefully repressed that pr
to pride which she early discovered. She was, from h
hood, taught to salute the ladies who visited the princ
those marks of respect which became her years
* “She was the mediatrix between the monarch and
+ Catherine, upon the imperial throne, recollected wit
and seclusion of her early life, the place of her birth, and the
her youth. She sent annually to the magistrate of Stettin the
in silver and gold, in commemoration of the events of her reign. Shor

























º
§§ §§§ {
% -
duke; but repressing, as she had been instructed, her emo-
tions, she fell on his neck and affectionately embraced him
with marks of the most lively joy. The impressions which
had seized her, however stifled at the moment, were not to be
effaced; on her return to her chambers she fell into a swoon,
from which she revived not till after several hours. With these
feelings, on her recovery, ambition struggled, and finally pre-
valled: she sought not to defer the celebration of her nuptials,
an event so ardently desired by her mother, and which the em-
press anticipated with pleasure. The marriage was accordingly
solemnized, while the attachment, which had preceded it, and
which was built on a superficial foundation, was already ex-
piring. An apparently good understanding subsisted for a
time between the ducal pair, which, while necessary to her in-
terest, was carefully supported by the grand-dutchess.
Brought up under the eye of a sensible mother, at no great
distance from the court of Frederic, the seat of the sciences
and arts, Catherine had, to a strong and comprehensive mind,
added extensive knowledge, and a facility of expressing her-
self, in several languages, with elegance and grace. With an
ent heart and some understanding, the education of
- ad been wholly neglected; deficient in those graces
and accomplishments, and in that cultivation of mind, which
-- eminently distinguished his wife, he felt her superiority and
lushed, while she repined at the fate which had united her
a man so little worthy of her, and so ill suited to contribute
her happiness or improvement. Their mutual disgust,
which daily increased, became at length but too visible to the
irt. sº . . . . º 'º
jealousy, she had
her, a man of an e
ion had begun in Holstein, and consigned hi
oglokoff, whose powers were contracted
owments were mean. From the few who
º #
nce and neglect in whi
vain; the empress, governed by sordid
af to their instances, or repulsed their
displeasure and harshness. Johan























































CATHERINE II. 343
woman of the bed-chamber, had the courage to inquire of her
mistress, why the grand-duke was excluded from the delibera-
tions of the council? “If you will not permit him,” said she,
“to learn what is necessary for the affairs of goyernment, what
think you is to become of him and the empire?’ ‘Johanna,’
replied Elizabeth, regarding her with sternness, ‘knowest thou
the way to Siberia?’ It is thus that, by despotism, truth and
justice are silenced. .
Peter had, from the moment of his arrival, been beheld
with distrust by the principal Russian families: among the
most determined of his enemies was the chancellor Bestucheff,
who, having formed the design of excluding him from the
throne, occupied himself incessantly respecting the means by
which it was to be effected. Without flattering himself with
his complete disinheritance, he sought to banish him to the
camps and armies, and to place Catherine at the head of affairs.
Having matured his plan, and communicated it to those by
whom it was likely to be approved, he conducted his intrigues
with deligence and address. The employments allotted to his
agents and partizans, to whom instructions, in disguised cha-
racters, were daily given, was to alienate the affections of the
empress from her successor: with this view his faults were
aggravated, and his defects exaggerated, while vices and
designs of which he was wholly guiltless were artfully imputed
to him. The jealousy of Elizabeth was, by this conduct, with- .
out difficulty awakened, and her fears roused. Credulous and
timid, she listened eagerly to the calumnies with which her
ears were assailed, and imbibed the poison so subtley adminis-
tered. The enmity of the chancellor had its source in his fears;
having privately injured the grand-duke and his family, he
dreaded the vengeance due to his offences. The house of
Austria was also supported by Bestucheff against the king of
Prussia, to whom Peter was devoted with youthful enthusiasm.
The associates of the duke, and those whom he regarded as
his friends, were, by the artifices of the chancellor, conve
into spies upon his conduct. The conspirators, among who
were the young princess Dashkoff and Maria Simeonov
Tshoglokoff, lady of honour and confidant of the empress, m
at a house of Cyril Razumoffsky, a man of mean b
Vol. I. 2 X




duke; but repressing, as she had been instructed, her emo-
tions, she fell on his neck and affectionately embraced him
with marks of the most lively joy. The impressions which
had seized her, however stifled at the moment, were not to be
effaced; on her return to her chambers she fell into a swoon,
from which she revived not till after several hours. With these
feelings, on her recovery, ambition struggled, and finally pre-
valled: she sought not to defer the celebration of her nuptials,
an event so ardently desired by her mother, and which the em-
press anticipated with pleasure. The marriage was accordingly
solemnized, while the attachment, which had preceded it, and
which was built on a superficial foundation, was already ex-
ng. An apparently good understanding subsisted for a
between the ducal pair, which, while necessary to her in-
terest, was carefully supported by the grand-dutchess.
Brought up under the eye of a sensible mother, at no great
ance from the court of Frederic, the seat of the sciences
and arts, Catherine had, to a strong and comprehensive mind,
added extensive knowledge, and a facility of expressing her-
several languages, with elegance and grace. With an
nt heart and some understanding, the education of
Yad been wholly neglected; deficient in those graces
accomplishments, and in that cultivation of mind, which
minently distinguished his wife, he felt her superiority and
d, while she repined at the fate which had united her
a man so little worthy of her, and so ill suited to coi
her happiness or improvement. Their mutual disgust
h daily increased, became at length but too visible to the
Elizabeth had, from the moment of naming her nephew to
sion, considered him as her rival; influenced proba-
ow jealousy, she had removed him from the
mner, a man of an enlightened mind, under
ion had begun in Holstein, and consigned him
loglokoff, whose powers were contracted
ents were mean. From the few who, re
governed by sordid
ces, or repulsed their
hness. Johanna, a















































CATHERINE II. §
343
woman of the bed-chamber, had the courage to inquire of her
mistress, why the grand-duke was excluded from the delibera-
tions of the council? “If you will not permit him,” said she,
“to learn what is necessary for the affairs of goyernment, what
think you is to become of him and the empire?’ ‘Johanna,’
replied Elizabeth, regarding her with sternness, “knowest thou
the way to Siberia?’ It is thus that, by despotism, truth and
justice are silenced. .
Peter had, from the moment of his arrival, been beheld
with distrust by the principal Russian families: among the
most determined of his enemies was the chancellor Bestucheff,
who, having formed the design of excluding him from the
throne, occupied himself incessantly respecting the means by
which it was to be effected. Without flattering himself with
his complete disinheritance, he sought to banish him to the
camps and armies, and to place Catherine at the head of affairs.
Having matured his plan, and communicated it to those by
whom it was likely to be approved, he conducted his intrigues
with deligence and address. The employments allotted to his
agents and partizans, to whom instructions, in disguised cha-
racters, were daily given, was to alienate the affections of the
empress from her successor: with this view his faults were
aggravated, and his defects exaggerated, while vices and
designs of which he was wholly guiltless were artfully imputed
to him. The jealousy of Elizabeth was, by this conduct, with- .
out difficulty awakened, and her fears roused. Credulous and
timid, she listened eagerly to the calumnies with which her
ears were assailed, and imbibed the poison so subtley adminis-
tered. The enmity of the chancellor had its source in his fears;
having privately injured the grand-duke and his family, he
dreaded the vengeance due to his offences. The house of
Austria was also supported by Bestucheff against the king of
Prussia, to whom Peter was devoted with youthful enthusiasm.
The associates of the duke, and those whom he regarded as
his friends, were, by the artifices of the chancellor, converted
into spies upon his conduct. The conspirators, among who
were the young princess Dashkoff and Maria Simeonov,
Tshoglokoff, lady of honour and confidant of the empress, m
at a house of Cyril Razumoffsky, a man of mean b
Vol. I. 2 X




rhERINE II.
fortune had rapidly raised, and who cherished against Peter a
personal animosity.
Among other accusations brought forward against their
victim was that of drunkenness, a habit he had not then
acquired, and which he afterwards probably contracted as a
temporary relief against the lassitude of indolence, or to drown
reflection as the difficulties of his situation increased. To con-
vince the empress of the truth of this imputation, was the task
allotted to Maria Simeonovna, who affected to deplore to her
royal mistress the excesses into which her successor had fallen.
Of the justice of this accusation, Elizabeth demanded of Maria
a proof; “Nothing is easier,’ replied the treacherous confidant;
four majesty shall be satisfied by sensible evidence.’ A few
days after this conversation, Peter, being indisposed, received
from this lady a consolatory visit: with great affectation of
sympathy and concern, she requested permission of the duke
to remain with him while he dined: her petition was readily
granted, while Peter, good-humouredly, desired her to take a
place at table. During the repast, Maria testified, with many
sprightly sallies, her satisfaction at the honour she received,
and her attachment to the duke, whom she failed not to ply
with champagne, which she assured him was the sovereign
remedy for all his complaints. Peter was, by her importunity,
induced to drink to the health of the empress in repeated
bumpers, till his head at length grew giddy. His companion,
as the effects of the liquor became more apparent, perceiving
the critical moment, ran to her mistress, whom she conducted
to the scene thus artfully prepared. Elizabeth, ignorant of
what had passed, beheld, with mingled indignation and grief,
the condition of the duke, against whom she was previously but
too much disposed to receive prejudices. . . . . . . .
\boldened by their success, the conspirators set no
to their calumnies, by which the unfortunate prince
d odious to his aunt: a prey to lassitude, the inac-
he languished, with the flexibility of his temper,
many advantages to the perfidy of his enemies.
: his misconduct, the empress gradually with-
her favour. Complaints sometimes escaped
with aggravation, uniformly reported to the
soon after his marriage, presented to
_*






















CATHERINE II. 34:
#
him Oranienbaum, a palace in the country: thither he was
accustomed to retire, and immure himself as a state prisoner
rather than as heir to the crown. In this retreat, his employment
was to perform with his people, habited in the German uniform,
the Prussian exercise; and hither Elizabeth, not displeased
with an occupation which preserved him from pursuits more
obnoxious, sent to him soldiers, drafted from the regiments,
with whom he delivered himself up to military amusements.
To these men he added others, whom he selected for their skill
in music, or theatrical exhibitions, of whom he formed a dra-
matic company; while the best pieces of the German theatre
were chosen for their performance. But finding these exercises
and entertainments insufficient to fill up the whole of his time,
he relaxed into the habits contracted during his inactivity at
Petersburgh. His enemies, taking advantage of his predilec-
tion for whatever was Prussian, found means to persuade him
that smoking and drinking were the favourite recreations of
the Prussian officers: to precept, the young people, by whom
he was surrounded, added example; while Peter became the
dupe and the victim of their insidious purposes.
Catherine, in the mean time, guided by a shrewd and vigi-
lant mother, insinuated herself into the favour of the most
considerable persons of the court: ambition triumphed in her
mind over every inferior propensity, and enabled her to ex-
tort, by the propriety of her conduct, the esteem of those
whose affection she failed to conciliate. It is a trite observa-
tion, that to counsel and to practise often require different
talents: the princess of Zerbst, negligent of the maxims so
successfully inculcated upon her daughter, abused the powers
with which she was entrusted, and disgusted the favourites of
the empress: the jealousy of Elizabeth being awakened, she
withdrew from the mother of Catherine her confidence. Dis-
tressed by this reverse of fortun
for succour on every side; coi were 11 .
her, and the irritation of the empress daily aggrava
an order was at length procured, by her enemies, w
compelled the princess to quit the empire. Catherine co
not see the departure of her mother, whom the most I
nant grief appeared to overwhelm, without concer n;
ambition diverted her filial sorrow, which the allurem 3.
bleasure contributed more effectually to subdue.















sts CATHERINE II.
Among the gentlemen by whom the grand-duke was sur-
rounded, Soltikoff, his chamberlain, was distinguished no less
for the graces of his person, than for the variety and elegance
of his acquirements: rendered formidable among the husbands
of Petersburg by his reputation for gallantry, his youth, his
vanity, and the favour of the ladies of the court, combined to
inspire him with presumption: he had even the temerity to
raise his eyes to the consort of his master. Having sedulously
studied the character of Catherine, he perceived the constraint
under which she lived accorded but ill with her temper, and,
hat to a voung princess, whose heart revolted from the ties
her ambition had formed, the solitude of Oranienbaum was but
too likely to render dissipation acceptable. In this persuasion,
he daily contrived for her new amusements, engaging the grand-
duke to give frequent entertainments, of which he took upon
himself the direction and superintendance. Catherine was pri-
vately given to understand, that for these attentions, of which
she was the only object, she was indebted to the chamberlain,
whose vivacity, assiduities, and attractions, failed not to pro-
duce their effect on her senses. This predilection was probably
augmented by the respectful reserve of the lover, who hesi-
tated to risque the declaration of his purpose. An eclaircise-
ment was hastened by the death of the father of Soltikoff, who,
on this event, was compelled by duty to repair to Moscow.
Having obtained permission of the duke to depart, he solicited
an audience of leave of the dutchess. The sorrow of the cham-
berlain, whether real or affected, at this separation, threw him
off his guard; when Catherine, touched by his apparent strug-
gles, conjured him to shorten his absence, and to return and
forget his grief in the midst of a court, where his presence
formed the principal attraction. Soltikoff perceived his triumph;
and, elate with pride, speedily dispatched his domestic business,
and prepared to go back to Petersburgh. . . .
On his return, his confidence appears to have given way
ent. The brilliant hopes which his vanity had nurtur-
rudence led him to resolve on renouncing: his health
its suffered conflict, melancholy corroded his























CATHERINE II. 349
thoughts and seized on his heart. Catherine, alarmed at the
situation of her lover, one day, on finding herself alone with
him, pressed him to reveal to her the source of his disquiet."
Unable to resist a solicitude so flattering, the enamoured
chamberlain fully unveiled a secret as yet but imperfectly dis-
closed. The dutchess listened to this declaration without
betraying any displeasure; she even condescended to assure
him of her pity, while she failed not to exhort him to repress
an inclination so pregnant with dangers. The mildness of her
reproof having inspired her lover with courage, he threw him-
self, with a vehement action, at her feet. Catherine, betraying
manifest discomposure, and letting fall some tears, precipi-
tately retired to her closet; repeating, as she withdrew, the
address of Monimia to Ziphares, in the tragedy of Mithri-
dates: “Et méritez les pleurs que vous m’allez coater.”
From that moment the chamberlain resumed his vivacity, a
change apparent to all who surrounded him.
During the summer residence of the grand-duke and dut-
chess at Oranienbaum, they made occasional visits to Peterkoff,
at the invitation of the empress, to share in the pleasures of
the imperial court. Soltikoff, on these occasions, was ever of
their party. Catherine, to avoid the observation of the curious
and malignant, absented herself under the pretence of indis-
position from the festivities of the palace. The chamberlain
had, by his powers of insinuation, infatuated his master, by
whom he was commissioned to exert his talents to cheer,
in her solitude, the depressed spirits of the dutchess. The
lovers thus wanted no opportunities to entertain each other.
But in its tide of prosperity, and in the exultation of suc-
cess, the fortune of Soltikoff suffered a sudden check. Curiosity,
envy, malice, and interest, the never-failing passions attendant
on courts, combined to discover his favour with the dutchess;
while, of the advantages which their intimacy afforded, his
friends availed themselves to effect his disgrace. Their disco-
veries were eagerly carried to the empress, who, in the first
tumult of surprise and indignation, threatened to punish the
presumption of the favourite by an exile into Siberia. Inform.
#
“And merit those tears you are about to cost me.”
ed of the fate with which he was menaced, the unfortunate






ATHERINE II.
chamberlain revolved in his thoughts the means of averting
the impending storm. With this view he ran to the duke, and,
with an air of candour and injured virtue, complained of the
slanders by which he was assailed; nor did he fail to remind
his patron, that, in his own express command, had originated
those interviews with the dutchess, whom he had never ap-
proached but with profound respect, to which he was now
about to become a victim: it was plain, he added, that the ca-
lumnies, of which he was the ostensible subject, had for their
end an object more important; that in the ruin of an individual,
the heir of the empire, and the honour of the crown, were
equally implicated. He concluded this remonstrance by de-
manding, as a mean to calm the mind of the empress, and
disarm the malice of his enemies, permission to retire to
Moscow. . & .
º Imposed on by the artifices of his chamberlain, Peter per-
suaded himself that it was for his own honour to retain him at
court. Having ordered him to remain in his place, he de-
manded an audience of the empress. To her he complained,
in high terms, of the falsehoods so infamously propagated;
and defended his favourite with so much vehemence, and so
many plausible arguments, that Elizabeth, becoming a convert
to his reasoning, was impressed with a conviction of the inno-
cence of Soltikoff, and the malice of his accusers. .
The dutchess, during these transactions, remained not
inactive: informed of the conduct of her husband, and the
success by which it had been attended, she presented herself
immediately before the empress. For her accustomed air of
meekness and submission, she substituted a haughty and spi-
rited demeanor; she reproached Elizabeth for the easy credit
. which had been given to the calumnies of her enemies. While
she represented the fallacy of those proofs of her innocence,
which the empress demanded, and insisted on the disgrace
attending the discussion of a subject in its nature so humiliat-
ing grief, revenge, and passion, gave alternate force and
ivacity to her eloquence. Elizabeth, unable to resist her
was touched, persuaded, conv inced, and the triumph
the evening circle at the palace, Soltikoff appeared:
zab ºth, eaſ er to rep nº the injury he had sustained, and to












CATHERINE II. as
testify her sense of his innocence, advanced, in the midst of
his enemies, to the back of a chair in which he was engaged
at play, and inquired with a grace and affability, which she well
knew how to assume, whether he was happy? “Never, madam,”
replied the chamberlain. “I am sorry for it,” replied the em-
press; “but that perhaps may be your own fault. It is reported
that you design to quit the grand-duke; but I cannot believe
it, and I invite you to remain with him. Be assured, should
your enemies again attempt to injure you, you shall find in me
a defender.” By a declaration thus encouraging the chamber-
lain was re-assured, and his adversaries effectually silenced.
Soltikoff, unmoved by the generous kindness of his master,
now enjoyed his good fortune without fear or remorse; while
Catherine, to whom success had given boldness, relaxed in her
precautions: the example of the empress, whose manners
became daily more corrupt, seemed to afford an excuse for
the conduct of the grand-dutchess, with which Elizabeth no
longer interfered.
The dutchess shortly expected to become a mother: time
had not enfeebled her attachment to her lover, whose ascen-
dency over her heart became hourly strengthened. At the
summit of his elevation, and in the midst of security, Soltikoff
prepared for himself the gulf in which he was finally over-
whelmed. The chancellor Bestucheff, incessantly meditating
on the means of displacing the duke, silently observed the
progress of the favourite, whose confidence he was intent on
acquiring. Blinded by vanity, the chamberlain was entangled
in the toils so artfully spread for him. By the crafty minister,
whose only aim was to rid himself of a rival, he was induced
to embrace the most pernicious measures. Persuaded by Bes-
tucheff, that to augment his influence over the mind of his
master, he had only to remove from him every competitor, he
provoked against himself a swarm of enemies, and demolished,
in a moment, an edifice, which to erect had cost him the labour
of years. The courtiers and favourites whom he had supplant-
ed, joining their efforts to those of the chancellor, carried
the throne their united complaints. The opportunity to wh
his perfidy had been directed, was seized and improved by
Bestucheff, who, in a conference with Elizabeth, recalled to
her mind the faults and weaknesses of her neph











352 CATHERINE II.
accused Soltikoff as the cause, who, for the purpose of subject-
ing more entirely the mind of the duke, had, he affirmed,
driven from his presence every person of distinction or worth,
and surrounded him with parasites and debauchees. In addition
to these charges, he revived the suspicions of a criminal inter-
course between the favourite and Catherine, a subject which
admitted of but too many proofs. In conclusion, the unfortu-
nate chamberlain was pourtrayed, but too justly, as a fostered
and treacherous servant, who had abused the confidence of his
master, and by whose ambition the empire was threatened
with ruin.
Prejudiced by these representations, Elizabeth felt her
anger again roused; while, for the execution of its dictates,
surer methods were planned under the direction of the chan-
cellor. To cover the disgrace of Soltikoff by a specious pre-
text, and to remove from him the possibility of pleading in his
own defence, and laying open the machinations of his enemies,
he was commissioned, under the title of envoy-extraordinary,
to repair to Stockholm, and notify to the king of Sweden the
birth of Paul Petrowitch, of whom the grand-dutchess had
been recently delivered. This embassy, which he considered
as a new mark of favour, was gratefully accepted by the
chamberlain. But scarcely had he quitted Stockholm, on his
return to Petersburg, when an order was put into his hand, by
a courier who met him on the road, by which he was enjoined
to proceed to Hamburg, and to remain there, till recalled, as
minister-plenipotentiary from the Russian court. Enlightened
by these measures, respecting the deceptions practised against
him, Soltikoff wrote to the grand-dutchess, acquainted her with
what had past, and conjured her to solicit his return.
Catherine; scarcely less sensible than himself to their sepa-
prepared to exert, with the empress, her talents and
m her sentiments had been foreseen, in-
ºver reluctance, to relinquish her purpose.
nderness were superseded by those of ambi-
jer passion of Catherine, in which every other
s orbed. It required some time to efface from
‘gard she had felt for











CATHERINE II. 35S
ed even to be increased by his misfortunes; till, by a new im-
pression, it was wholly erased from her mind. The ties of
voluptuousness are soon broken by the impracticability of
gratification; the senses of Catherine were susceptible and
lively, but a heart like hers was a stranger to love. %:
Stanislaus Poniatoffsky, afterwards elevated to the throne
of Poland, succeeded to the chamberlain in the favour of the
grand-dutchess. Aspiring, handsome, lively, of noble birth,
but destitute of fortune, the young Pole was not long in dis-
covering the flattering destiny that courted his acceptance,
nor slow in improving his advantage. Courtiers are, by vanity
and interest, rendered quick-sighted to the conduct of their
superiors: the motions of Catherine were again watched, her
sentiments developed, and insinuations respecting them con-
veyed to the empress. A lax morality was possibly considered
by Elizabeth as a regal privilege; or, what is yet more proba-
ble, she might feel inclined to expiate, by a rigid attention to
the conduct of others, the total negligence of her own. Having
heard with indignation of the irregularities of the dutchess, she
sent orders to Poniatoffsky to quit Russia without delay; a
mandate which it was not thought prudent to resist. ".
The chancellor, in caballing against the grand-duke, had
neglected nothing to strengthen his interest by that of the
dutchess,to whom his devotion had become daily more apparent. .
Forgetting his share in the ruin of Soltikoff, Catherine was
induced to use, in the recovery of her second lover, the pow
of the man who had driven away the first. The sagacious
minister began to suspect, whether it would be politic to thwart
the inclinations of the dutchess, and provoke her to give him
a succession of rivals; in the influence of a foreigner, he wisely
concluded, he had less to dread than in that of a Russian:
impressed with this notion, he hesitated not to promise the aid
demanded by Catherine, nor to take measures for the fulfil-
ment of his engagement. This he contrived to effect by a
negotiation with Bruhl, the minister of Poland, with whom he
was closely connected. Through the machinations of these
politicians, and in opposition to the Polish laws, by which it
was enacted, that no Pole should be charged at a for :- - -
with the affairs of Saxony, Poniatoffsky was decorat
‘ith the order of the white-eagle, an a
Vol. I. § 2 Y


















354 CATHERINE II.
council, declared minister-plenipotentiary of the republic and .
king of Poland, to Elizabeth empress of Russia. The indigna-
tion of the patriot Poles, who were not aware that the new
plenipotentiary was devoted to the politics of England and
Prussia, was excited on this occasion. .
Bruhl, become the patron of Poniatoffsky, omitted nothing
that might justify his choice. Through the lavish bounty of
Elizabeth to her friends and favourites, a secret uneasiness,
under a magnificent exterior, pervaded the Russian court;
under the penury of which the grand-duke and his, consort
languished. Bruhl, to whom these circumstances were known,
remitted to the plenipotentiary six thousand ducats, with
which he might, on pressing emergences, relieve the embar-
rassments, and conciliate the confidence, of the ducal pair.
Poniatoffsky profited by the sagacity and liberality of the
minister; the predilection of Catherine rendered his task easy;
nor was he long in gaining the favour of the duke. With
Peter he drank, smoked, talked English and German, reviled
the French, and extolled the king of Prussia with long and
lavish encomiums. The Poles and even the Russians pene-
trated his designs, and complained, that to his own private
views he was sacrificing the duties of his office. Nor were
they mistaken. In a luxurious, dissolute, intriguing court,
every thing was possible to sagacity and address.
T ours of the empress were alternately occupied by
superstition and voluptuousness. The grand-dutchess, cor-
rupted by her situation, and forgetful of the counsels of her
mother, gave the reins to her inclinations: the chancellor, the
English ambassador, and the gallant Poniatoffsky, were her
directors and guides. To the Pole she devoted herself with so
little reserve, that their connexion became the theme of
popular animadversion. After some months, Catherine was
delivered of a daughter, the princess Anne, who survived little
more than a year. - 3 . . . §: ' ...' ... . > * > .
= d. uke alone was ignorant of what was passing: young,
ed, without counsellors or friends, kept at a distance
business, confined to the company of his Holsteiners,
he exercise of his German guards, his enemies, without
ity, effected their views. Robbed of the favour of his















CATHERINE II. 355
suspicion and fear seized on his mind, artificial exhilaration,
to which he had recourse, afforded him a temporary relief.
Devoted to idolatry to the king of Prussia, the circumstances
by which he was surrounded escaped his observation; while,
with minute attention, he was servilely copying the dress,
the tone, and the manners of his favourite hero. His soldiers
were harassed with painful exercises and useless manoeuvres:
from these he repaired to the table, where, in the frenzy of
intoxication, he emulated, in visions of future conquests, the
triumphs of the warlike Frederick. º
Bestucheff, while calumniating Peter, and flattering Ca-
therine in the prospect of her accession to power, intent
only on his own aggrandizement, forgot the interests of the
state: his colleagues in the ministry, creatures for the most part
devoted to his views, implicitly followed the direction of their
leader. The people, though not insensible to the disorders of
the court, reverenced in the empress, whose vices they over-
looked, the lineage of the great Peter, the hero of the nation.
An army, consisting of forty thousand Russians, com-
manded by general Apraxin, had been ordered by the empress
to assist Maria Theresa in re-conquering Silesia from the
Prussian monarch. The grand-duke, distressed at this attack
on his favourite, applied to the chancellor to recal the troops,
Elizabeth at this crisis falling sick, the path to the throne
seemed opening to Peter: Bestucheff, on this prospect, sacri-
ficed to his ambition his hatred to the duke and the honour of
the empire. Apraxin received orders to abandon his conquests,
and to hasten his return. The empress, reviving, suspected
treachery: the general was called upon to justify his conduct,
which he did by producing the orders of the chancellor. Bes-
tucheff, become the dupe of his own cupidity, was removed
from his offices and put under arrest, Count Vorontzoff suc-
ceeded to his office and employments, .
Previous to this revolution, the enemies of Bestucheff had,
as a means of effecting his ruin, determined to foment the
discord between the ducal pair, and to charge on the original
mover of their disunion whatever consequences might ensue.
With this view the attention of Peter was roused to the con-
duct of his wife; her interviews with Poniatoffsky were re-
marked, their gestures watched, and their expressions ana ysed,








356 CATHERINE II.
The conversation one evening at table, where Catherine was
seated opposite to her lover, chanced to turn on horseman-
ship, the dexterity of some women in this exercise, and the
dangers to which it exposed them. Catherine, her eyes turned
towards Poniatoffsky, replied with vivacity, that her courage
was unbounded, and few women were so bold as herself.
This expression, tortured and exaggerated, was reported
* duke, to which suggestions were added calculated
is suspicions. His jealousy thus awakened, no
time was lost to confirm his fears. Peter, overwhelmed with
vexation, condemned his own imprudence, bewailed his
fate, and, no longer observing the respect towards the dutchess
with which he had hitherto treated her, forbade her to be
seen with the Pole; while hastening to the empress, he im-
plored her to avenge the affront he had suffered. He informed
her at the same time, that the misconduct of the dutchess had
been favoured by the chancellor, who had also abused her im-
perial confidence. At the conclusion of this address, the order
sent by Bestucheſt for the recal of the troops from Silesia had
been displayed. Thus had the fall of the chancellor been pre-
pared: deprived of his offices, he was tried, found guilty, and
condemned to death. This sentence was however softened by
Elizabeth, who contented herself with banishing him to an
estate beyond Moscow. :
Catherine, with every thing to apprehend from the resent-
ment of her band, now beheld herself completely deserted:
her most Hous parasites were the first to forsake her in
her distress: sustained only by her own courage, she deter-
mined to essay the powers of her address, and to demand of
the empress an audience. This request being rejected, she
applied to the ambassador of France, whose influence at court
gave her hopes of success through his mediation: to him she
represented her distress and her contrition, and entreated him.
to speak in her behalf to the empress. The ambassador, hav-
. ed wi pect, and given her such counsel as appear-
in g repli
ed to hi
. adent, declined any farther interference.
Catherine, whom the consciousness of inno-
º support, was, on receiving this reply, suf-
humiliating. Poniatoffsky, not less disquieted than
*** , had *- ºc fro º Warsaw letters G f rec als with-



























cATHERINE II. . 357
out being able to resolve on quitting Russia. Feigning sick-
mess, he confined himself during the day to his hotel, and,
under the obscurity of the evening, repaired to the apartments
of the grand-dutchess. Malice and suspicion are not to be dis-
armed or evaded; the assignations of the lovers were disco-
vered, and information conveyed to the empress.
By the return of summer, these difficulties were increased:
Catherine was obliged to accompany her husband to Oranjen-
baum; and Poniatoffsky reduced to invention and disguise for
access to the palace. Thus circumstanced, he was one day
sauntering through one of the walks in the grounds where the
dutchess had appointed to meet him, when a domestic recog-
nised him through his disguise, and ran to acquaint the duke
of his discovery. Peter, willing to mortify his rival, commis-
sioned a Russian officer, of a robust and athletic figure, to
seize on the Pole unawares, and to bring him before him. The
officer, on accosting the person pointed out to him, interro-
gated him roughly respecting his name and business. Ponia.
tofsky, thus taken by surprise, stammered out an incoherent
excuse, which implied that he was a German taylor, and that
he came to measure a Holstein officer. “My orders,” replied
the Russ, “are to bring you before the grand-duke.” “You
must allow me,’ returned the Pole, “to decline the honour,
though my fortune should depend upon it. I am in haste, and
have not a moment to spare.’ ‘Oh, as to that matter,’ rejoined
his sturdy antagonist, “Whether you have sº
must follow me.’ Having thus said, and observºg his reluc-
tance, he made a slip-knot in his handkerchief, which he threw
over the neck of his captive, and thus dragged him to the feet
of his master. Peter, seeing Poniatoffsky brought like a cri-
minal before him, affected an angry air, and, in a feigned pas-
sion, rated the officer for his mistake. This adventure, with
which he afterwards amused himself, he failed not to relate in
the presence of the dutchess.
It was about this period, that Peter, retaliating upon his º
wife, formed a connexion with the third daughter of the sena-
tor Vorontzoff, brother to the new chancellor. The younges
of these sisters was the princess Dashkoff, whose ta.
vity, and courage, became afterwards so conspicuo
favourite of the duke, inferior to her sisters both in beat













358 CATHERINE II.
by her cheer-
endowments, captivated the affections of Peter b
fulness and good humour; while the father, an abject and
ambitious courtier, connived at the dishonour of his daughter.
The health of the empress was evidently declining; her
infirmities, added to her natural indolence, rendered her more
then ever negligent of the affairs of government; the remnant
of her strength and spirits was wasted in dissipation. The idle
tales of the irregularities of her nephew were, in this situation,
listened to by Elizabeth with eager credulity: she seemed to
seek in these accounts some palliation of her own excesses;
while she treated the duke with indifference and coldness.
Catherine, conceiving this to be a favourable opportunity for
conciliating the empress, threw herself at her feet, and implo-
red forgiveness. As a condition of accommodation, proposals
the most humiliating were made to her, by which a confession
of guilt was exacted of her, and submission to the clemency
of her husband and his aunt. Pride forbidding her acquiescence
in these demands, she withdrew herself from court, and kept
close in her apartment, whence, aware of the refusal of her
request, she demanded permission to retire to Germany. The
tenderness of Elizabeth for the young Paul Petrovitch would
not suffer her to consent to the departure of his mother; of
which a declaration of the illegitimacy of her child appeared a
probable consequence. .
This stratagem, proving successful, was soon followed by
§§
wº ion. At the instant when Catherine, in the ap-
prehensi he court, stood on the precipice of disgrace and
ruin, she appeared suddenly at the theatre by the side of the
empress, whose attentions drew on her the notice of the spec-
tators. The dutchess had, in a private conference, promised
to resign her lover, and thenceforward to conduct herself with
greater reserve. But Poniatoffsky, who almost immediately
demanded his audience of leave, still found pretences for lin-
gering in Petersburgh. ... . .
The cabal of Bestucheff had not been broken by his dis-
*
e; the enemies of Peter continued to prejudice him in the
ir of his aunt, whose various infirmities afforded them op-
tunities of insinuating the impatience of the heir. Cruelly
ed by this idea, Elizabeth suffered menaces to escape
respecting the succession. By some it was supposed, that















CATHERINE II. 359
the meditated to restore to his inheritance prince Ivan, de-
throned by her twenty years before, and still languishing away
life in a dungeon: by others it was believed, with greater proba-
bility, that it was her intention to supplant the duke by his in-
fant son. A few days afterwards," Peter being at Oranienbaum,
a new play was ordered by the empress, to which, contrary to
the usual custom, neither the foreign ministers nor the cour-
tiers were invited. The grand-dutchess, her son, and the
favourites of Elizabeth, were her only attendants. No sooner
had the empress entered her box, than, complaining of the
thinness of the house, she ordered the soldiers of her guard to
be admitted. In a moment the theatre was full. Taking in her
arms the infant Paul Petrovitch, Elizabeth presented him to
these veterans, to whom she had been indebted for the impe-
rial dignity, with lavish praises; while she fondly pointed out
to the audience his engaging smiles, his striking aspect, with
the virtues and qualities which his physiognomy seemed to in-
dicate. To this address, which appeared to implore of the sol-
diers support and attachment for the child, they replied with
shouts of reiterated applause. A step farther, and Peter had
been excluded from the throne for ever: but the empress stop-
ped short, seated herself and the piece proceeded. This mea-
sure was probably intended by Elizabeth either to prepare the
way for more solemn and decisive proceedings, or to intimi-
date the duke, by showing him the extent of her pow
transaction gave rise to various reflections, .
the empress, of whatever nature, were by
ineffectual. 2. . º
A short time after the scene at the theatre, her maladies
sensibly increased: the intoxicating potions to which, in
the hope of alleviating her sufferings, she had continual re-
course, served but to hasten the catastrophe; it was visible to
every one that her end rapidly approached. The interested and
ambitious, in expectation of this event, concentrated their
hich at length
divided into two great parties. The first consisted of t
strength by forming themselves into bands, wh
herine * of whicl º
friends of Bestucheff, who adhered to C º
as chief. Schuvaloff,
Ivan Ivanovitch Schuvaloff was considere
* December, 1761.














360 CATHERINE II.
whose rapacity had rendered him obnoxious to the Russiau
merchants, and whose insolence had disgusted the grand-duke,
dreaded his vengeance, and eagerly embraced the cause of his
opponents. It was proposed by this faction, in adherence to
the plan marked out by Bestucheff, that Peter*. should be
elected sovereign, while the regency was to be invested in the
grand-dutchess, under the authority of a council, in which
Schuvaloff modestly intended to preside. Though secretly ir-
ritated by his presumption, Catherine, prompted by fear and
ambition, seconded the plan: carefully concealing her thirst of
power, she veiled her purposes under an affected indifference.
To her confidants she repeated perpetually, that the title of
mother of the emperor would always be preferred by her to
that of his consort; neither did she conceal her dread of the
resentment of a husband, to whom her infidelities were but
too apparent. . .
The party by whom the rights of the grand-duke were de-
fended, was headed by Vorontzoff, an aspiring but sordid
courtier, whose daughter was the avowed mistress of Peter.
His access to the duke afforded him opportunities of insinua-
tion against the dutchess, whose errors and faults he failed
not to aggravate. Having gained the confidence of his master,
it was not difficult for Vorontzoff to direct his actions. The
moment the eyes of the empress were closed, it was deter-
mined that Peter should assemble the troops, cause himself to
. repudiate the dutchess, declare her son to be
§ ld publicly espouse the daughter of Vorontzoff.
To the success of this enterprise every thing appeared to con-
cur; the grand-duke, however obnoxious at court, was re-
spected by the people, who regarded him as the descendant of
Peter the Great: his friends also expected to be furnished by
England with considerable sums. . ... x.
In these circumstances, and amidst these intrigues, there
suddenly appeared a man who undertook to conciliate the oppos-
ingparties. Nikita Ivanovitch, count Panin, had, at this period
just returned from Stockholm, where he had resided in a diplo-
y. Panin had from an obscure station been raised
*. stucheff scarcely dared to hope the complete disinheritance of Peter,
shed to banish him to the camps and armies, and to place Catherine
















CATHERINE II. 361
to dignity and office; his talents, originally moderate, were
but little improved; but, supplying by cunning the want of
ability, he considered nothing too arduous or too difficult to
attempt. With more presumption than knowledge, his judg-
ments were frequently erroneous; to gain time, to procrasti-
nate, and to trust to accident, were his favourite maxims, and
the basis of his sagacity. He had been taught by his residence
in Sweden to worship, as the perfection of government, an
aristocracy with the forms of a senate: the remaining traits of
his character were indolence, inaccuracy, and a passion for
gossipping. He had been appointed preceptor to the young
Paul, and had now to determine his election between the
grand-duke and his consort. The interest of Catherine having
prevailed, he was admitted into the plan of wresting the sceptre
from her husband, an enterprise of which he foresaw all the
danger. Opposed to these apprehensions was his dread lest
the dutchess, hurled from the throne and bed of the emperor,
should in her disgrace overwhelm his pupil. Under these
ideas, he eagerly sought for measures of compromise and con-
ciliation. For this purpose, he endeavoured, by addressing
himself to their mutual fears, to engage the factions in mutual
concessions, and to bring about a coalition. His plan was to
seat Peter on the throne by a proclamation of the senate, who,
while they affixed limits to his power, might secure the autho-
ºrity to Catherine and her son. The project once conceived, he
proceeded to execution with a prudence, a re X- . . . … -.' " . . .xx.: "... --
that formed an exception to his general habi
was veiled even from Catherine herself, w
affected to abandon.
Having sheltered himself from all suspicion, he sec
resorted to Ivan Schuvaloff, who, shuddering at the respo
sibility he had incurred, had abandoned himself to the most
poignant anxiety: the project of which he was considered as
leader, had been originally conceived by Peter his cousin, an
enterprising and ambitious man, whom a mortal sickness was
conducting to the grave. The timidity of Ivan, so favourab
to the design of Panin, he failed not to turn to his advan
Convinced by the sagacity of Panin, who painted in
wated colours the difficulties and hazards of the enter
Ivan, unable to refute his reasoning, hastened to the ch
Vol. I. 2 Z
s purpose
party he



















362. CATHERINE II.
of his brother. Peter Schuvaloff, whose mind sickness ha
bilitated, yielded without difficulty to the remonstrances which
assailed him. But, in relinquishing his plans, he was still so-
licitous to play a principal part. For this purpose, he sent to
the grand-duke a humble message, intimating that he had im-
portant secrets to communicate, and intreating to be honoured
with his presence. - 3.
On the arrival of the duke, he was addressed by Schuvaloff,
who received him reclining on a couch, with the solemnity of
a man who feeling himself on the brink of the grave, where
hu lan passions are extinguished, has no longer occasion for
evasion or reserve. He represented to Peter in strong terms
the critical situation in which he stood, the snares which beset
his path, and the conciliating measures it would behoove him to
adopt. He conjured him to reflect seriously on the calamitous
consequences of repudiating the dutchess, and raising to her
place a woman regarded with general contempt; a step which
could not fail to cover him with dishonour, and to which he
would eventually become a victim.
Peter, who had not listened to this discourse without
emotion, denied the design imputed to him of dissolving his
marriage, a step which he affected strongly to reprobate. “It
was true,” he added, “that his mistress, misled by vanity,
might give credit to these reports, but she was a simpleton,
whom he had never purposed to marry but in case of the de-e
- tohess.’ This asseveration was by no means cal-
ofessed himself satisfied by a promise from the duke, that
would blot from his memory the machinations against him.
A more important and a more difficult enterprise still
mained to be executed. The dying empress, whose fears
had been artfully roused, lest the ambition of her nephew
should tempt him. to hasten her fate, had excluded him from
er apartment, to which she was now confined. This prohibi-
o avoid a too pointed singularity, been extended to
ss. The knowledge of these divisions in the impe-
y was yet confined within the palace; its farther
was pregnant with danger. Had Elizabeth expired
tting to her presence the duke and his consort,














CATHERINE II. 36s
those ill-founded suspicions, in which her caution originated,
would have found credit with the people; it became therefore
important to soften this prejudice. Ivan Schuvaloff, who, by
his office as grand-chamberlain, was about the person of the
empress, was conceived by Panin to be a proper agent on this
occasion: but the timid chamberlain, from various motives,
declined to interfere. Panin had then, with better success, re-
course to a monk, the confessor of Elizabeth, with whom
mingled motives of interest and duty finally prevailed. .
Every precaution of time and circumstance being judi-
ciously arranged, the priest discoursed with his penitent on
invisible things: the joys of heaven were eloquently pourtray-
ed, while charity, forgiveness, and mercy, were enumerated
among the terms of admission. In the midst of this harangue,
and at the moment when the orator had obtained from his
hearer a signal of assent, Catherine entered, led by the duke,
when they prostrated themselves beside the bed of the em.
press. Elizabeth, dictated to by the priest, declared to her
suitors, in a voice exhausted and scarcely articulate, “that she
had always loved them, and that with her dying breath she
wished them every blessing.” This sufficed; the pair withdrew,
and their partizans took care to circulate what had passed.
Panin, elate with his services, and the consequence they
had given him with the duke, believed that he should induce
*him blindly to adopt his views, and to receive, on the demise
of the empress, his crown from the senate. With .
sumption, he laid before him his project with all i
tages. Peter, moved by his representations, was about to
yield to the impression they had produced, when they wer
interrupted by the entrance of two of the courtiers. One
them, on hearing the plan of Panin, struck by the insidious
nature of the measure proposed, counselled the duke to sub-
mit the decision to the prince Trubetskoi, whom age and ex-
perience rendered a competent judge. The prince, when con-
sulted, objected to the project, with the boldness of a soldi
jealous of the honour of his master, and prejudiced aga
the novelty of the proceeding. He represented, with firi
and energy the military tenor of the government, th
of innovation, the ambition of the senate lurking und
pretences, and the probable disgust and vengea ice











364 CATHERINE II.
army. Captivated by the novelty of the counsel of Panin, and
intimidated by the presages of Trubetskoi, the purpose of
Peter appeared to waver. In this dilemma, he dispatched a
chamberlain to consult the grand-dutchess.
Catherine, roused by the impending fate of the empress,
and intent on conciliating popular favour, had covered her
ambition under the mask of religion: her time was chiefly
occupied in frequenting the churches, in performing the exte-
riors of devotion, and in joining the prayers for the restoration
of Elizabeth. Ignorant of the views of Panin for her interest,
of which he had imprudently neglected to inform her, she
had, for the last few days, employed herself in drawing up the
form of the proclamation by which Peter was to be appointed
to the sovereign power, with the oath to be taken by the
troops. Priding herself on the elegance of her style and com-
position, and anticipating the admiration which her perform-
ance would excite, she chose not to sacrifice her labours. An
abrupt reply was therefore returned to the message of the
duke, importing, that he would do well to conform to the
established custom. .
At the moment Peter received this answer, the death of
Elizabeth was announced, who expired, after a tedious illness
and severe sufferings, on Christmas-day, 1761. This event was
scarcely known, when the courtiers crowded around the heir,
to whom the importance of the moment gave a temporary"
firmness. Having addressed with dignity the venal herd, and
received the oaths of the officers of his guard, he mounted on
horseback, and rode through the streets of Petersburgh, distri-
ting money among the populace. The soldiers, flocking
out him, exclaimed, “If thou take care of us, we will serve
ee with the same fidelity with which we served the good
empress, thy predecessor.’ The shouts of the people mingled
with their acclamations, nor did any symptoms of discontent
lif 3.32.<&
apparent on his delivery from the severe constraint
e had so long been held, but he betrayed no signs of
scending the throne of his ancestors, he met with no
elevation was beheld with a passive acquie-
han with cheerful attachment: the public was
hemselves upon the occasion. The satisfaction of

















cATHERINE II. . 363
distrustful, the court reserved, and in his own family all was
cold. The Russians were averse to foreign masters, a prejudice
fostered by the late empress, and which various circumstances
had combined to strengthen, The duke, though grandson to
Peter the Great, was a native of Holstein; he had not long
been a resident in Russia, to the manners of which he was
obnoxious. His heart was in Holstein, and the Germans pos-
sessed his confidence; to the concerns of the empire, from
which he had been held aloof, he was cold and repugnant. He
had disapproved of the participation of Russia in the German
war; he was suspected of a design of new-modelling the nation;
of using its force for the aggrandizement of Holstein; of divid-
ing himself from his family, and securing his inheritance to a
paternal relation. The attention of those who had wished to
exclude him from the succession, was directed to his consort,
who, with more sagacity, had, by assimilating herself to its
customs, courted the affection of the nation. º:
Such, on the accession of Peter to the imperial crown, was
the temper of the people. In the proclamation which anounced
this event to the empire, no mention was made of Catherine
or her son, an omission which to some appeared to presage the
overthrow of the lineal succession: neither was there any pre-
paration for the coronation at Moscow; a solemnity, rendered
by its usage and antiquity, highly impressive to the Russians.
Blinded by his infatuation for the king of Prussia, Peter,
while yet tottering on the throne, inconsiderately proposed to
quit the kingdom, and, for the gratification of an interview
with Frederic, to repair to Germany. * … . . . . . . . . . .” .
Yet, in the minds of the candid, these imprudences would
have been more than outweighed by the promise of magnani-
mity which appeared in his conduct: fully aware of his enemies,
he avenged himself on no one; acts of beneficence and justice
signalized his succession; he seemed on his advancement to
power, like Henry V. of England, to assume anew character. Re-
flection succeeded to passion; to fury and violence, gentleness
and humanity: as if enlightened by the importance of his station,
he shewed himself in an instant patient, rational, and ju
exercised his kindness to all who had been attached to
beth; he forgave his enemies, and continued in thei .
almost every great officer of state. Peter Schuvaloff, who, 19115







CATHERINE II.
confined to his bed, expired soon after, he raised to the rank
of field-marshal. To Alexey Razumuffsky, the favourite of
the late empress, with whom he had often injured him, he
left the place of grand-veneur.” Even on Ivan Schuvaloff, who
had so unworthily used his influence, he conferred favours and
benefits. Prince Shususkoi, of whom he had the most to com-
plain, was but simply removed from his office, while his liberty
and possessions were left to him. Catherine, who could not
think without terror of the advancement of her husband, and
who dreaded the severest measures, received from him, with
marks of confidence, the most flattering salutations. In the
endowments of her mind, and the powers of her genius, he
appeared to forget the irregularities of her conduct; he passed
in her apartments a part of every day, conversed with her in
confidence, and consulted her judgment on affairs of import-
ance. The courtiers astonished, congratulated her on her lot:
Catherine only was not elated; aware of the incapacity of her
husband, she perceived through his gentleness and docility a
real weakness. --- & .
The first measures of Peter were popular and auspicious:
to the Russian nobility and gentry he gave freedom; he also
recalled the state-prisoners, with which jealousy and despotism
had peopled Siberia. Among those whom the vengeance of
Elizabeth and an iniquitous trial had exiled, appeared the
celebrated marshal Munich, who was met on his return, at
the age of eighty-two, by one of his sons, who still survived,
and thirty-two of his posterity. The venerable exile, habited
in the sheep-skin he had worn in the deserts, and surrounded
by his family, presented himself to the emperor, who, address-
ing him in a tone of kindness, hastily restored to him his rank
of field-marshal, with the badges of the order of St. Andrew.
* I hope,” said Peter, “notwithstanding your advanced age, you
may still serve me.’ “Since your majesty,’ replied Munich,
“has brought me from darkness to light, and from the depths
of a cavern to the foot of the throne, my life is devoted to you.
either Siberian deserts, nor a tedious exile, have cooled my
ardour for the interest of Russia, or for the glory of its princes.’
These affecting scenes afforded to the nation a delightful
* Chief huntsman.











CATHERINE II. 367
spectacle, while the empire resounded with the praises of its
Joenefactor.
To transports so delicious a new subject of reverence
was added, when the czar, entering the senate in imperial
state, affranchised the nobles from the servitude in which his
predecessors had held them; allowed them to travel, to carry
arms or to refrain, at their own discretion. In the excess of
their gratitude, it was proposed by the nobility, to erect to their
monarch a statue of gold; but this enthusiasm was transient
as fervent.
A more important obligation which Russia owes to Peter,
was the abolition of the inquisition, that dreadful tribunal, the
insult of reason, and the scourge of humanity, which had in
Russia been environed with aggravated terrors.
For the apparent contradictions in the character of the
czar, we must revert to the defects of his education, which
stifling, in their birth, the qualities of his heart, suffered them.
to appear but on extraordinary emergences. -
Gudovitch, a young Ukrainer, who had served the grand-
duke in quality of aid-de-camp, was attached to his person,
and the only man among the courtiers by whom he was sin-
cerely beloved. To the counsels of this virtuous youth, those
measures so glorious and dignified, which threw a transient
lustre over the commencement of the reign of Peter, are prin-
cipally to be attributed. The ordinary habits of the czar,
dazzled by the elevation, and influenced by the ascendency of
a more vigorous genius, suffered a temporary suspension; but,
corrupted by power, he quickly relapsed into indolence and
vice. 3.
Having for several days been shut up with his mistress,
and the companions of his riots, abandoned to intemperate
excesses, he was suddenly roused from his voluptuous dream
by the appearance of his friend and monitor: “It is now,” said
Gudovitch, in a stern voice, and with a severe aspect, address-
ing the emperor simply by his name, “it is now that I plainly
perceive you prefer to us the enemies of your glory, to whom
you are irrecoverably subjugated. You justify their assertion,
that low and degrading pleasures are more suited to your ca-
pacity than the government of a great empire. Is it thus that
you emulate your grandsire, the hero whom you swore to take

- ***
for your model? Is it thus you persevere in the magnanimous
conduct by which you were about to gain the hearts of your
people? Is their attachment, their applause, already forgotten?
By the murmurs of discontent, their acclamations are even
now succeeded. Petersburgh, with anxiety, inquires whether
her monarch has ceased to live within her walls. The empire
trembles, lest, in the hope of seeing revive laws that shall
renew its vigour and glory, it has cherished a vain expectation.
Faction raises her head anew, and the malignant only triumph.
Shake of this disgraceful lethargy of soul, and hasten to testify
by an act of resplendent virtue, that you are yet worthy of
realizing the hopes of a nation!’
To this address, to the boldness and virtue of the speaker,
were the nobles indebted for their affranchisement, and the
people for the abolition of the terrors of the inquisition.
Abashed, confounded, and desirous of compensating for his
relapse, Peter seized from the hands of his Mentor the decla-
rations already prepared, and hurried to the senate. The mur-
murs of the people gave place to joy; it was believed, with
fond credulity, that the occupation of their sovereign during
his retirement had been the framing these salutary edicts.
The administration of justice, the forms of jurisprudence,
commerce, the sciences and arts, became alternately the ob-
jects of royal attention: the emperor visited the colleges,
assisted at their deliberations, and animated them by encour-
agement and reward. Docile to the counsel of his invaluable
friend, and emulous of the Prussian monarch, he gave audience
to every one, received the petitions of his people, and admi-
nistered personal justice. He laboured to obtain the confidence
of the nation, and to conquer their prejudices. Even his ene-
mies applauded a conduct that called to their recollection, in
lively images, the memory of his great predecessor. He re-
ceived the foreign ministers with a propriety and dignity that
commanded admiration: he gave to them a splendid repast,
was reserved in his discourse, and temperate in his indulgences.
ers vied with the natives in his praise; even Vienna
‘estored to a temporary confidence.
capable of dissimulation, among the sentiments retained
r in his elevation, attachment to the king of Prussia
nated, of which he afforded various testimonies.








CATHERINE II. 96.8
Count de Hordt, a Swedish officer, to whom, with the Prus-
sian prisoners detained at Petersburgh, he had given freedom,
was received into his friendship and confidence, and laden
with benefits and distinctions. Hordt had been a victim to the
vengeance of Elizabeth, who had thus retaliated the execution
of a Russ officer, condemned by the king of Prussia, for a
plan of revolt and massacre, in the garrison of Custrin, where
he was confined. When Hordt related to the czar the story of
his captivity, and added, that, independent of the base treat-
ment to which he was subjected, he had been denied the use
of books, Catherine, who was present, suddenly exclaimed,
‘How barbarous this!” Peter, in his correspondence with the
Prussian monarch, addressed him by the titles of his “dear
brother,’ his “worthy master;’ he even reminded him of the
honour he had enjoyed in serving in his army, and requested
to be advanced to a higher post. .
To take advantage of his devotion, and to increase his
ardour for the favour solicted, Frederic deferred for a time to
comply with his request; but at length informed him, that, as
a recompense for his military merit, rather than as a compli-
ment to his rank, he was appointed major-general. The czar,
transported by this intelligence, manifested his joy by the most
extravagant excesses. This Prussian mania, which offended
the foreign ministers, gave umbrage to the courtiers, and aſ-
forded a pretext to his enemies, did credit to the intentions of
Peter rather than to his judgment.
Deficient in the strength and firmness of character indis-
pensable to the ruler of a great nation, he mingled with his best
plans and most popular measures, frivolous appendages or a
pernicious weakness. In the rage for improvement, ignorant
of the art and delicacy necessary to be observed in attacking
established errors, he hazarded premature reformations. By
waging war against the church, and diminishing its vast pos-
sessions, he irritated, in a superstitious and barbarous nation,
a formidable race of men. Always suspected of Lutheranism,
the retrenchment of the privileges of the clergy, however exo
bitant, was construed into contempt for the national chur
this notion, propagated with industry by his enemies, was co
roborated by other circumstances. The preference of the
sovereign to the German soldiers disgusted the Russian trº
VoI. I. 3 A







The noble guards, by whom Elizabeth had been seated on the
throne, were disbanded, the horse guards deprived of their
office, and Holsteiners substituted in their place. The intro-
duction of the Prussian exercise, which was yet to be learned,
could not fail to displease the army. To these were added
other causes of military disgust, by which the troops were an-
gered and alienated. Changes the most beneficial were thus,
through the medium of prejudice and jealousy, regarded with
discontent and distrust. . §
Of these transactions, with the progress of the reformations,
the king of Prussia was scrupulously informed, who, in return
for the confidence of the czar, gave him prudent counsels, cal-
culated, had he known how to observe them, for his advantage
and security. Sanguine and incapable of mistrust, Peter was
little careful to conciliate the malecontents, but trusted (a poor
defence!) in the purity of his intentions, and in the protection
of Heaven. Happy had it been for the czar, had he suffered
himself to be governed by the advice, or implicitly taken for
his example, the hero whom he professed to emulate! But for
native sagacity and firmness what can be a substitute?
Insensibly relaxing in his great designs, the offspring of an
effervescent fancy rather than the dictates of a sound judgment,
Peter resumed, amidst a society of treacherous parasites, his
habits of intemperance; whole days were passed in smoking,
or sunk in an odious inebriety. His behaviour towards his
consort became capricious and unequal; while the powers of
her understanding extorted his homage, he failed not to inti-
mate his sense of her irregularities, and the resentment with
which they had inspired him. At the splendid festivals of the
Russian church, he was impolitically content to follow as a
simple colonel in the suite of Catherine, who, adorned with
the symbols of regal dignity, appeared with majesty as if born
to command. Catherine was also left to do the honours of the
fourt, while the czar, habited in the uniform of his regiment, -
ly presented to her his officers and comrades. If the
Peter had with Catherine I. acted a similar part, it is
and men of talents only, that, possessing an inherent
may venture to disdain adventitious advantages.
º "our of the empress was of short duration; no
| Peter believe himself firmly seated on the throne,
C
>


















CATHERINE II. 371
than his indifference towards his consort was manifest, of which
he sometimes gave her humiliating proofs. During the exhi-
bition of fire works, on the celebration of the peace with Prus-
sia, Catherine was seated by the side of the czar, when Peter,
perceiving his mistress pass by, called to her, and placed her
on his other hand. The empress, on this indignity, retired,
nor was any motion made to detain her. The same evening,
at supper, Peter drank to the health of prince George of Hol-
stein; the company rose to do honour to the toast, while Ca-
therine, pretending to have hurt her foot, still kept her seat.
Irritated at what he construed into a failure of respect towards
his uncle, the czar expressed his indignation towards the em-
press by a coarse and opprobrious epithet, which drew tears
from her eyes. Catherine, for some minutes after this affront,
conversed in a low voice with her chamberlain, Stroganoff,
who was believed to be high in her favour; and whom she had
the mortification to see almost immediately put under an
arrest. Her tears affected the spectators, whom the harshness
of Peter had disgusted. §
From scenes of this nature the hopes of the empress
revived; she determined to oppose to the imprudence of her
husband great circumspection and address. Versed in dis-
simulation, it was not difficult for her to act a part, while she
employed herself in gaining the hearts the czar was alienating.
For philosophy she substituted the demeanor of a bigot, while,
repairing daily to the churches, she prayed with the semblance
of a sincere devotee: punctual in the observances of the Greek
superstitions, she accosted the poor with benignity, and affect-
ed homage to the patriarchs, who had failed not, from house,
to house, to proclaim her praises. While Peter was shut up
with his favourites and mistress, the companion of debauchees
and buffoons, the empress kept her court with mingled dignity
and sweetness, charming all who approached her. It was her
study to attract towards her every man distinguished for his
talents or courage, or whose intrigues promised to be useful.
The czar, in the mean time, offended the Russians by
indiscretions, and disgusted the foreign ministers. In
enthusiasm for the king of Prussia, and in the eagerness v
which he put an end to the war, he abandoned his former
federates, and even agreed to join his favourites:










37.2 . CATHERINE II.
A Russian army was shortly seen, driving out of Silesia, in
conjunction with the Prussians, those Austrians who, but a
few months before, it had brought into the province. By such
measures, of which he had not deigned to inform the ambas-
sadors, who received through the gazettes the first intelligence,
he filled the foreign courts with dipleasure and distrust.
On the celebration of the peace with Prussia, when extra-
ordinary magnificence was displayed, Peter appeared clothed
‘in a Prussian uniform, decorated with the black eagle, the
order of which had been conferred on him by Frederic.
Scarce a day passed, during these festivities, that was not con-
cluded with a debauch; excesses which were usually produc-
tive of dangerous indiscretions. Towards the end of these
rejoicings, an insulting message was sent to the Austrian
minister, implying a threat of sending a force into Germany, to
compel Maria-Theresa to relinquish her pretensions. Every
thing appeared to announce great changes; the king of Prussia,
secure of the aid of Peter, formed the most ambitious projects;
when a sudden catastrophe frustrated his expectations, and
wrought, in the politics of the north, a grand revolution.
In the midst of his feasts and warlike preparations, the
czar had not been unmindful of the countess of Vorontzoff,
whose ascendency over him daily increased: this woman,
aspiring in her temper, but of mean talents, aimed, under
the tutorage of an ambitious father, to raise herself to the
imperial throne. By alternate caresses, frowardness, and flattery,
she induced her lover to renew the promise, made when he
* was grand-duke, of endowing her with the privileges, and
placing her in the seat of Catherine. Led by her vanity to
boast of this engagement, she found in her imprudence her
lisappointment and ruin. Her present influence, with the
uture prospects of which she dared to vaunt, roused the
partizans of the empress, with whom the enemies of her
husband united their force. Peter, not less weak and vain,
authorised, by his conduct, the boast of his mistress; he no
long ºr affected to conceal his projects against his wife, which
red in them a declaration of the illegitimacy of her son.
over his conduct with a pretence of justice, and to secure
versal consent, he believed he had only to produce testi-
of the infidelities of the empress. The countess,
















CATHERINE II. 373
apprised by her father of the first amour of Catherine with
Soltikoff, had not failed to convey her intelligence to the czar,
who, upon this information, grounded his proofs. Soltikoff,
recalled from Hamburg, where he had been appointed mini-
ster, was loaded with benefits, and destined by Peter as an in-
strument in his views. Seduced by the hope of reward, or
intimidated by the fear of consequences, he was, without dif-
ficulty, rendered subservient to the wishes of his master, who
hesitated only while he should choose a successor. W.
In the course of his meditations on this subject, a singular
project suggested itself to his mind: he resolved to adopt as
his heir, prince Ivan, supplanted by Elizabeth while yet in his
cradle, and detained, during her reign, in close confinement.
With this design, the czar, accompanied by a few attendants,
went privately to the fortress of Schlusselburg, the prison of
Ivan, of whose fitness for his purpose he was desirous of judg-
ing. Concealing his rank, and attended only be three officers
of state, Peter obtained, through an order signed with the
imperial signet (by which the commandant was enjoined to al-
low the bearers freely to inspect the fortress), an entrance into
the dungeon. The better to disguise himself, one of his offi-
cers, a tall commanding figure, was instructed to assume a su-
perior air. Ivan having for some moments attentively remarked
the unusual visitors who entered his cell, suddenly threw him-
self at the feet of Peter: “Czar, exclaimed he, “you are mas-
ter here; mitigate the severity of my fate. Many years have I
languished in this gloomy dungeon. I ask no other favour than
to be permitted at times to breathe a freer air.’ ‘Rise, prince,”
replied Peter, touched at his request, and gently striking him
on the shoulder, “suffer no anxiety for the future. All the
means in my power shall be used for the melioration of your
fate. But, tell me, do you recollect the misfortunes of your
earlier youth?’ ‘Of those which befel my infancy, returned
Ivan, “I have scarce any idea; but, from the moment I became
sensible of my misery, I have not ceased to mingle my tears
with those of my parents, of whose calamities I was the
wretched cause. From their sufferings and ill-treatment, ha-
rassed from prison to prison, proceeded my keenest tormen
“Ah!’ exclaimed the czar, “whence came that ill-treatmel
*From the officers by whom we were conducted, an








374 CATHERINE II.
were among the most barbarous of mankind.” “Do you re-
member their names?’ ‘Alas! we were not curious to learn
them: content to render, on our bended knees, thanks to
Heaven, when men of a less savage temper superseded these
monsters!” “What! did you never fall into more humane
hands: “One only deserves to be distinguished; to him our
esteem was due, and we deplored his loss: his good-nature,
his kind attentions, will never be effaced from my remem-
brance.” “And you know not the name of this worthy man?”
eagerly asked the czar. ‘Oh, yes! I remember him well Korff
was the name he bore.’ -
ery man, master of the Petersburgh police, was
among those by whom the emperor was attended. He melted
into tears at this simple testimony to his worth; while the
czar, taking him by the arm, said in a broken voice, ‘You see,
baron, a good action is never lost.” To recover from this emo-
tion, Peter went out with Korff and two of his officers, leaving
the third with the prisoner. “How came you hither, prince?”
said this gentleman addressing Ivan. “Who can be secure
against robbers?’ replied the prince. ‘An order, from whom
we know not, is brought to the prison where I reside with my
parents. The ruffians fall upon my family, bear me from the
only persons in the world whom I knew, in whom I confided,
and to whom I was dear. Alas! how piercing were my cries,
how bitter my regrets! How do my family, if they yet survive,
lament the fate of their son and brother!” “What think you,'
asked the officer, “will be the fate of our new emperor’ “To
judge from my idea of the Russian character, not more happy
than my own. That foreign princes would be hated and de-
hroned by the treacherous and haughty Russ, was among the
first lessons impressed by my parents upon my mind.”
The czar and his companions now re-entered, accompani-
ed by the commandant, whom, in the presence of Ivan, Peter
essed: “From this moment I order you to give to the
nce all the satisfactions he shall require, and that he shall
e allowed to walk, and to amuse himself within the precincts
of th fortress. Written orders, containing farther particulars,
be sent to you, by which your conduct is henceforth to be
ed, in what respects his sacred person.”
:oming out of the chamber, the emperor went over the




















CATHERINE II. 375
fortress, and gave directions for the constructing an edifice in
which to lodge the prisoner. ‘Let it run,' said he, ‘in a straight
line, from wall to wall of this angle of the fort: let nine rooms
be formed in front, and let the remaining space, to the extre-
mity of the angle, be occupied by a garden, in which he may
recreate himself, and find in the open air some alleviation to
the severity of his confinement. When the building is com-
pleted, I will myself come and give him possession.’
These orders might possibly be given by the czar to deceive
the commandant respecting his real purpose; or a different ob-
ject might occupy his thoughts: this edifice, in the opinion of
many, was designed for Catherine. Peter paid one visit
to the prince before he quitted Schlusselburg, whence he re-
turned to Petersburgh. No one suspected the extraordinary
enterprise in which he was engaged, nor the interview so re-
cently past. The prince of Holstein, when informed by his
nephew of his visit to Schlusselburg, counselled him to send
Ivan, together with his family, into Germany. To avoid sus-
picions of his intentions, the czar affected to approve this ad-
vice; but, for the present, contented himself with removing
the prince to Kexholm, a fortress built on a small island, in the
Ladoga lake, and nearer to the capital. -
The unfortunate Ivan, on his passage to this place, nearly
escaped being wrecked, by one of those summer storms, that,
suddenly rising, dangerously agitate the lake.
The hopes of Catherine received daily accession from the
imprudence of her husband, whose designs against her, though
known but in part, emboldened her to dare every thing for
their prevention. Dismissed to Peterhoft, she passed her days.
in one of its most retired apartments, where she meditated th
dethronement of Peter: her evenings were devoted to t
company of an adherent, converted by her favour into an i
trepid conspirator. º .
The power of the czars, like all despotisms, is weakly
founded : resting on the opinions and prejudices of the go-
verned, it requires to poise it a steady hand: change of man-
ners, and a broken succession, had rendered revolutions in
Russia not more difficult than sudden. The foreign nativity of
Peter enhanced his danger, which his attention to foreign in
terests, to the prejudice of the empire, contributed








376 CATHERINE II.
Catherine had the address, since the removal of Ponia-
toffsky, to preserve in the eyes of the courtiers an apparent
fidelity to the memory of his attachment: the new predilection
with which she consoled herself was concealed from the know-
iedge of her most intimate friends. M. de Breteuil, in the per-
sausion of her constancy, degraded his dignity as ambassador,
by charging himself with her correspondence with the Pole:
even princess Dashkoff, while plotting with Orloff, was igno-
rant of his interviews with the empress; one of the most inge-
nious of whose women, and the least scrupulous, contrived to
age the connexion. 3. .
Gregory Orloff, less indebted to birth and education than
to nature and fortune, was distinguished for courage and manly
beauty. For these advantages he had been selected from a post
in the artillery, while his brothers remained soldiers in the
guards, as aid-de-camp to count Peter Schuvaloff, grand-master
of the artillery, a vain and pompous man. The handsome and
gallant aid-de-camp was favoured by one of the finest women
of the court, the princess Kourakin, whose husband took um-
brage at the condescension of the lady: the presuming Orloff
was, in consequence, banished from the presence of his mis-
tress, and threatened with a journey to Siberia. This adven-
ture became notorious, reached the retreat of Catherine,
whose curiosity was excited to see the hero, whom, though at
first unknown to him, she found means to console for his loss.
This mysterious interview was succeeded by several others,
which led to the development of more important purposes.
Orloff was, by his imperial mistress, initiated into the particu-
lars of the conspiracy formed against the czar, of which he be-
came an active and zealous member. By his means, his bro-
hers, several officers, and some companies of the guards,
were, without understanding the extent of the project, won
over to give it their support. The licentiousness of Catherine,
odious and insatiable, was not confined to Orloff; but she
knew how to distinguish talents and firmness, and in whom to
confide her daring plans. Seated on the throne, she became
the invisible, but powerful, principal of the factions formed
against the czar. To the conspiracy of Bestucheff, supported
by his nephew the prince of Volkonsky, united with count
, another was added, of which the princess Dashkoff, a











CATHERINE II. 377
*
girl only eighteen years of age, was the most active and spirited
member. Of these factions, who acted in unison, though with-
out the cognisance of each other, Catherine was the animating
spirit. -- - .
The princess, a widow, but lately returned from Moscow,
where she had been held as an exile by her husband, was des-
tined by her family to supplant her sister in the affections of
Peter: whether the lady disdained an imperial conquest, or
whether the military taste of the czar, infatuated to liquor,
and rendered gross by the fumes of tobacco, rendered him in-
sensible to her charms, it is certain the project failed.
therine the princess became more acceptable: intrigu
study of letters united them; according in their talents and in
their pursuits, they passed whole days together. On the dis-
missal of the empress to Peterhoff, her friend remained at
Petersburgh, the more effectually to serve her. A correspon-
dence was kept up between them, in which the empress was
informed of all that passed in the court and city, with the
measures proper to adopt in circumventing the designs of the
czar. Other motives, added to her friendship for the empress,
might possibly combine to animate the zeal of this fair and *
youthful conspirator: jealous of the elevation that awaited he
sister, the united interests and authority of her family proved
insufficient to divert her from a cause in which, as prime
mover, her ambition was interested. During her residence at
Moscow she had studied the languages; while, conversant
with the writings of foreign nations, she had learned to con-
temn the ignorance and grossness of her own. Young, ardent,
inexperienced, conscious of talent, and intoxicated with vanity,
she aspired to the glory of conducting a revolution, braved the
resentment of her family, defied danger, and despised death.
Her taste for the literature of France, had been flattered
and confirmed by Odart, a Piedmontese, who in search of
fortune had come to Petersburgh, and who had enlisted him-
self in the suite of the princess. Wit and a turn for intrigue
were the characteristics of this man; qualities which endeared
him to his patroness, who extolled him to the empress as
a superior genius, and a man to whom she was principally in-
debted for her acquirements. Catherine, by these eulogiums,
Vol. I. . 3 B -








HERINE II.
was induced to desire his services, and to confer on him the
title of her private secretary. From this office he was raised to
the honour of her confidence: a witness to the indignities she
suffered from the czar, he perceived in his overthrow the only
means for her escape; how this was to be accomplished, and
by whom would the attempt be hazarded, became the subject
of his meditations. He perceived at once the dangers and the
difficulties in which the project was involved; but riches and
honours opposed themselves on one side to punishment and
death on the other: avarice, the darling passion of Odart, was
not long in adjusting the balance. He addressed himself to the
princess, who had anticipated his ideas, and who received
with exultation the aid which his talents promised.
The conspirators, intoxicated with flattering hopes, pro-
mised themselves from their success the most brilliant recom-
pense. While the views of the secretary terminated in the
acquisition of wealth, the princess aspired to a more dazzling
reward: glory was her idol, which required for its gratification
the gaze of an admiring world. & º
For the execution of the conspiracy much yet was wanting;
soldiers, money, and above all a chief, who, by his name and
authority, might give dignity to their measures, and whom,
accustomed to manage the court and direct its intrigues, no
obstacles might discourage, no disappointments dismay. The
attention of the faction was turned, as men proper for their
purpose, on the hetman Cyril Razumoffsky, and count Nikita
Ivanovitch Panin. . X- . §: .
& The influence enjoyed by the former during the reign of
Elizabeth, the familiarity of the czar, which he had the art of
preserving, the post which he held, one of the first in the em-
pire, his immense riches, and liberality towards the troops,
secured his ascendency at court, and his popularity in the
army. He had little esteem for Catherine, nor did he appre-
ciate her powers, but he adhered with fidelity to his former
party. Having applauded the designs communicated to him by
the princess, he assured her, without seeming to take a direct
part in the conspiracy, that in case of necessity she might rely
on his concurrence. When, a few days afterwards, Orloff
deavoured to sound him on the subject, he gave him every
agement to espouse the cause of Catherine against her
378











CATHERINE II. 379
husband, while he intimated that her adherents might depend
on his assistance. The hetman, pleased with the rising factions,
and mentally determined to give them his support, kept the
secret both of Orloff and the princess, who had not yet
confided their views to each other. He went yet farther: *
assembling his friends on the instant, without precisely in-
forming them of what was passing, he hinted to them a plot
ripening among the troops for the dethronement of the czar;
to this he added, that in their neglect to declare themselves its
leaders, no alternative would probably remain, but to become
the forced instruments or victims of the conspiracy. His
hearers anxiously inquired on what it would be proper for.
them to determine: ‘Join me,’ replied the hetman, “the mo-
ment hostilities commence; I will take care to assign to each
of you the rank to which he has a title to aspire. The blind
intrepidity of some obscure persons is now meditating the
blow; let us watch for the instant: should they succeed, it is
for our dexterity to reap the fruit of their toils. Speak! Do you
feel yourselves disposed to follow my example?” Oaths of
allegiance were mutually given and received; and the meeting
broke up in expectation of the event. . .
To bring over count Panin now became the business of the
princess and secretary, who were earnestly recommended by
Catherine to suffer nothing to remain undone that might pro-
mote their purpose: aware of the weight which, by the name
and presence of the hetman, would in the commencement of
the affair be thrown into the scale, she was not less anxious,
for ensuring its success, to secure the experience and ability
of Panin. It was he only who, by the arts of insinuation,
could moderate the impetuosity of the princess, inflame the
hatred of Razumoffsky, direct the avarice of Odart, and jus-
tify, in appearance, the conspiracy, by annexing to it the name
of his pupil, the young grand-duke. Odart was commissioned
to propose to Panin a concurrence with their designs; when,
prompted by a motive more powerful than the interest of Ca-
therine, he readily promised all that was required of him.
Prince Volkonsky, major-general of the guards, was by an
application from princess Dashkoff brought over to the par
in which the archbishop of Novogorod, just recalled fr
exile, and irritated by his punishment, the sense of which








CATHERINE II.
remission was insufficient to efface, was also engaged. The
powerful engine of superstition was employed by the prelate
in aid of the conspirators: the monks under his command
sowed in the hearts of their disciples the seed of disloyalty,
and taught them to consider their prince as the enemy of the
national church. % . - *...
To secure a part of the troops, the princess Dashkoff, un-
derpretence of paying her compliments to some officers of her
acquaintance, visited the barracks. It was there she was met
by Orloff, when a mutual explanation took place. The prin-
cess, flattering herself with having gained Orloff to her party,
suspected not his connexion with Catherine, or even that he
was known to her: to her fancied acquisition, the brothers of
Orloff, with many others long prepared by him for the pur-
pose, were joined. -
When Odart informed the empress of their success, of
which her lover had already apprised her, she was careful not
to offend the vanity of the princess by appearing to have anti-
cipated the good tidings. One only among the factious re-
quired no management or prepossession. Gleboff, raised by
the czar from the lowest form of chicane to the office of pro-
curer-general to the senate, observing a host of foes uniting to
attack his benefactor, a force which he believed he would be
unable to stem, determined to add cruelty to treachery and
ingratitude, and to join his interest to that of the conspirators:
looking around him for an opportunity of effecting his pur-
pose, and having discovered the correspondence between Odart
and princess Dashkoff, he hastened to proffer to them his
services. . .
Different measures, according to their different characters,
were proposed by the conspirators for effecting their common
purpose. Some were for seizing the person of the czar, at the
palace of Peterhoff, at the conclusion of one of those festivals
which it was the custom to celebrate on the anniversary of a
favourite saint: others, more ferocious, insisted on his assassi-
nation in the midst of his courtiers. .
The succession, and the methods by which the place of
e fallen prince should be supplied, became no less a subject
isputation. Catherine aspired to the vacant throne, and was
ported in her pretensions by Orloff and the princess. That
al
















CATHERINE II. 381
a *.
she should be permitted to govern under the title of regent,
was proposed by Panin, while that of emperor should devolve
on her son. With this opinion the hetman Razumoffsky coin-
cided. Panin had the courage to remonstrate with the empress
on this subject, and to point out to her where her ambition
ought to stop. He reminded her of her declarations of aspiring
but to the title of mother of the emperor, of her foreign ex-
traction, and the probable discontent of the people. ‘Think
you,” added he, “that there will not be incessant plottings in
favour of the decendants of the great Peter, while one of them
languishes at the foot of the throne, and others are immured
in loathsome dungeons? Ah! madam, yield your pretensions toº
what it is unlikely you should ever attain. Be satisfied with
escaping the dangers that press on you, and justify the under-
taking in which you are about to engage, by convincing the
world that it is the interest of your son, rather than your own,
which is the object of your efforts.”
The conspirators, struck with the firmness of this address,
remained for some time silent. Orloff shuddered. Catherine
for a few moments appeared involved in reflection, when sud-
denly turning towards Panin, ‘Count,” said she, “your reason-
ing is forcible, but my sentiments remain unaltered. I know
the Russians; neither are you so unacquainted with them as
not to be aware that, provided they are governed, they care
but little about the origin of those by whom that government
is administered. They are a people who know nothing but
obedience, even when the ruling hand presses heavily upon
them. Mentchikoff, Biren, Munich, afford proofs of this asser-
tion. It is not that I thus intend to reign; no!, far from it;"
lenity and justice, by which my actions shall be guided, shall
leave no pretence for discontent: but you, who talk to me of
revolt and murmur, do you forget, that it is regencies that are
most fertile in rebellion? Had Peter III. firmness to hold the
reins of the empire, would the present conspiracy ever had
birth? You profess alarm for my son; would you then abandon
him to the caprice of a father by whom he is disavowed,
rather than trust him to the affection of a tender mother? If I
aspire to command, is it not for the welfare of my child? Is it
not that I may be able to recompense those who, like you, aid
me to defend him? Doubtless they may rely on my











382 CATHERINE II.
gratitude; but, in order to testify it, must I not have power?
That power I expect from you.”
Panin was not shaken by this artful address; opinions were
divided, and no determined measures were fixed. The motive
of Panin was sufficiently apparent; by placing his pupil on the
throne, he purposed to govern in his name, and to hold the
second place in the empire. Catherine, whose discernment
nothing escaped, gave him private assurances that he should
be appointed first minister, an engagement which was carefully
concealed from the other conspirators. .
Princess Dashkoff, Orloff, and Odart, left no means untried
for gaining Panin to their purpose. The sturdy preceptor re-
sisted their joint efforts, till his ambition was assailed by a
softer, but not, as it proved, less conquering passion. Love had
enlisted in the service of Catherine the most intrepid of her
adherents; and love prepared for her another victory. A beau-
tiful female, only eighteen years of age, who becomes the mem-
ber of a faction, possesses powers of persuasion not difficult to
appreciate: the vivacity, the talent, the spirit of madame
Dashkoff, made a powerful impression on the passions of the
statesman; while frequent conferences on the subject of their
common project had served but to fan the flame. It was not
long before the princess became acquainted with the effect of
her charms: if she received the declarations of her antiquated
lover with coldness, it was not to virtue that his difficulties
were owing. Revenge succeeded in the heart of the preceptor
to unrequited love; while he seemed to derive a pleasure in
opposing himself to the views of the author of his disappoint-
ment. Odart only, perceiving the motive of Panin's resistance,
hastened to inform the princess, who confirmed to him the
truth of his conjecture. In the familiarity of confidence, and in
their mutual zeal for the success of their schemes, madame
Dashkoff suffered a detestable sophistry to violate delicacy,
and to prevail over the feeble remains of principle which, in a
profligate court, she had yet cherished. She was pursuaded
that virtue itself ought to yield to friendship, and that it ac-
corded with the heroism of her character to render her charms
bservient to her ambition. Convinced by arguments so con-






CATHERINE II. . 383.
temptible, she assented to whatever was proposed, and the
obstinacy of Panin melted away in the fires of love."
The conspirators thus agreed, determined on the execution
of their plan; to effect which soldiers, rather than chiefs, were
wanting. It became important to gain over the guards, by
which measure the czar would be left defenceless. Three
companies of the regiment of Ismailoff were already seduced;
but these were insufficient for their purpose, and by money only
could they hope to corrupt others. The empress, scarcely
capable of supporting the expenses of her household, com-
missioned Odart, in concert with the princess Dashkoff, to
apply for a supply to M. de Breteuil, so long her confidant
and her dupe, and who was preparing to leave Petersburgh.
Aware of a conspiracy on foot, but ignorant of the springs
which gave it motion, Breteuil doubted its success, and hesitat-
ed to advance the sixty thousand rubles, which Catherine de-
manded of the king his master. But fearing to wound the
empress by a formal refusal, and distrustful of her secretary,
whom he regarded as an adventurer, he studied for evasion,
and desired her majesty might be assured, that the king' of
France would esteem the opportunity of affording her a proof
of his attachment a pleasure, and that her request should be
communicated to him without delay. With this message he
sent the form of a note, which he drew up to be copied by
Catherine. Odart, believing that the empress would not scruple
the form proposed by the ambassador, promised this to M. de
Breteuil, in her name. Catherine, offended at the distrust im-
plied by such a measure, and the delay it would necessarily
occasion, vouchsafed no reply. The ambassador, having wait-
ed some days in vain, set out from Russia and proceeded to
Vienna, where he received from Versailles the first news of the
success of the conspirators, and an order to return to Peters-
burgh. The instant of his departure, a note had been privately
delivered to Berenger, the charge d'affaires, couched in the
following terms: º
* This account is possibly a calumny. By many persons who attended the
courts of Elizabeth, Peter III. and Catherine, it is affirmed that, whatever
might be the eccentricities of this lady, no imputations could, with justice
(though a widow at eighteen), be thrown on her chastity. . ...:*::::::::::::
+ The French minister.




ow. CATHERINE II.
“The intended purchase will be speedily made, but at a
cheaper rate; we have therefore no need of other supplies.”
The situation of Catherine was at this moment terrible.
The dread of treachery or accident by which her designs
might be betrayed, the apprehensions of an arrest, of dethrone-
ment, of seclusion for life, by turns harassed her with the most
restless inquietude. Peter, sporting on the brink of a precipice,
was intent only on his pleasures; yet he was not unmindful of
the unhappy Ivan, who, by his orders, had been secretly
brought to Petersburgh and lodged in an obscure house, where,
during the night, he received visits from the czar, accompanied
by two of his confidants. -
The fleet destined to act against Denmark being completely
equipped, one division remained at Cronstadt, while the other
waited at Revel. The regiments by which this expedition was
to be followed were already in Pomerania, where others were
on the march to join them: every thing was prepared for the
invasion of Holstein. Peter was delighted with the idea of a
conquest by which he would be enabled to pay his respects to
his friend and model, the Prussian monarch, whose envoy he
treated with the most extravagant adulation. The day for his
departure was fixed by the czar on that following the festival
of Paul and Peter, which it was the custom to celebrate at
Peterhoff, and at the end of which it was planned that the em-
press should be arrested. Two days before the czar was hurl-
ed from the throne, it is said that he held in his debauch the
following discourse: “Of what use are all those petty sove-
reigns of Europe? What are they:
'. In future, I am resolved,
here shall be in this part of the world only three powers,
ssia, Prussia, and France. The north shall be mine, the
king of Prussia shall have Germany, and the rest shall belong
to France?” “But why, observed a courtier, “is France put
by your majesty into the division?’ ‘Oh! yes,” replied the czar,
“France also is a great nation.” -
The friends of Catherine, informed of all that passed in the
court, were vigilant to defeat its purposes: while Peter re-
º gnorant of their designs, they watched for the moment
n, a moment which chance accelerated. Waiting in in-
it security the feast at Peterhoff, the emperor had repaired
nienbaum, his country palace, to pass a few days, ac-














CATHERINE II.
companied by some of the most beautiful women of the court.
Scandalous and absurd reports were propagated on this occa-
sion, which served to increase the partizans of Catherine,
and to excite against her husband new disgusts. It had been
first determined by the conspirators to seize the czar on his
return to Petersburgh, but, in a new deliberation, it was agreed
that delay might occasion danger, and that their plan might be
executed with an equal prospect of success on the arrival of
the emperor at Peterhoff. -
This project, so well concerted, in which each of the par-
ties concerned relied no less on the fidelity of his adherents
than on his own courage and firmness, was suddenly and un-
expectedly revealed. A discovery, not effected by chance, but
by a caprice of fortune, emboldened rather than discouraged
the conspirators, and, by precipitating their movements, secured
their success. By an excess of precaution, a person had been
commissioned by madame Dashkoff and Odart to watch the
steps of the chiefs of the revolt, that, on the detection of
treachery, instant measures of vengeance and security might
be adopted. Passick, a lieutenant, had gained the soldiers of a
company of guards to which he belonged: one of these men,
upon a supposition of the concurrence of his captain, simply
demanded of him on what day they were to take up arms
against the czar? The captain surprised, yet dissembling, an-
swered the soldier in vague terms, by which he drew from him.
the secret, a disclosure which he instantly reported to the
chancery of the regiment. Passick, at nine in the evening,
the hour of the discovery, being put under an arrest, wrote
with his pencil on a scrap of paper, in a room where he
was previously thrust, the following sentence: ‘Proceed this
instant to execution, or we are undone.” The spy, who watch-
ed his motions, presented himself at the door. Passick, to
whom he was unknown, perceiving every thing must be
hazarded, gave him the billet, with a charge to convey it
d be
speedily to the hetman Razumoffsky, by whom he woul
well recompensed. The man hastened to princess Das
and put into her hand the paper. Panin, by accident, en
at the same moment. The princess was instantly deterſ
by the advice of the soldier, observing that, however
might be the czar, they had no other means of safety: sh
VoI. I. w 3 [.
#












CATHERINE II.
time be allowed him for defence, their ruin was inevitable.
Panin, whether deficient in courage and activity, or doubtful
of the success of the enterprise, opposed this reasoning, and,
after declaring his resolution to take till the next day to delibe-
rate on the measures proper to be pursued, withdrew.
The agents of the princess had, in the mean time, apprised
the conspirators of what had happened. On the departure of
Panin, the youthful heroine, dressed in man's apparel, issued
out to join on the green bridge Orloff and his friends, whom.
she had been in the habit of meeting thus disguised. These
she found no less uneasy than herself, and equally eager for
the execution of the plot: a delay till the morrow appeared to
them all pregnant with the most fatal consequences. The period
fixed on for action was in the silence of the night, before the
czar had been allowed time for prevention, or the people to
arm in his defence. Orloff, his brother, and a friend, hastened
to the barracks to prepare the soldiers for the signal, while his
second brother accepted the perilous commission of seeking
the empress at Peterhoff. ×
Catherine, under pretence of leaving the apartments free for
the approaching feast, had retired to a summer-house remote
from the preparations, at the foot of which runs a canal com-
municating with the Neva. Here she had caused to be fastened,
as without design, a small boat, that occasionally facilitated the
visits of her favourites, and which in an extremity might aid
her escape. Orloff, having entrusted to his brother a key of
this summer-house, instructed him in the methods of rendering
it useful; while the princess Dashkoff charged him with a note
to engage the empress to join them with speed.
It was two in the morning, when Catherine, ignorant of
what was passing, and lulled in a profound sleep, found her-
self suddenly roused by a soldier to whose person she was a
stranger, and who stood by the side of her bed: “Your ma-
jesty,’ said he, neglecting in his haste to deliver the note, “ has
not a moment to lose; arise, get ready and follow me.’ Having
thus spoken, he instantly disappeared. The empress, astonish-
nd terrified, called her favourite woman; having dressed
aste, they disguised themselves so as to be unknown to
ntinels. Scarcely were they prepared when the soldier
d, from whom the º “ . .
learned that a carraige awaited them
ğ. >










CATHERINE II. 387
at the garden gate. They found there a coach which, by the
princess Dashkoff, had been kept in readiness, under pretence
of a rural excursion, at the house of one of her peasants a few
miles from Peterhoff, and for which Alexey, the brother of
Orloff, had sent a comrade. 3. *
Catherine, with her attendant, having entered the carriage
the reins were seized by Alexey, who set off at full speed. One,
of the horses being over driven, suddenly stopped and fell.
They were compelled to alight, while Alexey, with his com-
panion, employed every effort to cheer the animal, but in vain.
The distance from Petersburgh was still considerable; the
danger and confusion in the midst of the darkness became
every moment more frightful. In this dilemma, they determi-
ned to proceed on foot, but had not walked far when they espied
a light country cart. The brother of Orloff seized on the horses,
the empress mounted, and they set off as before. Another car-
riage was presently heard, rattling after them with unusual ra-
pidity; in it was Orloff, who, calculating the moments, was
alarmed at the delay of the empress: he no sooner perceived
them than, crying out that they waited only for her, he drove
on, without staying for a reply, to receive her at Petersburgh.
Catherine, nearly exhausted by anxiety and fatigue, yet com- * . . . . . .
manding herself enough to assume a sedate and tranquil air,
reached the city at seven in the morning (July 9, 1762).
She proceeded immediately to the quarters of the Ismailoff
guards, of which three companies had been won over to her
party: but they were not permitted, by the chiefs of the con-
spiracy, to leave the barracks till the appearance of the empress,
lest precipitation should ruin their plan. At the report of her
arrival, thirty of the soldiers, half-dressed, ran out to receive .
her with shouts of joy. Alarmed at the smallness of the num-
ber, she hesitated for a moment, and at length assured them,
in a tremulous voice, “That she had been driven by her dan-
ger to the necessity of asking their assistance; that her death,
together with that of her son, had been decreed by the czar
that very night; that flight had been her only means of
escape; and that her confidence in their attachment had
her to put herself into their hands!' Her auditors trembled
with indignation, and swore to die in her defence.
Their example, with that of the hetman their color
presently joined them, collected others, who, led by cur
% 3.33:







CATHERINE II.
flocked about the empress in great numbers, and with one con-
sent declared her sovereign. The chaplain of the regiment being
immediately summoned, a crucifix was brought from the altar,
on which the oath of the troops was received. Amidst the tu-
mult some voices were heard proclaiming Catherine regent,
but these were overborne-by the threats of Orloff, and the
more numerous cries of “Long live the empress!”
The Simeonofsky and the Preobaginsky had already imi-
tated the Ismailoff guards: the officers placed themselves with
docility at the head of their companies, as if pre-engaged in
the plot. Two only had the courage to stand out, and these
were instantly arrested. Among those who had been gained
over, major Ischapeloff and lieutenant Poushtein were only
wanting, to whom the empress sent an order of arrest, coldly
observing she had no farther use for them. While princess
Dashkoff, the hetman, and other nobles and officers remained
about Catherine, and completely secured the regiments of
guards, Orloff ran to that of the artillery, to draw it to the aid
of the empress: but, though treasurer of the corps, and belov-
ed by the soldiers, they unanimously refused to follow him,
insisting on seeing the orders of their general Villebois. The
general had been for some time favourably regarded by Cathe-
rine, but, having observed in him a probity too austere to
allow her a hope of his engaging in the revolt, she had not
ventured to confide to him her plans. When a friend of Orloff
appeared, with a command from her majesty to the general to
join her at the barracks, at the head of his regiment, he asked,
with surprise, if the emperor was dead? The messenger,
without answering the question, repeated his order, when Vil-
lebois, confounded, repaired alone to the barracks. On finding
Catherine surrounded by a crowd of people, he perceived at
once what was required of him; but, withheld by his fidelity
to the czar, or distrustful of the success of the empress, he
ventured to hint to her the obstacles she had yet to surmount,
and which he declared she ought to have foreseen. “I sent not
for you,' said she, haughtily interrupting him, “to inquire
I ought to have foreseen, but to demand how you intend
To obey your majesty,’ replied Villebois in confusion,
ut himself at the head of his regiment, and
the arsenals to the adherents of Catherine.
e advantages were attained within two hours. The



















cATHERINE II.
empress already beheld herself surrounded by tw.
warriors, and a large proportion of the inhabitants of º
burgh, who mechanically followed the soldiers. By the advic
of the hetman, she repaired to the church of Kasan, where
every thing had been prepared for her reception. As she
passed along, attended by a numerous suite, the windows and
doors were crowded with spectators, who mingled their accla-
mations with the shouts of the troops. The archbishop of No-
vogorod, arrayed in his sacerdotal robes, accompanied by a
train of priests, to whom long beards and hoary heads gave a
venerable appearance, waited at the altar to receive her,
placed on her head the imperial crown, and, in a loud voice,
proclaimed her, under the name of Catherine II. sovereign of
all the Russias; declaring at the same time the young grand-
duke, Paul Petrovitch, to be her successor. A Te Deum was.
then chanted, accompanied by the shouts of the multitude.
The empress, after the ceremony, proceeded to the palace,
so lately occupied by Elizabeth. The gates were thrown open
to the people, who, during several hours, flocked thither,
and, falling on their knees before Catherine, took the oath of
allegiance. .
The conspirators, in the mean time, were unwearied in
their visits to the several quarters of the town, which they put
in a state of defence: every where a guard was stationed, and
cannons placed with lighted matches, without any opposition
or interruption. Prince George of Holstein, uncle to the em-
peror, having ventured out with a few faithful adherents, was
surrounded and compelled to surrender, loaded with insults,
and dragged to prison, whence, after some hours, he was d
livered by the empress, who had him kept under an arrest in
his own house. º .
While the partizans of Catherine triumphed without re-
sistance, the czar remained ignorant of all that was passing, of
which none of his friends had thought of informing him. One
man only, Bressan, a foreigner, who owed to Peter his fortune,
had the courage to prove his grateful fidelity: he gave to a
domestic, whom he disguised as a countryman, a writt
paper, with orders to deliver it into the hands of the cza
The messenger chanced to pass just as the conspirators were
placing a guard on the Kalinka bridge, over the Fontanka,















which, in going out on that side of the city, it is necessary to
cross. Having escaped their notice, he proceeded rapidly to
Oranienbaum, which, on his arrival, he found the emperor
had quitted; upon this intelligence he hastened on in quest of
him to Peterhoff. &: *ś º
Every circumstance seemed to concur in favour of the re-
volution. On the road to Peterhoff, at some distance from
Petersburgh, a regiment was encamped of sixteen hundred
men, wholly unconnected with the revolt; on the tidings of
which, it was feared, they would be ordered by the czar to
break up their camp, and join his Holstein troops. Measures
were scarcely planned to avert this catastrophe, when the
colonel of the regiment, whom confused reports had reached
of what was passing in the city, appeared at Petersburgh. The
conspirators, surrounding him, spoke with enthusiasm of their
enterprise, of its beneficial purport and probable success. The
colonel, convinced by their arguments, or overpowered by
their solicitude, returned to surrender his regiment to the
empress. While haranguing his men for this purpose, an order
from the czar commanded his presence and the aid of his
troops: the soldiers, confounded, cried out unanimously, they
no longer acknowledged the authority of Peter; having said
which, they began their march to join the revolters.
Before the close of day, Catherine was in possession of
fifteen thousand choice troops: the city was in a state of
defence, order prevailed, and no blood had been shed. Her
interest had been principally promoted in consequence of a re-
port, spread by her adherents on every side, that she had, to-
gether with her son, been destined to death by the czar, on
that very day; a rumour received without proof, and believed
without investigation. Catherine, when arrived at the palace,
sent instantly for the young grand-duke; a detachment, headed
by a trusty officer, was dispatched for the purpose. The prince,
who had been frequently told of the designs of the czar against
him, was, on awakening in the midst of the soldiers, seized
with terror. He was carried in the arms of Panin to his
other, who, leading him into the balcony, held him up to the
ople, whose acclamations were redoubled at the sight.
A rumour was on a sudden spread through the multitude
Peter III. was no more, and that the procession with his
*









CATHERINE II. 391
body was then passing. To the shouts of the people succeed-
ed on this report the most profound silence. Several soldiers,
covered with long black clokes and bearing torches in their
hands, now appeared on each side a coffin, over which hung a
pall, preceded by priests, chanting litanies as the procession
moved forward, while the crowd fell back respectfully on
either side. It was not doubted afterwards, that this mock
tragedy was a stratagem of the conspirators for deceiving the
people and appalling the friends of the czar.
The principal nobles, the greater part of whom had no
share in the conspiracy, on learning its success at their rising
in the morning, resorted to the palace, where, compelled by
interest to disguise their feelings, they did homage to the
empress. 3. . Ž
A council was next held by the heads of her faction, who,
to profit by the dispositions of the army, resolved to march
immediately against the czar. To secure in the mean time
Catherine from danger, and calm the fears of the soldiers on
her account, they conducted her to an old palace, built with
timber, facing a large open plain, which they surrounded with
troops. Towards noon the empress, assured of Petersburgh,
caused a manifesto, which had been secretly printed, to be dis-
tributed through the city. A notification was next delivered
to the foreign ministers, appointing the day of their admit-
tance to court, to present their compliments of congratulation
to the empress. .
During these transactions, Catherine, decorated with the
insignia of the order of St. Andrew, habited in the uniform of
the guards (borrowed for the occasion of Taliezin, a young
officer), and mounted on horseback, rode through the ranks,
accompanied by the princess Dashkoff, similarly apparelled.
It was at this instant that Potemkin, a youth only sixteen years
of age, and ensign in the regiment of horse-guards, perceiving
the hat of the empress without a plume, rode up and with
great gallantry offered to her his own. His horse, accustomed
to form into a squadron, could not for some time be made to
quit the side of that on which Catherine was mounted,
observed with admiration the grace and courage with wh
the restive animal was managed by his rider.
The troops, supplied with beer and brandy, expressed their





CATHE
satisfaction in the presence of their sovereign, by reiterated
shouts and other marks of vociferous joy. In this tumult a
regiment of cavalry, in which the czar, while yet grand-duke,
had served as a colonel, and which on his accession to the
throne he had incorporated with the guards, was observed to
take no part. The officers having refused to Catherine the oath
of allegiance, had been put under arrest, and replaced by those
of another regiment: the sullen silence of these honest and
grateful soldiers, contrasted the noisy intemperance of their
venal fellows. Nothing being apprehended from so small a
* party, the troops began their march against the czar. The
empress, near an open window, dined in view of the soldiers
and the people, whom curiosity had brought before the palace.
Peter remained yet unsuspicious of all that was passing:
lulled into a fatal security, he had in the morning ordered the
arrest of an officer, who, faithful to his interest, had the pre-
ceding evening hastened to inform him of what was on foot.
He had, with his mistress, his favourites, and the women of the
--- out from Oranienbaum, in a calash, for Peterhoff,
. esent on the festival of the ensuing day. The carriage
of the czar, attended by others, proceeded rapidly, while the
º company within amused themselves with the idea of their ex-
pected pleasure. In the midst of this thoughtless mirth, Gudo-
vitch, the general aid-de-camp, who had galloped forward, was
perceived returning at full speed. He had been met on the
road by a chamberlain of the empress, coming on foot to his
master, to inform him of her escape, and the perplexity which
had in consequence filled the palace of Peterhoff. Gudovitch,
who had turned back at this intelligence, as he approached the
carriage of the czar, called to the driver to stop. Peter surpris-
ed, and somewhat angry, inquired if he was mad? The aid-de-
camp, coming close to the calash, whispered some words in
his ear. The czar changed colour, appeared agitated, alighted
the carriage, and drew Gudovitch aside, to interrogate him
with more freedom. Having thus done, he returned, handed
adies from the calash, and pointing out to them a gate of
rk through which they might join him at the front of
ce, resumed his seat with some of his courtiers, and
. #
is arrival at Peterhoff, he ran to the pavilion which
























cATHERINE II. 398
Catherine had occupied, and in his confusion sought minutely
for her. Every person was distracted by his questions, but
from none could he gain satisfaction. The sagacious foresaw
already the extent of his misfortune, but, not daring to in-
crease the alarm, continued silent. His mistress, with the la-
dies, proceeded through the garden walk, ignorant of the
motive which had induced the czar to leave them on the road.
“Now,’ cried he aloud, on perceiving the countess, “now,
Romanovna, will you believe me? Catherine has escaped! I
told you there was nothing of which she was not capable.”
Some boors, returned from Petersburgh, were in the mea
while relating to a group of valets what they had witnessed in
the city: the domestics whispered among themselves respect-
ing this intelligence, which they ventured not to d
to their master or to his courtiers. A gloomy distrust
around; it seemed as if every heart presaged the fate that im-
pended. The czar, confounded and dismayed, forbore to make
farther inquiry respecting events of which no one dared to
give him information.
In the midst of this dreadful stillness, a countryman made
his way through the affrighted group, and havingbowed his body,
in the accustomed form of salutation, drew from his bosom,
without uttering a word, a sealed note, which he presented to
Peter. This man was the domestic dispatched by Bressan.
The czar ran his eye hastily over the paper, and then read its
contents aloud, by which those standing round him were in-
formed, that an insurrection had broken out in the morning at
Petersburgh, that the troops had taken arms in favour of Ca-
therine, that she was about to be crowned in the church of
Kasan, and that the people took part with the soldiers. .
These tidings appeared to affect the czar with considerable
depression; his courtiers vainly endeavoured to cheer his
spirits, and to communicate to him a courage of which they
were not themselves possessed. Vorontzoff, the chancellor,
observed, that it was probable, however Catherine might try
to fan the flame, this fermentation might prove but of slight
consequence; that, with permission from the czar, he w
hasten to Petersburgh, and engage to bring back with h
empress. Peter, without hesitation, accepted this rash prop
and the chancellor departed to execute his engagement.
Vol. I. 3 D * ..., .












CATHERINE II.
On entering the palace, Vorontzoff found Catherine sur-
rounded by a multitude, in the act of doing homage: he had
nevertheless the temerity to represent to her the danger to
which he believed she exposed herself: ‘You may,” said he,
“madam, have some success, but it will be of short duration.
Is it acting wisely to trust to the blind zeal of imprudent
friends, for the sake of sharing with them a momentary
triumph? Is it prudent to make of your husband a mortal
enemy? Why take up arms, when, by your superior mind, and
the gentleness of persuasion, you can with ease obtain all that
you desire? The regiments of the guards compose not the
whole army, and of the Russian empire the inhabitants of
Petersburgh are butan inconsiderable part.” To this harangue,
Catherine calmly replied: “You see how it is; I do nothing;
I yield but to the ardent sensibility of the empire.’ Vorontzoff,
who perceived the crowd every instant increasing, and who, in
the looks of those around him, read the consequences with
which his perseverance might be attended, forgot with his
duty his boast to his master, and, yielding to the torrent, in
his turn took the oaths of allegiance: ‘I will serve you in the
council, madam,’ added he, “but I am useless in the field. My
presence may be offensive to those who heard me address you:
that I may avoid exciting jealousy, I intreat to be allowed to
remain in my house at home, under the guard of a trusty
officer.’ This request was immediately granted. The chan-
cellor, by a precaution so prudent, was secured alike from the
partizans of Catherine, and the suspicions of the czar.
At six in the evening, the empress mounted her horse a
second time: with a drawn sword in her hand, and her temples
bound with oak leaves, she hastened to place herself at the
head of her troops, already on their march. On either side of
her, rode princess Dashkoff and the hetman Razumoffsky; a
crowd of courtiers followed in her train, who vied with each
r in the ardour with which they shared her danger and par-
bk in her triumph. Her army was augmented by three thou-
sand Kosacs, well mounted, who being, by the orders of the
, about to file off towards Pomerania, had been stopped
ir way by a messenger from the hetman, and brought
join the conspirators.
hile these events were passing in the city, Peter, after
















the departure of Vorontzoff, had remained a prey to the most
cruel suspense and inquietude. In expectation every moment
of receiving news, it became no longer possible to doubt of
what had happened. Surrounded by weeping women, and
young courtiers, equally incapable of affording aid, he travers-
ed the garden with restless strides: twenty different plans were,
in the same hour, formed and abandoned; in dictating useless
manifestoes, in imprecating vengeance against Catherine, he
alternately occupied and wasted the time. Dinner was at length
announced, which he commanded to be served up on the
margin of the sea; and here, for a moment, the cruel reflections
by which he was harassed appeared to suffer a respite. But this
interval was of no long duration: his appalled imagination
again presented the evils which menaced him; an order was
dispatched to the three thousand Holsteiners, left at Oranien-
baum, to hasten, with the artillery, to the aid of their master.
It was at this instant, that the venerable marshal Munich
made his appearance. The great military reputation of this
officer rendered him the only person capable, in the present
juncture of affairs, of re-animating the drooping spirits of the
czar: “Your majesty’s troops are coming,” said the veteran
commander; ‘let us put ourselves at their head, and march
straight to Petersburgh. You have yet there many friends; on
your appearance, they will arm in your defence. The guards
have been misled into a momentary alienation, and will soon
rally around your standard. Be assured, should we be forced
to action, the palm of victory will not long be disputed with
you by the rebels.”
The resolution of the marshal was more flattering to the
czar, than acceptable to the timid train by which he was
surrounded: they were preparing to commence their march,
when news was brought of the approach of the empress, whose
army, it was affirmed, consisted of twenty thousand men.
The women cried out to return to Oranienbaum; while Peter
hesitated whether to expose his person. “If you wish,” said
Munich, “to decline the battle, remain not here to be attacked, ,
where you have no means of defence. Neither Peterhoff nor
Oranienbaum can stand a siege; but a retreat is offered you
by Cronstadt. Cronstadt is yet under your command; you
have there a fleet and a numerous garrison. It is from Cron-




stadt that you will find but little difficulty in restoring Peters-
burgh to its duty.’ -
This advice being unanimously approved, general Devier
was dispatched, in a boat, to take upon himself the command
of Cronstadt. Two yachts were scarcely prepared for the
accommodation of the czar, when an officer came to assure
him of the fidelity of the place. Peter, who, in idea, already
beheld Catherine at the gates of Peterhoff, precipitately embark-
ed, followed by the brave Munich and the timid court. A
fatality seemed suspended over the head of the unfortunate
czar: a few hours had completely changed the face of affairs;
the fleet and garrison of Cronstadt, by which Devier had been
received with shouts of joy, and oaths of fealty to his master,
had already broke out in revolt; Devier was deposed and
imprisoned; and this shifting scene had been effected by a
stratagem. &
In the commencement of the insurrection, and amidst the
measures primarily adopted for its success, no one had thought
of Cronstadt. It was past noon ere the importance of the place
occurred to recollection; some person at length remarked on
the error of this neglect. No time was to be lost: Admiral
Taliezin offered himself for the enterprise. Having embarked
in a long-boat, and expressly forbidden the rowers to mention
whence they came, he arrived at Cronstadt. General Devier,
expecting the emperor, kept watch: perceiving the boat of
Taliezin, he ran forward to meet him, with a view of discover- .
ing whether he was of the party of Catherine. Taliezin not less
artful, affected ignorance of what had happened, pretending "
that, having heard at his country-house confused rumours of
disturbances at Petersburgh, he was hastening to the fleet,
whither his duty called him. Devier, believing his story, suf-
fered him to pass. The admiral, instantly repairing to the
quarter of the seamen, harangued them on what had passed,
on the success of the empress and the justice of her cause:
indy and money, more efficacious than words, having com-
pleted their conversion, they engaged, without difficulty, to ar-
rest the commandant. Some soldiers joined their forces to
those of the seamen: Devier was hurled into prison, and
zin, in the name of the empress, made master of a place,
by which the salvation of the czar could only have been
effected. º ~














CATHERINE II.
At the moment of this transaction, Peter presented him-
self at the mouth of the harbour; but dispositions were al-
ready made to prevent his coming on shore. The coast was
lined by a part of the garrison under arms; cannons were
levelled and matches lighted. As the foremost yacht cast an-
chor, the sentinel cried out, ‘Who comes there?’ ‘The empe-
ror,” was the reply from the vessel. “There is no emperor,”
retorted the sentinel. Peter, starting forward, threw back his
cloke, displaying the badge of his order: “Do you not know
me?’ exclaimed he. “No!’ shouted a thousand voices, “we
know of no emperor: Long live the empress Catherine!” The
admiral then threatened to sink the yacht, if it did not instantly
put off. The czar was retiring in consternation, when Gudo-
vitch,” taking him by the arm, laid hold on one of the timbers
at the entrance of the mole, “Place your hand by the side of
mine,” said he intrepidly, “let us leap on shore. None will
dare to fire on you, and Cronstadt shall still be yours.” Munich
seconded this advice, but in vain: Peter, in his dismay, would
hear of nothing but flight, and ran to hide himself with the
women in the cabin. Without allowing themselves time to
raise the anchor, the cable was cut, and the boat rowed off. ,
The rowers, when they had gained a distance from the
port, rested on their oars. It was a fine night, and Munich and
Gudovitch, sitting on the deck, contemplated the starry hea-
vens and the calm surface of the waters in silent sorrow. The
steersmen entered the cabin to inquire of the unhappy mo-
narch, whither he would be pleased to direct the vessel? Peter,
ordering Munich to be called, thus addressed him: ‘I perceive
that I was too late in following your advice; but you see the
extremity to which I am reduced. You, who have escaped so
many dangers inform me, I beseech you, how I am to act?”
“Proceed immediately, replied Munich, “to join the squadron
at Revel; thence take shipping to Pomerania; put yourself at
the head of your army; return to Russia; and I will enga •
that, in six weeks, Petersburgh and the empire will subm
themselves to you.” This bold and manly advice was ove
ruled by the women and courtiers, as if combined to ruin their
pusillanimous master. With one accord they cried out, that
* Peter’s aid-de-oamp.






sos CATHERINE II.
the rowers could not hold sut to Revel. “Well, then,” said the
brave marshal, “we will all row with them.” The timid or
treacherous court still shrunk, and joined to assure the czar,
that he had magnified the danger; that Catherine was only
... desirous of coming to an accommodation; that to negotiate
would be safer than to resist. Peter, yielding to remonstrances
that flattered his imbecility, ordered the pilot to steer for
Oranienbaum. .
It was four in the morning when they reached the palace,
from which some of the domestics came in alarm to receive
them. Commanding them not to divulge the news of his re-
turn, Peter shut himself in his chamber, prohibiting any inter-
ruption, where he employed himself in writing secretly to the
empress. At ten o’clock he came forth with an aspect more
composed: those of his Holstein guards who had returned to
Oranienbaum, hastened to surround him, shedding tears of
joy and affection; embracing his knees and kissing his hands,
they entreated him to march them against the troops of the
empress, swearing they were ready, to a man, to sacrifice their
lives in his defence. Munich, seizing the occasion, once more
tried his influence, and exhorted Peter to make a courageous
stand. ‘Come,' cried he, “march against the rebels: I will
go before you; their swords shall reach you but through my
body.” The cowardice of Peter had doomed him to death; the
gallantry of the veteran marshal, and the noble devotedness of
the soldiers, proved alike ineffectual to save him from his fate.
During these transactions, Catherine, at the head of her
army, had halted at a small public house by the road side, eight
versts from Petersburgh; under this humble shelter she re-
posed r some hours on the cloaks of the officers. Gregory
}rloff, at break of day, with a few volunteers, had reconnoi-
tred the environs of Peterhoff: finding there only some pea-
sants, armed with scythes, who had collected the preceding
evening, he dispersed them by blows with the flat of his sabre,
pelling them to join in the cry of “Long live the empress.”
Catherine, mounted on horseback, at five in the morning,
: to the monastery of St. Sergius, near Streina, where she
n halted. It was here that she received the letter from her
sband, in which, after acknowledging his misconduct, he
d to share with her the sovereign power. To this letter,













CATHERINE II. 399
having detained the messenger, she returned no answer, and
soon after pursued her march. . . . . .
Peter, informed of her hostile approach, ordered a horse to
be prepared, in the design of escaping, alone and disguised,
towards the frontiers of Poland. But, uniformly weak and ir-
resolute, he presently after gave orders for dismantling the
little fortress at Oranienbaum, as a mark of submission to the
victorious empress, whose mercy and pardon he implored, in
a second letter, full of humiliation and abasement. He assured
her, that he would resign, undisputed, the imperial crown;
that he asked only a pension, and liberty to retire to Holstein.
To this address no answer was vouchsafed; the compassion of
Catherine, it is not improbable, was stifled by contempt for the
pusillanimity of her husband. The chamberlain, Ismailoff, the
bearer of the letter, after some conversation with the empress,
was induced without difficulty to betray his master, to whom
he was sent back to prepare him for unconditional submission.
Ismailoff, attended by a single servant, returned to Orani-
enbaum. The czar was accompanied by his Holstein guard,
consisting of six hundred men: these were ordered to keep at
a distance. The chamberlain, with whom he shut himself up,
exhorted him to abandon his troops, and to repair to the em-
press, by whom, he assured him, he would be well received.
Peter hesitated. Ismailoff, magnifying the danger of delay,
urged his decision. The traitor prevailed: Peter suffered him-
self to be handed into a carriage, with Vorontzoff, his mistress,
and Gudovitch his aid-de-camp. They took the road to Pe-
terhoff. .
The czar vainly expected to move, by submission, the heart
of a woman whose pity he had forfeited with her respect. As
the carriage passed through the army, the Kosacs, by whom it
was first met, preserved a mournful silence: Peter experienced
a poignant emotion; the reiterated cry of “Long live Cathe-
rine!” completely sunk his desponding spirits. On stepping
from the carriage, his mistress was borne off by the soldiers,
and the ribband torn from her, with which her sister, mada
Dashkoff, was instantly decorated. Gudovitch bore the ins
offered to him with a dignified composure, reproaching
rebels with their insolence and treason. sº
The unhappy Peter, led up the grand staircase, was strip-








CATHERINE II.
ped by the attendants of the insignia of his order; his clothes
were afterwards taken from him, in the pockets of which were
found several diamonds and ornaments of jewelry. Decency
and humanity were violated by his adversaries; no respect
was paid to his person, no sympathy given to his misfortunes;
stripped to the shirt and barefoot, he remained exposed to the
brutal jests of an insolent soldiery: an old morning gown be-
ing, at length, thrown over him, he was shut up alone, in a
room of the palace, and a guard placed without the door.
Count Panin was, by a commission from the empress, ad-
mitted to a conference with the fallen monarch. Her majesty,
he told him, designed not to keep him in confinement, but, ac-
cording to his request, would send him into Holstein. To this
assurance, others were added calculated to ensnare the credu-
lous prince, who was seduced to write and sign the following
declaration, too curious to be omitted. * .
“During the short space of my absolute reign over the
empire of Russia, I became sensible of my incapacity to sustain
so heavy a burthen, and of the disproportion of my abilities to
the task of governing a great empire, either as its sovereign, or
in any other capacity. I foresaw also the troubles that must
thence have arisen; troubles that would have been followed
by the ruin of the empire, and my own eternal disgrace.
Having seriously reflected on these things, I declare, without
constraint, and in the most solemn manner, to the Russian em-
pire, and to the whole universe, that I renounce for ever the
government of the said empire, in which I desire not hereafter
gn, either as an absolute sovereign, or under any
her form or title whatsoever: that I have no wish to aspire
*reto, or to employ any means, of any kind, for such a pur-
le. As a pledge of which, I swear sincerely before God and
, to this present renunciation; written and signed
9th of June, O. S. 1762.”
A life thus purchased with ignominy, is too dearly bought;
ho is content to survive with dishonour, can scarcely be
w y gift. In vain did this miserable prince be-,
assassin of his own reputation; his merciless enemies
not yet content: Panin, having gained his purpose, left
tim, whom the hope of life seemed to have calmed. In
ning, an officer, with a strong escort, conveyed him
















CATHERINE II.
a prisoner to Ropscha, a small palace twenty versts from Pe-
terhoff. Peter had enjoyed a power, so imprudently used and
so weakly yielded, only six months. A revolution thus impor-
tant, was effected without bloodshed in one day: Catherine, a
foreigner, with no hereditary title, became, in that short space,
from the brink of destruction, possessed of absolute authority,
and sovereign mistress of an immense empire.
Numerous manifestoes immediately appeared, severely
•ondemning the conduct of the czar; reflecting but too justly
on the weakness of his personal character; and attributing to
him, with less truth, the most criminal designs. The affection
of the empress towards the Russian people was, at the same
time, strongly declared; her regard to their interests, and her
attachment to their church: religion was, on this, as on similar
occasions, profaned for the purposes of interest and ambition.
Petersburgh, since the preceding day, had remained in a
state of uncertainty and suspense; no one had informed its
inhabitants of Catherine's success. Peter had yet in the city
some friends; had he attacked and repulsed the rebels, the
citizens would have received him eagerly, to atone for their
dereliction. The foreign merchants, dreading the event, had
hastily removed on board their vessels their most valuable ef.
fects, holding themselves in readiness to embark. Towards
evening was heard a distant firing of cannon: a sudden alarm
spread through the capital; till the regularity of the report
convinced them that the sound announced triumph rather than
hostility: hope succeeded to fear, and tranquillity to inquie-
tude. º: .
Catherine passed the night at Peterhoff, no longer a cap-
tive, but a sovereign princess: the following day she received
at her levee the principal nobility, with the courtiers and wo.
men who hastened from Oranienbaum. The princess Dash-
koff, beholding among those who prostrated themselves before
the empress, her father, her brother and other relatives, ex-
claimed, ‘Pardon my family, madam, to you I sacrificed it.”
Catherine, giving them her hand to kiss, commanded them t
rise. Marshal Munich advanced from amidst the crowd, d
nified in character and venerable in age : “Was it you fe
marshal,' said Catherine, on perceiving him, ‘who wanted
Vol. I. 3 E x.






fight against me?’ ‘Yes, madam,” replied the veteran, in a firm
and manly tone, ‘could I do less for the prince who delivered
me from captivity? But, henceforward, it becomes my duty to
fight for you; to whom, with equal fidelity, I devote my ser-
Towards evening, the empress returned triumphant to Pe-
tersburgh, which she entered on horseback, preceded or fol-
lowed by the chiefs of the conspiracy. Wreaths of oak leaf
crowned the army, with whose shouts and acclamations those
of the populace mingled. The people, formed into lines,
through which the empress passed, condescendingly giving
them her hand to kiss. A number of priests had assembled
around the avenues of the palace; Catherine, according to the
custom of the country, stooped to salute the cheeks of the
principal clergy, as a testimony of high respect. For some
days after her return, she continued to court popularity by
showing herself to the public. At the senate she attended to
various causes, which were tried before her. She held her
court with a graceful dignity, that effaced the remembrance of
the past scenes; while, by the most winning address, she con-
ciliated the favour of the foreign ministers, to whom congratu-
latory audiences were given. :
Among her first cares was the sending back to Schlussel-
burg the unfortunate Ivan, from the house in which he had
been concealed : the next, to reward magnificently those to
whom she was indebted for the throne. Panin was ordained
first minister; on the Orloffs was bestowed the title of count,
among whom, Gregory, the favourite brother, was appointed
lieutenant-general of the Russian armies, and chevalier of St.
; xander Nefsky, the second order in the empire. The infe-
rior instruments were recompensed in proportion, while the
soldiers and populace were supplied with beer and brandy. In
conciliating the favour of these, Catherine sometimes subject-
!d herself to inconvenience and restraint, of which the follow-
incident may afford an example.
Three days after the revolution, a soldier, in his intoxica-
having dreamed that the empress was carried off by the
ians, and Holsteiners, started up, and running wildly
long the barracks, propagated the alarm. The regiments,
ing their arms, ran to the palace, and loudly insisted on






















cATHERINE II.
seeing the empress. Razumoffsky, the hetman, roused by the
tumult, appeared at a window, assuring the troops of the safety
of her majesty, who was then, he added, reposing in security
after her fatigues. Vain were these assurances, the clamour re-
doubled, nor could be appeased. The hetman, hastening to th
chamber of Catherine, and causing her to be awakened, en-
treated her not to be alarmed: “You know I fear nothing.’
answered she boldly; “but what is the matter º’ ‘The soldiers
imagine you are not here, and insist upon seeing you.” “Well,
then, they must be satisfied, replied she, hastening to rise.
Having dressed, she called for her carriage, in which she was
driven to the Kasanskoi church. “Is it indeed the empress? Is
it indeed our mother?” interrogated the soldiers, by whom the
carriage was surrounded. On arriving at the church, Catherine
shewed herself, harangued the people, thanked them for their
solicitude, and dismissed them highly gratified. --
Towards the officers and friends of the emperor, she made
a point of shewing clemency; no one was deprived of his pro-
perty or life : Gudovitch, the aid-de-camp, with two others,
only were imprisoned. The mistress of the czar, who had at
first been treated roughly by the soldiers, was sent to the house
of her father, further insults forbidden, and afterwards exiled
for a time to a village beyond Moscow. .
The courtiers, eagerly contending for the favour of their
new sovereign, pressed around her: that her heart had already
made its election, was suspected by no one. The distinctions
showered upon Orloff appeared but as the reward of his
services: his secret was first discovered by madame Dashkoff,
who, having imprudently reproached Catherine with a choice
that degraded her, spread the rumour among her friends, and
prepared the way for her own disgrace. The chiefs of the re-
volt learned, with displeasure, the favour of a man regarded
by them as their instrument; while the courtiers perceived, in
the intrigues of Orloff, a man more artful and expert than
themselves.
The most zealous of the adherents of the empress were
not yet free from inquietudes: several of the regiments mur-
mured; remorse seized them for their disloyalty towards the
czar, whom they could not but regard as their rightful sove-
reign: the populace, with that levity by which they are, in all








nations, characterised, and which ever hurries them to opposite
extremes, passed from rage to pity, commiserating the fate of
a prince they had been so recently eager to dethrone. In the
misfortunes of Peter they lost sight of his infirmities, and re-
proached each other with having betrayed and sold their
aster. The city, after its tumult, appeared to awake as from
intoxication, to regard the past scenes as a delirium, and to
call in question the rectitude of the motive by which they had
been effected. A sentiment of regret and remorse, pervading
every rank, spread through the troops, who, from mutual re-
crimination, proceeded to blows; in these disputes, the blood
which the revolution had spared began to flow. & &
To allay this spirit, and appease these commotions, the
officers vainly interposed: rash to perpetrate what their fury
had prompted, and repentant at the view of the mischiefs it
had occasioned, reason, in the reflux of the passions, was im-
potent to control the tide of popular rage. A resolute leader
was only wanting, to reverse the measures of the three preceding
days, and, with the same precipitation which had hurled him
from the throne, to replace the czar in the seat of his ancestors.
During this agitation of the public mind, intelligence from
Moscow increased the panic: the accession of Catherine hav-
ing been proclaimed in the capital, the soldiers heard it in
sullen silence, and refused to join in the acclamations of their
officers. The situation of the empress, not more critical than
dangerous, robbed her of repose; unable to rest in her palace,
*
the tumults of ambition, and the spectres of fear, alternately
harassed and tortured her mind.
During the fluctuation of public feeling, Peter passed his
hours in lonely captivity, blind to the fate which impended over
º: him. On his removal from Peterhoff, previous, as he supposed,
to his exile from Russia, he requested of Catherine, as an
amusement in his confinement a negro attached to him, and
who, by the singularities of his manners, had been accustomed
to divert him; he also petitioned for a favourite dog, a violin,
a Bible, and a few romances: disgusted at the ingratitude of
mankind, he, at the same time, assured her, that he had resolved
henceforth to lead a private and philosophical life. His mode-
rate requests were barbarously denied, and his pretences to
losophy treated with derision. ... . . ' '.… . . ~~












sº *
He had been conducted to a little imperial retreat at Rop-
scha, where, in a retirement known only to the chiefs of the
conspiracy, and the soldiers who formed his guard, he had
remained six days. On the seventh, Alexius Orloff, with Tep-
loff, anofficer, came with news of a speedy deliverance,and asked
permission to dine with him. Wine glasses and brandy were, "
according to the custom of the country, brought before the
dinner: while the officer amused the czar with conversation,
his companion filled the glasses, infusing into that designed
for Peter, a poisonous mixture. The czar, having without dis-
trust swallowed the potion, was presently seized with the most
cruel pangs: on pretence of relieving his sufferings, his perfi-
dious guests offered him a second glass, which he rejected
with reproaches: on his calling aloud for milk, the remorseless
assassins again proffered him poison, which they importuned
him to swallow. A French valet-de-chambre, attached to his
master, now rushed in, into whose arms Peter threw himself.
* It was not enough, then,” said he in a faint tone of voice, “to
prevent me from reigning in Sweden, and to deprive me of
the Russian crown; I must be put to death!” The valet pre-
suming to intercede for his master, the ruffians forced from
the room a witness so dangerous, and continued their outrages
to the unfortunate victim. In the midst of the tumult, the
younger of the princes of Baratinsky entered, and joined the
assassins. Peter had been thrown to the ground by Orloff, who,
kneeling on his breast, grasped firmly his throat. The dying
monarch, with the strength of desperation, struggled with the
monster who held him down, when a napkin, thrown round his
neck by the assistant ruffians, put an end, by suffocation, to his
resistance and his life.* §:
Various circumstances combined to produce this catas-
trophe; the murmurs of the populace, the uncertain fidelity of
the troops, the difficulty of disposing of a captive so important,
added to the hopes and projects which, during his life, would
not fail to agitate his friends and adherents. Of her innocence
of this atrocious act, the general conduct and character of the
empress seems to afford a presumption; at least it appears pro-
bable that, respecting so horrible a service, her partizans would,
* July 17th; exactly one week after the revolution,







:
CATHERINE II.
from decency, forbear to consult her: on a subject so delicate,
and of so difficult decision, to lean to the side of candour is the
undoubted part of the historian. The victim of his weakness
% rather than of his vices, it is impossible not to contemplate the
fate of Peter with the sincerest commiseration. -
The murderer, mounting his horse, rode full speed to in-
form the empress that her husband was no more: he arrived at
the instant when Catherine was about to make her appearance
at court, where, mistress of her emotions, she presented her-
self, notwithstanding what had happened, with a tranquil air:
immediately afterwards she shut herself up with the chiefs of
her adherents, to deliberate on the measures proper to be pur-
sued. In this council it was determined, that the decease of
the czar should not be publicly announced till the ensuing day.
The empress dined as usual in public, and in the evening held
a court. The next day, as she sat at table, the death of Peter
was publicly proclaimed, when Catherine rose from her seat,
her eyes suffused with tears, and, dismissing the courtiers, shut
terself in her apartment, in which she secluded herself for
several days.
During this period, a declaration was published, imputing
the death of the czar to the accidental effects of a complaint to
which his constitution was subject; exhorting the nation to
forgiveness and forgetfulness of what was past; and to con-
sider a catastrophe so sudden and unexpected, as a special
effect of the providence of God in favour of the late changes.
The body of the czar was brought to Petersburgh, and, for
e days, exposed, in an open coffin, dressed in the Holstein
form, in the church of the monastery of St. Alexander
Neſsky, to all ranks and conditions of the people. His face, it
º said, had become black; extravasated blood was seen to
ooze through the epidermis, penetrating even the gloves
which had been put on his hands: some persons who had the
is to place their mouths on that of the emperor, found
ir lips swell, so inveterate was the poison he had been com-
to swallow. On the supposition that these circum-
; had been foreseen by the conspirators, they were
idered as less dangerous than any remaining doubts re-
cting the reality of Peter's decease. .
His remains were interred on the 21st instant, the very day
*


















CATHERINE II. 407
fixed by him, previous to the revolution, for the commence-
ment of his expedition against Denmark. The body was de-
posited in a grave before the rails of the altar, near that of the
deposed regent Anne, mother of the infant Ivan. Neither
tomb, nor inscription, distinguished the place of his interment.
Peter had never been formally crowned, and had resigned the
reins of empire. The court of Sweden only put on mourning.
The populace, who thronged to the funeral of the czar,
abused the guards, whom they repoached with having basely
shed the last drop of the blood of the great Peter. The Hol-
stein soldiers, who had hitherto remained at Oranienbaum,
free, but disarmed, crowded to the obsequies of their master,
whose corpse they surrounded weeping: the Russians regard-
ing them no longer as rivals, but as faithful servants, mingled
with theirs their tears.
Orders were, on the following day, sent down for the em-
barkation of the Holsteiners for their own country; the vessel
on board which they were put, foundered soon after it had
quitted the port; numbers of these unfortunate men were seen
clinging about the rocks, above the level of the water, where
(while a messenger was dispatched to Petersburgh, by admiral
Taliezin, to know whether he might be allowed to give aid to
the suffers), they were permitted to perish. .
Prince George, constituted by Peter duke of Courland, was
obliged to renounce his title, but, as a compensation for his
loss, the administration of Holstein, whither he repaired with
his family, was committed to him by the empress, whom he
afterwards served with fidelity and zeal.
The chancellor Bestucheff, the inveterate enemy of Peter,
was recalled from exile, and brought to Petersburgh. His rank
of field-marshal was restored to him by Catherine, also his
place in the council, with an annual pension of twenty thousand
rubles. Other exiles and prisoners were recalled or liberated,
among whom neither Ivan nor his family were included.
The news of the revolution, from which important con
quences were expected by foreign powers, quickly spre
The peace and alliance with Prussia had been unpopu
measures; the close union between its monarch and Peter,
not calculated to conciliate the favour of his successor, w
advantage appeared to be connected with its rupture: ev









conspired to menace Frederic, and replunge him into the abyss
from which he had so recently emerged. Fortunately for
Prussia, Catherine felt, in the means by which she had acquired
the crown, her power yet unassured: exalted to a perilous
height, the basis of the throne seemed to totter; her own
security occupied her attention, which a foreign war might
fatally divide. The empire still abounded with malecontents;
plausible pretences were not wanting for their attempts: to
oppose their enterprises, and combat their designs, it was
necessary to concentrate the force of the state. By these con-
siderations the empress was induced to adhere in part to the
system of the czar, and to declare to the ministers of Prussia,
* That she was resolved, in all points, to observe inviolably the
peace concluded under the preceding reign: nevertheless, she
had judged it proper to bring back to Russia, by the nearest
road, her troops in Silesia, Prussia, and Pomerania.”
Nor was this moderation entirely produced by the critical
situation of affairs: the prudence of the king of Prussia, during
his connexion with the czar, had appeased and conciliated the
mind of the empress. The Russians received orders to sepa-
rate themselves from their allies, and to return without delay
to their country. -
The foreign courts, though aware of the steps by which
Catherine had usurped the sovereign power, an usurpation
which success never fails to sanctify, hesitated not to recognise
her title. The hopes which had been conceived by Maria
Theresa, on this revolution, were, on the confirmation of the
peace with Prussia, found to be abortive. Lewis XV. whose
ambassador had been favoured by Catherine, while yet grand-
dutchess, formed, upon no better foundation, expectations as
fruitless. Catherine distinguished the literature of France
from the politics of its court: of the former she was a pro-
fessed admirer, while for the latter she manifested a profound
contempt. To d’Alembert, who thought proper to decline the
er, she had proffered a salary of fifty thousand rubles, on
ndition of his undertaking the education of her son, and
ng at Petersburgh the Encyclopædia.
king of Prussia, who seems to have formed a just
haracter, thus expressed himself in a letter on
written to a favourite: “The emperor of




















CATHERINE II.
Russia has been dethroned by his consort: it was to be expect-
ed. The czarina has much good sense, and the same inclina-
#
tions as her deceased husband. She possesses no religion, but
affects the devotee. It is the second volume of Zeno, the
Greek emperor, of his wife Adriana, and of Mary de Medicis.
The late chancellor Bestucheff, who had a strong propensity to
gold, was her great favourite; the attachments of the present
period will, I flatter myself, be the same. The poor emperor
wished to imitate Peter I. for which he wanted capacity.”
Frederic, who saw with its success, the bold attempt of the
empress, repeatedly warned his minister Goltz, that since
Peter was bent on his own destruction, it would be well to
prepare for the event. In pursuance of this counsel, Goltz,
the companion and flatterer of the czar, was, on the reverse of
his fortunes, the first to abandon him, and to fawn on his
adversaries. Such is the virtue; the friendship of courts!
An envoy from Copenhagen was also received graciously
by the empress, and assured of her pacific intentions towards
Denmark. With Keith, the English ambassador, she treated
as with a friendly power, and renewed with England the treaty
of commerce. .
Catherine, while establishing peace with the foreign pow-
ers, was not negligent of the internal tranquillity of the empire.
The court assumed a new aspect; every thing was in subordi-
nation to the secret power of Gregory Orloff, whose influence
and pride daily increased. The nobles, incensed and humiliat-
ed by the insolence of the favourite, ardently desired his ruin:
some of them, losing sight of prudence, ventured to speak out,
while Catherine, dissembling for a time, meditated to avenge
the cause of her lover. & sº ...”
Accounts arrived from Moscow of a more favourable
nature; brandy and money judiciously distributed, had worked
a change in the minds of the malecontents; the soldiers
acknowledged the rights of a sovereign, of whose bounty they
received such substantial proofs. Catherine hastened her
journey to the ancient capital, for the purpose of celebrating
the ceremony of her coronation. Previous to her departure
§
been seated on the throne, and, having bestowed c
farther testimonies of her gratitude, left then under t
Vol. I. 3 F





CATHERINE II.
mand of Razumoffsky, the hetman, with whom she joined
prince Volkensky. The government of the city was confided
to count Bruce, on whose fidelity Catherine could rely. Alexius
Orloff had a charge to watch over the whole. Gregory, his
brother, and the chancellor Bestucheff, were chosen as atten-
dants on the empress, among whom also were her principal
adherents, and those nobles who could not be left without
danger. The young Paul Petrovitch, and the principal ladies
of the court, completed the suite.
. The cavalcade entered with pomp into Moscow, where
money had been previously distributed; yet no acclamations,
no tokens of public approbation, welcomed its approach. In
this portentous silence, Catherine read too truly the sentiments
of the people. Having proceeded to the chapel of the czars, she
lavished her blandishments on the archbishop and priests, and
was crowned in the presence of the soldiery and people of the
court. The crowd, which had shrunk back on the appearance
of the empress, rushed forward to meet the grand-duke,
mingling with their expressions of tenderness for the child, an
apparent concern for the fate of his father. .
Catherine, pained and dissatisfied by all that had past, never-
theless concealed her chagrin, and made the earliest prepara-
tions for her return to Petersburgh. During her stay at
Moscow, she honoured the ancient capital by issuing from it
several proclamations; while, to flatter the military, which had
been neglected by Peter, she published a manifesto, on the day
of her coronation, in praise of the troops who had fought
against Prussia. By other favours and promotions, she like-
wise sought to conciliate the attachment of the garrison.
º The monks, who had favoured her projects, and to whom,
despoiled by Peter, she had promised a restoration of their
possessions, recalled to her memory their zeal and their
services. Catherine, aware that the power so successfully
exerted in her favour might, in different circumstances, be
opposed against her, prudently forbore, with more sagacity
han gratitude, to re-establish their privileges; contenting
rself with referring their plea to the examination of a synod
ited to her will. The principal members of the clergy
: brought over in secret; the remainder, sacrificed to policy,
ice against those by whom they had been duped.










CATHERINE II. % 411.
Priests are not offended with impunity. By their ascendency
ever ordinary and ignorant minds their power is always formi
dable. In conformity to their threats, the Russian clergy fan-
ned among the populace the embers of sedition, which were
smothered rather than extinguished by the late events. The
malecontents recalled to their remembrance prince Ivan, who,
on the very day of the revolution, was concealed in Peters-
burgh, whence he had since been mysteriously removed. It was
openly declared that, to him, as to the rightful heir, the throne
of his ancestors properly belonged. A manifesto, written by a
state-counsellor, and signed by Peter, in which the faults of
Catherine were summed up, her infidelities stated, and her son
pronounced illegitimate, was found and published in the city.
This paper, composed with force and eloquence, was circulated
among the people, and made its way to the troops, who already
deplored the consequences of their infatuation, and lamented
the fate of their lawful sovereign. Every thing portended a
new revolution, when an imperial proclamation suddenly came
forth, by which the guards were forbidden to assemble without
orders from their superiors. Some of the ringleaders were, at
the same instant, seized, and condemned to the punishment of
the knout; others were banished to Siberia; while terror for a
time held the rest to their duty. The empress believing that,
by a prompt severity, and the chastisement of the guards, she
should effectually silence the priests, refused even to temporise
with those who displeased her.
She even added, in some instances, contempt to severity:
to Ivan Schuvaloff, whose services had merited from her a re-
compense, and whose pretensions had awakened the jealousy
of Orloff, she sent an order to leave the court, and presented
to him, as a reward of his exertions in her favour, an old ne-
gro, who played about the palace the part of a buffoon. Ville-
bois, the general of the artillery, who had yielded at her com-
mand his duty to the czar, was, at the instance of Orloff, who
wished for his employment, and dreaded his talents, dismissed
from his office, of which his enemy took possession.
The pretensions of the princess Dashkoff had become c
fensive to her friend: this young heroine, who, at the cot
mencement of the revolution had, with the empress, put on
uniform of the guards, and marched at their he ---







º . . * , .
as an acknowledgment of her activity and courage, the title of
colonel of the regiment of Préobajensky. Catherine, smiling,
ironically replied, “that the academy, she should suppose,
would be more suitable to her character than a military corps.”
The princess, severely mortified, murmured among her friends
the ingratitude of the empress, to whose elevation she had
sacrificed her family; while yielding to the impetuosity of her
character, she sought for an opportunity of testifying her re-
sentment. Odart, her Piedmontese favourite, was the first to
observe the change in her sentiments, and to report his obser-
vation to Catherine. The princess, deserted by the woman
whom she had raised to a throne, and betrayed by the man
who owed to her his fortunes, immediately received orders to
retire to Moscow. But even this was not considered as suffi-
cient; Odart was commissioned by his imperial mistress, to
engage the ambassador of France to write to Voltaire a cau-
tion against the vanity of madame Dashkoff, with an intimation
that, should he transmit to posterity the recent events, he
would do well to mention this young person but slightly, as
having acted a subordinate and inferior part in a revolution
which, it was hinted, was to be attributed wholly to the courage
and sagacity of the empress. How truly contemptible does the
great Catherine appear in this conduct! how rare is true mag-
nanimity and greatness of soul! The ambassador, M. Breteuil,
went somewhat beyond his commission, when in his letter he
added “C”est pousser bien loin la jalousie et la hardiesse de
Pingratitude.” The same commission was given to the Russian
ambassadors at London and Paris.”
The archbishop of Novogorod, a principal instrument in the
revolution, and who, gained over by money and promises, had
assisted in diminishing the privileges of the monks, found all
his hopes and expectations frustrated. Catherine, no longer
needing his services, abandoned him, disgraced and mortified,
he contempt of the clergy, by whom he was hated, and to
rage of the people who detested his ambition. . ź
fore than five-and-twenty years after the event, Catherine held the same
It was her wish that the history of her life and reign should have
the historian of Charles V. Various suggestions were, from
o that effect, and transmitted to Scotland. The papers
le purpose were to be furnished by herself.












eATHERINE II. *is
The triumph of the empress had, in the mean time, been
learned with joy by Poniatoffsky, who, since his departure
from Petersburgh, had, by the aid of some friends, kept up a
regular correspondence with Catherine, who still affected con-
stancy to the attachment with which he had inspired her. De-
pending upon these professions, and aspiring probably to the
hand of her whose heart he fondly believed to be his own, the
Pole advanced to the frontiers of his country, whence he sent
to entreat permission to repair to Petersburgh. The answerin-
formed him, that his presence at court was not necessary, and
that the empress had different views in his favour. Still solici-
tous that he should remain in ignorance of her other con-
nexions, she wrote to him in her accustomed style: in speak-
ing of him before their mutual confidants, she even pretended
to shed tears, while she complained of the reports which attri-
buted to her an inclination for Orloff, of whom she affected to
speak with contempt.
But the lover, proud of his advantage, had not the same
motives for mystery: coarse and haughty in his manners, he
submitted to dissemble with an ill grace, and obliquely vaunt-
ed of his favour and power. Accustomed to reside in the
barracks and cabacks," he was not unfrequently guilty of ex-
cesses, by which he was completely thrown off his guard. . .
Being at supper one evening with Catherine, Razumoffsky,
and other courtiers, he boasted of his ascendency over the
guards and of his instrumentality in the revolution, which, he
declared, had been solely effected by himself. To this he
added (a temerity which liquor had inspired), that in one
month, if he chose to abuse his power, he could undo his own
work, and dethrone the empress. “You might do so, returned
the hetman, smiling contemptuously, “but, my friend, w
a fortnight after, we would hang you.” The courtiers
disgusted by this insolent presumption, but the favo
Orloff was not diminished. x .
The attachment of Catherine for this favourite ap
have had in it more of policy than tenderness. His a
vehemence, and boldness, gave him advantages
who, with more politeness, were destitute of his
* Houses for drinking, frequented by the lower or












414 : CATHERINE II.
remaining conspirators, chiefly subaltern officers, and whom
the empress believed she had already sufficiently rewarded,
were by degrees removed from court, and left to their former
obscurity. % .
The spirit of revolt had not been wholly quelled by the
chastisement of its ringleaders. The removal of the archbishop
Novogorod and of the princess Dashkoff, the feeble constitu-
tion of the young grand-duke, with the pity felt by all ranks
for the misfortunes of prince Ivan, furnished materials for dis-
content, which the clergy failed not to irritate and inflame.
The barracks were in a state of general fermentation: during
one whole day Catherine was in imminent danger of suffering
the fate of her husband, if, like his, her courage had forsaken
her. Without summoning a council, she took private measures
for dispersing the storm, and replied to the ministers, who,
with the members of the senate, came to testify their uneasi-
mess, with equal dignity and firmness of spirit: “Why,” said
she, “are you alarmed? Think ye that I fear to face danger?
or rather do you fear that I know not how to conquer it? Re-
member, in moments more terrible than this, you have seen
me in full possession of the vigour of my mind; and that I can
support, with the same serenity, the favour of fortune and its
most cruel reverse. Is it from a few factious spirits, a few
mutinous soldiers, that I am to dread being deprived of a
crown reluctantly accepted as the means of delivering the na-
tion from the evils which menaced it? I neither know with
what pretence they colour their insolence, nor on what mea-
sures they rely for success; I know only that they give me no
alarm. Providence, which called me to reign, will preserve
me for the glory and happiness of the empire; and in that
Almighty arm which has hitherto defended me, I trust for
confounding the projects of my foes.” -
The Orloffs neglected nothing that might conciliate the
. ; presents softened those whom promises failed to
lease. The mutiny being suppressed, four-and-twenty officers
re arrested and tried, and four found guilty and condemned
* The r punishment was, by the empress, commuted
previous to which, with a view of inspiring the
Catherine thus expressed herself, even in the presence
‘ected. sº * , º, ... ... j.º.







CATHERINE II. 415
Russians with a dread of ignominy, she caused them to be de-
graded, and scourged by the executioner. 3
While Catherine thus governed her subjects, she displayed
to foreign courts the strength of her character. Combining
policy with firmness, she found means to sooth the most
dangerous of the clergy, and to stop the cabals of the monks.
The princess Dashkoff was recalled to court, lest her enter-
prises at Moscow might disturb the peace of the empire.
Odart, whose treacherous and continual informations had ren-
dered him odious to the courtiers, was dismissed from the
service of the empress, whose fame began to spread through
Europe. The health of Paul Petrovitch, whose promising
qualities drew the eyes of the nation from the prison of Ivan,
was entirely re-established; and the Russians submitted to the
yoke, from which they had vainly tried to escape.
Ambition had not stifled in the bosom of Catherine the
love of pleasure, by which she attached to herself the courtiers:
but amusement was not suffered to interfere with business;
the empress applied herself alternately to either with equal
attention, and with equal ardour. She assisted at the delibera-
tions of the council, read the dispatches from her ambassadors,
dictated, or with her own hand minuted, the answers to be
sent, and attended to the detail of their execution. Jealous of
glory, she placed before her as models the examples of those
monarchs who had, by their illustrious qualities and the
grandeur of their exploits, effaced the recollection of their
weaknesses; and with the frailty of men, merited, as the
friends and benefactors of their species, the praise and grati-
tude of posterity. “We should be constant in our plans, said:
she; “it is better to do amiss, than to alter our purpose. None
but fools are irresolute.” Such were her favourite maxims.
The war carried on against Frederic, king of Prussia,
continued to agitate Europe. Russia had separated from the
formidable league, and Sweden was following the example.
Peter had restored to Frederic the territory of East Prussia,
conquered by the Russian arms; he had even ordered his
troops to fight as allies under his favourite hero. It became §
now important to know the resolution that Catherine wo
think proper to adopt. Frederic had been the friend of I
and as such, it might be supposed, would be regarded . tº






cATHERINE II.
sent with jealousy and distrust. The letters which had passed
between these monarchs, fell, on the death of her husband,
into the hands of Catherine. Frederic had been to Peter a
wise and generous friend; his letters afforded proofs of his
prudence, his sagacity, and his concern for the real interests of
the czar: they repeatedly admonished him to the restoration
of domestic concord, and the re-establishment of peace in the
imperial family. Catherine, affected by the kindness and in-
tegrity of the writer, shed tears of pleasure on the perusal of
these papers, and ratified the peace with Prussia and Denmark.
While the empire enjoyed peace with foreign powers,
internal maladies fermented in its bosom, which neither the
severity nor the clemency of the empress had yet been able
wholly to eradicate: the state of the finances, and the dictates
of policy, forbade her to divert the attention of the public by
brilliant novelties or successful enterprises. The administra-
tion of her estates, the advancement of commerce, the aug-
mentation of the marine, and the revenues of the nation,
engrossed, by turns, her attention and care. The necessity for
economy was pressing and obvious; but the temper of Cathe-
rine, and the magnificence of her spirit, would not permit her
to renounce that oriental splendor, for which, since the com-
mencement of the reign of Elizabeth, the court of Petersburgh
had been distinguished and famed: a splendor which appeared
the more necessary during a profound peace, and in an un-
settled state of the empire, to attract and dazzle the eyes of
tion, . . .
After the business with her ministers was transacted, the
empress would converse in private with Bestucheff and Mu-
nich: with the ſormer she studied politics and the affairs of
Europe; while the latter consulted her respecting the execu-
2. neditated during his exile in Siberia, for driving
Turks from Constantinople; a project which gratified her
iring temper, and which, thirty years afterwards, was on
int of being effected. .
# .
º her domestic regulations: she studied the duties
and considered herself as thes mother of her
he treated with confidence, and whose condi-
orated. In her first manifesto (July 6th, 1762)
tion of a plan, sº

















CATHERINE II. 417.
on her accession to the throne, “We wish,” says she, “to
prove how far we merit the love of our people, for whose hap-
piness we acknowledge our throne to be established; and we
solemnly promise on our imperial word, to make in the em-
pire such arrangements, that the government may, with an in-
trinsic force, support itself within proper and limited bounds;
each department of the state being provided with wholesome
laws, sufficient to the preservation of order, at all times, and in
all circumstances,” &c. Again, in the ukause of the 29th of
July, in the same year: “Not only all that we have or may
have, but also our life itself, we have devoted to our dear
country. We value nothing on our own account; we serve not
ourself; but we labour with all pains, with all diligence, for the
glory and happiness of our people.” The empress solemnly .
promised to maintain justice: in pursuance of this resolution,
she banished for life to Siberia, a man who had taken money
for administering the oath of allegiance, and issued a severe
decree against bribery and extortion. She drew on this occa-
sion a horrible picture of the corruption of the times: “If any
one is desirous of an office, he must pay for it; if any one wishes
to defend himself from calumny, it must be done with money;
if any one would slander another, he corroborates his malice
by bribes. In this manner are the sacred courts of justice con-
verted into a market. The arts of chicane are practised to the
oppression of the people; under the forms of law, wrongly in-
terpreted, ruin is brought upon the persons and families, even
of those who are rather deserving of sovereign complacency
and favour.” Wretched is the nation to whom this portrait
applies! x. -
By an ukause, dated Moscow, October 13th, the abolition
of the secret-inquisition chancery was confirmed: an honoura-
ble testimony of the advancement of liberal knowledge? Cathe-
rine trusted to secure the affection of her people by other means
than the encouragement of spies and defamers: superior to de-
grading fears, she confided her security to the magnanimity of
her conduct, and despised a political inquisition. This court,
instituted by Peter I., teemed with the most dreadful mischiefs: º
Catherine decreed, that it “should be now for ever abolished;
its acts brought into the senate, sealed up in the archives, and
Vol. I. . 3 G ź


4ts catherine II.
consigned to eternal oblivion.” High treason, and attempts
against religion or the state, had been the crimes subject to the
jurisdiction of this tribunal, but, gradually increasing in its
power, it had encroached on the province of the ordinary
courts. Real state-crimes were, on its abolition, so distinctly
defined, that malicious or sinister interpretations were no lon-
ger practicable, while religious penalties were, with a wise
policy, completely suppressed. Among the abuses of the hor-
rible institution annihilated by the empress, imprisonment, and
frequently execution, was the commencement of the process.
Regular modes of evidence were held inadequate to the
nature of this mysterious tribunal: when the accuser failed in
every kind of proof, the punishment of the knout was three
several times inflicted upon him, after which his declaration
was admitted as legal: the accused, unless he rather chose to
be thought guilty, had liberty to deliver his objections on the
same terms. In this proceeding, which, when the judge waver-
ed between the parties, was often repeated, neither age, sex,
nor station, were regarded; if the accuser brought forward
some plausible pretence on which to ground his allegation, the
accused had yet a more dreadful coercion to undergo.
Catherine ordained that torture should no more be used
in the investigation of truth; and, with Frederic of Prussia,
afforded on this occasion an example to Europe. Her criminal
laws breathe throughout a spirit mild and gentle: if she made
no vows (like Elizabeth her predecessor) to avoid the infliction
of death, capital punishments were, during her long reign,
very rare. -
The empress, by a manifesto, August, 1763, declared, that
colonists should find welcome and support in Russia; a tutelary
chancery, for the protection of foreigners, was accordingly in-
stituted. Her next measure was to point out to them such dis-
tricts, hitherto unoccupied, as were proper for agriculture,
with notices and distinctions respecting forest, arable, and
meadow-land, &c.; what allotments bordered upon rivers, and
what the fisheries might yield. But not merely for the purpose
griculture were strangers encouraged, but also in the towns,
s merchants, manufacturers, and artificers. The proclamation
t forth, “That any one destitute of money for the expenses
f his journey, should be forwarded at the charge of the crown,









CATHERINE II. 419
should receive a competent assistance on his arrival, and even,
if necessary, receive an advance of capital, free of interest for
ten years,” &c. All religious opinions, as a matter between the
individual and his God, were tolerated. An annual revenue of
two hundred thousand rubles was at once granted to the tute-
lary chancery. Also, for colonists in the government of Astra-
khan, a clergyman of every sect, a parish clerk, a physician, a
surgeon, an apothecary, &c. to be paid by the crown. .
On the proclamation of these advantages in Germany,
thousands flocked to take possession of the promised land:
families, individuals, beggars, projectors, literati, artificers,
mechanics, either sex, and every age, crowded to the ports to
be wafted to the shores of the Volga and Sumara, which
abounded with beautiful and fertile tracts of country. Prohibi-
tions were at first issued by the petty princes of Germany,
forbidding these emigrations; but the discontents of the new
settlers gave to them, as might have been expected, a more im-
portant check. The total change of climate, of habits, of lan-
guage, and of customs, cannot fail on these occasions to afford
sufficient subjects of discontent to the thoughtless and sanguine:
to these may be added the idle and the romantic, who, seeking to
escape from labour or from lassitude, suffer in their disappoint-
ment unavoidable disgust. The empress was in these measures,
however well intended, probably too precipitate: the popula-
tion of a nation, under a wise and equitable government, will
necessarily and gradually increase: ingenious foreigners will
likewise, without compulsion or extraordinary efforts, resort
to those countries where talents find their recompense, and
where the laws afford to them security and protection. But of
this better mode of multiplying her subjects, Catherine was
neither ignorant nor negligent. :
With similar views, the empress, at the proposal of general
Betskoy, laid the foundations, both in Petersburgh and at
Moscow, of the foundling and lying-in hospitals. She also
founded at Petersburgh the medicinal college of the empire,
which was placed immediately under her inspection.
Amidst these regulations, she neglected not the study of a
more important science, that of human nature, and of her own
mind, of which she truly appreciated the powers and resourc es.
In a confidential conversation with the minister of France, she





required of him his opinion respecting the duration of a peace,
recently concluded between Austria and Prussia. The minis-
ter replied, “that the exhaustion of the people, and the wisdom
of the sovereigns, seemed to promise a long tranquillity;' but
added, with a compliment to her sagacity, “that she, who by
her forces could direct them at will, was better enabled to ap-
preciate the political systems of the courts of Europe.” “You
think then,’ said Catherine, assuming an air of humility, “that
Europe at present has its attention fixed on me, and that I am
not without weight in the foreign courts.” The ambassador, of
course, replied in the affirmative. The empress having listen-
ed to him with apparent pleasure, exclaimed with dignity, ‘I
do indeed believe that Russia merits attention. I have the
finest army in the world. I am short of money, it is true, but
shall be abundantly provided within a few years. If I gave the
reins to my inclination, my taste is for war rather than for
peace; but reason, justice, and humanity, restrain me. Yet I
will not, like the empress Elizabeth, allow myself to be pressed
to make war. Whenever it shall prove for my advantage,
I will assuredly enter upon it; but never through complaisance
to others.’ To this she added, ‘that, till after five years, the
world could not properly judge of her character; that period
it would at least require to reduce the empire to order, and
to reap the fruit of her cares. In the mean time, she should act
towards all the princes in Europe like a finished coquette.”
These expressions, which the minister imputed to vanity, were
literally true. M. de Breteuil ventured not to reply but by a
ig compliment. ź
first trial made by Catherine of her interest, was
in favour of Biren, to whom, though the despoiler of his son,
she forced the king of Poland to give the investiture of Cour-
land. Satisfied with this docility, she employed her mediation,
h with unequal success, between Austria and Prussia, to
them to withdraw their troops from the dominions of
Frederic courted the friendship of Catherine, aware of its
vantages, by the most flattering attentions. He presented to
e order of the black eagle, which she accepted graciously,
ended to wear: this had been among the crimes
her husband; but what might be thought a weak-
im, was, in his successor, a proof of her power. .

















€ATHERINE II. 421
Less apprehensive of foreign powers than of internal ad-
versaries, the czarina neglected nothing that might attach to
her her subjects: generous both from temper and policy, she
was even prodigal in bounty, with a view of augmenting the
number of her dependents; but her fears at times misguided
her choice. To the friends of the deceased czar she shewed
lenity, granting liberty to Gudovitch, to Volkoof, and to Mil-
ganoff: on the two latter she bestowed offices and favour. Gu-
dovitch, with a noble pride, refused to avail himself of her
liberality, and would accept nothing from her hand.
Reflections on the fate of Peter, with the repetition of
petty conspiracies, kept the mind of Catherine in perpetual
disquietude, which, from the necessity of dissembling, she
perhaps felt but the more deeply. The arrogance of Gregory
Orloff, with the jealousy of the court, afforded to her another
source of anxiety: the petulance of the favourite, by the dis-
gust which it inspired, kept from her presence men the most
distinguished for their birth and station: she found herself
surrounded only by soldiers, who, with rough and uncouth
manners, abused their supposed rights to her favour and grati-
tude. It was not their past services for which she was paying
them, but for those they might still afford her; her bounties
served but to sharpen their rapacity and increase their inso-
lence. Ashamed of the deference which her situation extorted
from her, she would sometimes ascribe to these men qualities
which belonged not to them. ‘The life I lead,” she would say,
“surrounded by people of no education, is far from agreeable;
yet to these men I owe what I am. They have courage and pro-
bity, and will not, I am sure, betray me.” Such are the sacrifices
which ambition exacts; freedom, quiet, independence, and the
social affections, are the oblations offered at its shrine. .#
Panin was, among this savage herd, the only man dis-
tinguished by courtesy of manners, and cultivation of mind;
yet his was but a secondary influence. Intent on establishing
his aristocratical system, he seized every occasion for display-
ing its advantages: observing the mind of Catherine disquiet-
ed by alarms, he conceived the moment favourable for pressit
his plan. After aggravating the evils inseparable from
usurpation, and the dangers which menaced her on every side,
%
he intimated an expedient for the removal of these vexations,
to which a false delicacy only could induce her to object,







He then proceeded to paint in glowing colours his favourite
#
principles, while he exhorted her to limit those powers which,
tempting the ambition of the bold pretender, so often proved
fatal to their possessor. ‘Make a sacrifice,” said he, “of an
absolute control. Create a fixed and permanent council which
shall secure to you the throne. Renounce for yourself and
your successors the power of depriving at pleasure the mem-
bers of that august body. Declare that to their peers alone
their conduct and their privileges shall be submitted. From
the moment these measures shall be adopted, the means by
which you obtained the crown will be remembered no more,
while it is seen that by justice you are determined to preserve it.”
The empress, dazzled by the plausibility and novelty of a
project which appeared to promise conciliation and renown,
lost sight at the moment of the mischiefs with which it teem-
ed. The miseries of the people had little prospect of allevia-
tion, in exchanging one sovereign, active and enlightened, for
twenty or thirty tyrants, chosen from a privileged order,
amenable to no authority, and unlimited in their jurisdiction.
The despotism of a body is more terrible, because more per-
manent, than that of an individual. 3%
Catherine having charged Panin to commit his thoughts to
paper, he lost no time in obeying her; while, in order the more
effectually to secure his interest, he placed at the head of those
of whom the senate was to be composed the name of the fa-
vourite. Orloff, flattered by this distinction, demanded time
for consideration, and, in the interval, imparted the plan to
Bestucheff. Sensible of the value of a power which he had
long directed, Bestucheff took the alarm, and, with energy,
represented to the empress the perils which threatened the
measure proposed by Panin; he conjured her not to expose
herself to a long repentance by dividing an authority so dearly
º ved the prudence of this counsel; which she
n his next appearance before her,
etermined; she did justice to his zeal,
y, but declined to avail herself of it. The
ortified by this overthrow of his hopes, gave


























was not long in discovering to whom he owed his
defeat, nor in finding an opportunity to retaliate upon his ad
versary. Bestucheff, observing the influence of
Catherine no longer attempted to conceal, artfully i
to the favourite, with a view of rendering himself yet more
necessary, the pleasure he should feel in beholding him ascend
the throne. “It is to no purpose, said he to him, that the em.
press gives you her heart, while she withholds from you her
hand.’ He went on to represent to him his claims toheraf ſection,
and his rights to her gratitude, with the propriety and practi.
cability of the measure he proposed, concluding by an offero
his services in this delicate negotiation, on condition oft ing
left to pursue his own measures, while the favourite should af.
fect ignorance of his proceedings. Orloff listened to the aged
chancellor with profound attention, adopted with facility his
ambitious projects, embraced him cordially, and promised an
implicit compliance with his desires.
On the same day, Bestucheff, discoursing with the empress,
artfully sounded her upon the subject. After some hesitation
Catherine replied, that, notwithstanding her inclinations might
favour his proposal, she could not precipitately resolve on a step
so hazardous and important, and which, however attempted,
could scarcely fail of giving umbrage to the empire. Respect-
ing the means of effecting his plan, Bestucheſt engaged to b
himself responsible. With this view, he composed a pe
in the name of the nation, in which, after d
pous eulogium on the qualities and v.
with the happiness and glory derived from them
he touched on the infirm constitution of the appare
the consequent disquietude of the empire, conj
to give to her subjects an additional testimony of n.
by taking a consort, and sacrificing to their welfar
liberty. -
mote them, he began b
aware of his rejection. Catherine.
plan, yet fearful of precipitate



































424, cATHERINE II.
misery of his destiny, he was soon carried back in secret to
his dungeon. - . . . . .” -
What had been foreseen by the chancellor failed not to
happen: the petition on being presented to the clergy, was
eagerly signed by twelve bishops, previously gained over, who
at the same time objected to Ivan; the prince, it was alleged,
presuming on his birth, might pretend to stand on his own
rights, and, affecting independence of his benefactress, punish
her for her bounty. Her majesty was therefore requested to
select from among her subjects him whom she should conceive
worthy of participating in her throne. Many of the general
officers subscribed to the sentiments of the bishops; and, but
for the dexterity of Panin, the courage of Razumoffsky, and
the chancellor Vorontzoff, Orloff had been emperor of Russia.
These courtiers combined to dissuade Catherine from the
projected union, as not less dangerous than humiliating. The
hetman used on this occasion the frankness and earnestness
which his station, his fortune, and his services authorised.
Vorontzoff, at the feet of the empress, implored her not to form
a connexion teeming with the most perilous consequences.
Catherine, pretending surprise, after thanking her counsellors
for their friendship and courage, assured them, that the
measure they deprecated had never entered her mind; that
it was without her knowledge an intrigue so odious had been
carried on, of which Bestucheff was the sole conductor, and
who should assuredly feel her resentment. Nevertheless, she
reproved not with too great severity a man who had sought
but to flatter her inclinations, and whose humours she con-
ceived it necessary to indulge. - :* -
Bestucheff, in the failure of his project, lost none of his
influence, either with his mistress or her lover, from whom
orontzoff daily experienced new instances of coldness, till,
perceiving his decline certain, he demanded permission, under
the pretence of recovering his health, impaired by the fatigues
of his office, to tra o years in foreign countries. His
request was readily granted: the empress, to whom his presence
was irksome, saw him depart with satisfaction, yet with
asten his return, and to resume the functions of his office,
h, for the happiness of the empire, he had so successfully

















CATHERINE II. 425
Apprehensive lest Catherine should raise to the throne the
daring adventurer to whom the unfortunate Peter had in a
great degree owed his destruction, the people loudly murmur-
ed: various plots were set on foot against the favourite, one of
which was on the point of succeeding.
A guard had been placed at the door of Orloff as at that of
the empress: a sentinel was, by a bribe, induced to promise to
deliver him, while asleep, to three of the conspirators. To a
mistake made in the hour, Orloff owed his safety: before the
conspirators appeared, the sentinel in their confidence had
been already relieved by another, who, astonished at behold-
ing three men apply for admittance to the chamber, summoned
by an alarm the guards to his aid. The conspirators had
scarcely time to escape under favour of the uniform they wore.
Consternation spread over the palace: the empress was
roused and alarmed; while, believing her life not secure, she
hastened from Moscow, where this scene was transacted, to
take shelter at Petersburgh. Demonstrations of joy, full of in-
sult, and approaching to rage, signalised her departure; her
cypher was, by the populace, torn down from a triumphal arch
which it had been placed, and dragged through the mire.
Catherine reached Petersburgh on the day of the anniver-
sary of her accession to the throne: to dazzle the eyes of the
populace, she omitted nothing that might render her entrance
impressive and solemn. But this spectacle, however splendid,
failed in its effect, or rather tended to increase the public
irritation. On every side conspiracies multiplied, in which
names the most important in the empire were enrolled.
Among the most distinguished of these were count Panin, his
brother the general, and the hetman Razumoffsky. A point of
union was only wanting to hurl Catherine from the throne. The
conspirators differed respecting a successor; while some espous-
ed the cause of the grand-duke, others were for recalling the
unhappy Ivan, and restoring to him the rank of his successors.
Catherine, apprised in secret of esigns forming against
her, hesitated whether to arrest the hetman and Panin: yet,
dreading by an ill-timed severity to provoke her fate, and
doubtful of the evidence against them, she determined to have
recourse to artifice and policy. The princess Dashkoff, whose
courage and zeal had been repaid with ingratitude, and who,
Vol. I. 3 H






426 CATHERINE II.
though recalled to court, had suffered neglect and coldness,
appeared to the empress a proper emissary on this emergency.
Without doubting her participation in the projects of her
friends, or the fortitude and resolution of her spirit, Catherine
hoped, through her precipitation and imprudence, to betray her
into a disclosure of the secrets with which she was entrusted.
For this purpose she addressed to her a long and insidious
espistle, abounding in flatteries and promises, equally seductive
and alluring. In the name of their friendship, she conjured
her to reveal the projects by which she was threatened, assur-
ing her of a full pardon to all whom her information should
involve. The princess, incensed that Catherine should presume
to use as an instrument of vengeance the woman who had
before been made subservient to her elevation, laconically
replied to the four pages she had received in four lines:
“Madam, I have heard nothing: but, if I had, I should
beware of what I spoke. What is it that you require of me?
That I should expire on a scaffold? I am ready to ascend it.”
Surprised at this hauteur, which she was hopeless of con-
quering, the empress tried to attach to her those whom she
dared not punish. Some of the subaltern malecontents, who,
having been seized, observed a stubborn silence, were exiled
to Siberia: Panin and the hetman were laden with additional
favours.
These plots, incessantly renewed, wearied the clemency of
the empress, which served but to harden the conspirators in
their purpose: severer measures were threatened, without pro-
. ducing the desired effect. The true wisdom of legislation is to
prevent rather than to punish crimes. Of this the empress ap-
pears not to have been ignorant: in the midst of feuds, which
menaced her authority and her life, she occupied herself in
stitutions for the improvement and prosperity of the nation;
erected hospitals, founded colleges, encouraged commerce,
and rewarded genius. New ships of war were also ordered to
be placed on the stocks. . .
Poniatoffsky, about this period, renewed his solicitations
for permission to return to Petersburgh. The empress refused
to listen to his request, yet assured him of her friendship, of
which she promised to afford him convincing proofs: nor was
. le negligent in the performance of this promise.










CATHERINE II. 427
Towards the end of this year (1763), Catherine gave to
the supreme college of the empire, the directing senate, insti-
tuted by Peter I., a proper form. To facilitate business, it was
divided into six departments, four of which were to have
their seat in Petersburgh, and the remaining two at Moscow.
Removing incumbrances, and making new regulations, she
diffused through the whole simplicity and order. The active
and comprehensive mind of the czarina appeared to embrace
all objects; a new spirit was given to the empire. The court
also wore a more brilliant form; over its magnificence and
splendor taste presided; for the cultivation of the arts and li-
terature foundations sprung up; regulations of convenience
and utility multiplied; the temper of the nation assumed a
milder form; industry was awakened, diligence quickened,
and the comforts of existence more widely diffused. § 3.
Augustus III. king of Poland, which had long been under
the influence of Russia, declining in his health, was approach-
ing fast towards the grave. The court of Petersburgh was the
centre of the intrigues of all who had any pretensions to the
Polish succession. Catherine, though decided in her choice,
encouraged the hopes and fomented the disputes of the con-
tending rivals: she wanted a king on whose devotion she
could depend, and with whose weakness she was acquainted.
This rich and unhappy country, which had excited the ambi-
tion of the czarina, she long continued to harass, to prepare it
the better for a final blow. She began her operations by
artfully obtaining from Versailles and Vienna an assurance not
to interfere in the affairs of Poland. The promised neutrality
of these courts being still insufficient for the purposes of the
empress, she was desirous of securing herself on the side of
Prussia. Long solicited by Frederic to sign a treaty of defen-
sive alliance, she at length, after various subtle and politic
measures, acceded to what was required of her. In this treaty
was a secret article, by which the allied powers mutually
bound themselves to maintain the republic of Poland in its
state of free election, even by force of arms, and that no one
therein should, on any pretence, be suffered to make himself
absolute, or to render the crown hereditary in his family.
. Conscious of her power, Catherine successively dismissed
the various candidates for the Polish monarchy, till, to the







amazement of Warsaw, her choice, which fell on Poniatoffsky,
was made known. Universal discontent ensued; the Polish
nobles inquired of each other, by what services, or by what
qualities, this man had rendered himself worthy of so extrava-
gant a reward? The endowments of the new king, who was
handsome, agreeable, accomplished, eloquent, calculated to
please, but incapable of command, were better suited to con-
ciliate private affection, than to fit him for a throne. But
murmurs and resistance, opposed to the Russian power, were
equally vain. Catherine wrote to her minister at Warsaw to
employ every engine in favour of her lover. “Remember,”
says she, “my candidate. I write this to you two hours after
midnight: judge if I am indifferent in this affair.”
The Russian generals neglected nothing for securing the
wishes of their sovereign. The dietines were convoked. Po-
niatoffsky was, by that of Warsaw, unanimously elected: those
of the provinces proved less tractable. Crowds of foreigners
had poured into the city, ready to unite at the first signal. In
the diet, confusion and tumult prevailed: its marshal, venerable
for his age and for his virtues, in vain attempted to reduce it
to order: he was answered by drawn sabres and furious out-
cries. Mokranoffsky, nuncio of Cracow, risked his life under
the swords of the Russian soldiers, who tried to pierce him
from the galleries of the speakers. Returning into its sheath
his sabre, which he had at first drawn, he opposed his breast
to their weapons. “If you must have a victim,” said he, to the
Russians, “I stand here before you. At least I shall die as I
have hitherto lived: free.” He had not escaped their rage, but
for the generous courage of prince Adam Chartorinsky, who
threw his body as a shield between him and his adversaries.
A courtier at Petersburgh, sensible of the aversion of Po-
land to the monarch imposed upon them, had the boldness to
hint it to the empress. “No man,’ said he, “is less proper than
Poniatoffsky to fill the throne of Poland: his grand-father hav-
ing been an intendant of a little estate belonging to the princes
Lubominsky.’ ‘Though he had been intendant himself,’ re-
plied Catherine haughtily, ‘I will have him to be king, and
a king he shall be.’
elve thousand Russians had entered Lithuania, and fresh
ments advaneed towards Kief: the Russian ambas-











CATHERINE II. 429
sador governed Warsaw, and the armies of Catherine com-
pressed the republic. The spirit of Poland yet struggled: an
action took place between the contending parties, in which the
Russians were victorious: the sister of a prince of Poland, and
his bride whom he had newly espoused, fought with sabres,
and mounted on horseback, by the side of a brother and a
husband, for the expiring freedom of their country. From
measures like those by which Catherine supported him, Po-
niatoffsky could not fail of his election: on the 7th of Septem-
ber, 1764, he was proclaimed, by the name of Stanislaus
Augustus, king of Poland and grand-duke of Lithuania.
The new monarch paraded the streets of the capital, amidst
the shouts of the populace, and the same day took possession
of the palace of the republic: opposition being no longer avail-
ing, the people and the nobles crowded to do him homage:
had he been the free choice of the nation, his reign could not
have commenced with more apparent tranquillity: the pro-
priety of his conduct did credit to his judgment; he received
with kindness his most zealous opponents, and by his courtesy
sought to conciliate the public mind.
Catherine had, previous to this election, signified an inten-
tion of making the tour of Livonia, and visiting the theatre of
her triumphs; but, while disposing at will of the crowns of
other nations, her own trembled on her brow: the power which
awed Asia, and made Europe bend, was in itself tottering and
unstable; every breath of discontent, the feeblest engine, and
the most obscure agent, appeared to menace its duration.
An event occurred in the course of this summer, in-
teresting in its nature, and deserving of record from the
curious and mysterious circumstances by which it was at-
tended. The empress had, in pursuance of her intentions, set
out on her journey through Livonia and Courland, accompa-
nied by Orloff, and a small retinue of nobility. The govern-
ment of Petersburgh was, in the mean time, left in the charge
of Panin. During this expedition, a disturbance took place in
the prison of the dethroned Ivan, which terminated, with his
life, the misfortunes of the tº happy captive.
Catherine soon after the commencement of her reign (as
related in her manifesto of August 28th, 1764) had an inter-
view with Ivan, in order, as it is said, to form a judgment of





430 CATHERINE II.
his capacity and talents. The result reported was, that the
empress had, to her great surprise, found in the prince a total
privation of sense and reason, with an incurable defect in his
utterance, that, whatever had been his attainments, would have
wholly deprived him of the power of communication. This
account, which, however consistent with the probable conse-
quences of his sufferings,” forms a striking constrast with the
scene already delineated on the visit of the czar to his dungeon,
was not received wit' ºut doubt and hesitation. Ivan, having
now attained his twenty-fourth year, appeared fitted, as an in-
strument, or a pretext, for the purposes of those who wished
to raise commotion. His title to the crown, his long sufferings,
his youth, his innocence, even the obscurity of his life, excited
sympathy, exercised conjecture, and afforded materials for
invention.
At the moment the empress was commencing her journey,
she received intelligence of fresh conspiracies among the
guards: several were seized, but, to avoid irritating the multi-
tude by the frequent exhibition of punishments, they were
proceeded against in private, or suffered to pine out their lives
in imprisonment. Of those who held in abhorrence the usurpa-
tion of Catherine, Ivan was the common object: for the sake
of a prince whose-person was unknown to them, and whose
very existence was doubtful, many persons, urged by a
sense of justice, or led by a romantic spirit of enterprise,
braved the dungeon and the scaffold. It was in vain that
the court, in its system of calumny, to which Peter had
fallen a victim, represented the royal captive as an idiot, a
lunatic, a drunkard, or a ferocious savage: the malignity of
party, which finds in falsehood its interest, will, in the minds
of the candid, ever provoke distrust. It is not to be doubted
but that the situation of Ivan, confined in a loathsome dungeon,
and denied the means of instruction, must have produced its
effects on his mind. Yet, let it be remembered that, at the
earlier periods of his life, he had not been separated from his
* Ivan had been lodged at Schlusselburg in a casemate of the fortress, of
which even the loop-hole had been bricked up. In this subterranean vault a
was kept constantly burning; the prisoner having no time-piece allowed
therefore distinguished not the night from the day. His interior guard,
captain and a lieutenant, were shut up with him; and, at some periods, not
ilowed to speak to him, or answer the simplest question. -







CATHERINE II. 431
family, by whom his sympathies had been awakened, his
affections exercised, and his faculties roused. From them he
had learned the history of his rank, and of his misfortunes;
an impressive lesson, calculated to stimulate the dormant
powers of reflection. A German officer, it is affirmed, who at
one time had him in charge, clandestinely taught him to read.
The kindness of Baron Korf, of which he proved, in the
presence of the czar, his affecting sense, in calling forth his
grateful affection, still farther excited the growth of his sensi-
bility. He had been removed, on various occasions, from
prison to prison, at which times he had fallen into different
hands, and experienced new opportunities for observation.
Should it be allowed that these sources combined, afforded
but a scanty surface for the operations of intellect, yet be-
tween ignorance and idiotism there is still an immense void.
In an interview with Elizabeth, in 1756, at the house of count
Schuvaloff, he touched the passions of all who were present, by
the graces of his figure, the accents of his voice, and his affect-
ing complaints; he even drew from the empress a flood of
tears. His subsequent conversation with Peter, who had
determined on adopting him to the succession, was attested
by Baron Korf, a witness of the interview. The attempts made
in his favour, and the disquietude of the nation, rendered him
formidable to Catherine, and afforded a sufficient motive for
the accounts circulated of his pretended imbecility.
A singular occurrence relieved the empress from this in-
quietude. A company consisting of about an hundred men,
guarded the fortress in which the prince was confined: Vassily
Mirovitch, whose grandfather had been implicated in the re-
bellion of the Kozac Mazeppa, and had fought against Peter
the Great under Charles XII., was second lieutenant in this
regiment. The estates of his family had been forfeited to the
crown: Mirovitch, whose ruling passion was ambition, warmly
solicited their restoration; his pretensions had hitherto pro-
duced little effect, except flattering promises, upon condition
of his proving his activity and loyalty in securing the safety of
the empire. Captain Vlassieff and lieutenant'Ischekin sl *
the cell of Ivan, as his inner guard. By these officers a dis
tionary order was possessed, signed by the empress,
joining them, in case of insurrection, on the presumpti
3.







CATHERINE II.
other means were inadequate, to put to death their wretched
charge. & ~ z
Ivan had been removed from his dungeon to a cell in the
corridor, under the covered way in the castle; the door of the
prison opened under a low arcade, which, together with the
cell, formed the thickness of the castle wall within the ram-
parts. In this arcade, or corridor, eight soldiers usually kept
guard: their comrades were stationed in the guard-house, at
the gate of the castle. The commander of the detachment was
subject to the orders of the governor of the fort. Mirovitch, it
has been affirmed, had, in confidence, revealed his project to a
friend, who had bound himself by oath to aid the enterprise:
but the death of this man, who was drowned in assisting at
the launching of a vessel, renders this account doubtful. It is
more certain that he spoke of his intentions in vague terms
to one of the valets of the court, and afterwards to a lieutenant
of the artillery, with whom he talked of the advantages that
would accrue from the deliverance of Ivan, who should be
placed under the protection of the regiments of the guards.
But while he assumed the importance of a conspirator, without
accomplices, he stated nothing certain either respecting the
time of execution, or the measures to be adopted. He had per-
formed the week's duty without any attempt, but, as if con-
demning his own irresolution, he requested to be continued on
guard another week. A petition so extraordinary, which was
immediately granted, did not appear to excite in the governor
any distrust. gº
On a fine summer's night, about ten o’clock, on the 14th
of July, 1764, after having admitted into his confidence a man
named Jacob Pishkoff, Mirovitch began his plan of operations,
by tampering with the fidelity of three corporals, and two com-
mon soldiers, whom he gained over to his purpose. This little
band, either from fear or caution, waited till the night was
farther advanced, before they commenced their perilous enter-
Between the hours of one and two, having procured as
auxiliaries about fifty of the soldiers on guard, they assembled
together, and marched under arms towards the prison of Ivan.
their way they encountered the governor of the fortress,
, roused by some noise, had quitted his bed to inquire into
§. &







433.
the occasion. The governor demanded authoritatively of Mi-
rovitch the cause of the present appearance. Mirovitch, with-
out reply, levelled him to the ground with the but-end of his
firelock, and, with his people, continued his progress. Arriving
at the corridor, into which the prison opened, he advanced
furiously at the head of his troop to attack the soldiers on
guard. Being received with spirit by this handful of men,
and driven back, he ordered his soldiers to fire, which was im-
mediately done. The fire was returned by the sentinels, and
the conspirators compelled to retire: no wound was received
on either side. & .
The followers of Mirovitch, surprised at this unexpected
resistance, appeared inclined to desist, but were withheld by
their leader, who pretended to have received an order from
Petersburgh, authorising his conduct. On their request, he
drew from his pocket a forged decree of the senate, by which
Catherine was excluded from the throne, on the pretence of
her journey to Livonia to espouse count Poniatoffsky; and
Ivan was, by the same instrument, recalled to the inheritance
of his ancestors. The soldiers, ignorant and credulous, gave
implicit belief to this tale, and again put themselves in order
of attack. A piece of artillery was now brought from the ram-
parts, and pointed at the cell, which it was designed to batter.
At this instant the door opened, and Mirovitch with his suit,
entered unopposed. &: .
The officers within, alarmed by the confusion, had called
to the sentinels to fire. But hearing the formidable prepara-
tions, and the orders given by Mirovitch to storm the prison,
they took counsel on the measures proper to be pursued. To
resist a force so superior, they considered scarcely possible:
the consequences to be apprehended were next to be consulted
upon. In the enlargement of their prisoner, the public peace.
and the safety of the empire were involved: neither was their
own security to be neglected, nor the punishment and disgrace
to which the loss of their charge would subject them. The re-
sult of this conference was the dreadful alternative of obeying
the order they had received, and sacrificing the captive: on
this act, so horrible, and, in their present situation, so replete
with danger, they finally concluded. The wretched Iv.
VoI. I. * 3 I




whom the noise of the muskets and the cries of the guards had
awakened from his sleep, conjured them to spare his miserable
life. Inaccessible to pity, the barbarous ruffians disregarded
his agonies: though naked and unarmed, despair gave him
strength. His right hand, in his struggles, was pierced through,
and his body covered with wounds. Wrenching the sword
from one of the assassins, he had broken it in two; but the
other stabbed him from behind, and threw him down, while
his comrade was struggling to get the piece from his hand.
The wretch whose sword had been broken, plunged his bayo-
net, into the body of the victim, and repeating his blows, the
unhappy prince expired under his savage and merciless hand.
The door was then opened, and the bleeding body exposed
to the assailants, to whom the order was at the same time
given, by which the assassins conceived themselves justified in
the action they had committed. Mirovitch, struck with horror
at the consequences of his wild scheme, staggered back some
paces, and then, throwing himself on the body of Ivan, mourn-
fully exclaimed, “I have missed my aim; I have nothing to do
but to die.” Rising up, he attempted neither vengeance nor
escape, but, returning to the governor, whom he had left in the
hands of his adherents, he surrendered to him his sword, cold-
ly saying, “It is I now that am your prisoner.”
The mangled remains of the unhappy prince, clothed in
the habit of a sailor, were, the next day, exposed before the
church in the castle of Schlusselburg. Crowds of people from
Petersburgh and the neighbouring towns, flocked to behold
this tragical spectacle: their indignation was equalled only
by their grief. The misfortunes and personal endowments of
this victim of ambition, called forth the sympathy and touched
the feelings of the populace: tall in stature, with fine light
hair, regular features, and a fair complexion, the beauty and
the youth of the murdered prince heightened the sensibilities
which his unprecedented calamities and relentless fate were
so fitted to excite. Every heart deplored his destiny, and
breathed curses “deep not loud” against his inhuman perse-
cutors. The body, wrapped in a sheep-skin, and placed in
a coffin, was afterwards interred without ceremony.
The assassins, to avoid the popular fury, escaped on board












CATHERINE II. . ass ź
a vessel bound for Denmark, where, on their arrival, they
were protected by the Russian minister. Shortly after they
returned to Russia, and were advanced in the service.
The governor of Schlusselburg, dispatched to Petersburgh
a narrative of the transaction, which he accompanied with the
manifesto found in the pocket of Mirovitch, and fabricated
for his purpose. In this paper, which contained scurrilous
invectives and imprecations against Catherine, Ivan was repre-
sented as the sole legitimate emperor. Its publication was to
have taken place at the moment of the liberation of the prince,
and of his entry into Petersburgh. Panin dispatched a courier
to the empress, with an account of what had passed.
Catherine, then at Riga, was observed to suffer under
a visible disquietude of mind, for which the state of the
empire and the mutiplicity of plots were sufficient to account.
She would frequently arise in the night, to inquire if any
courier had arrived with intelligence from Petersburgh. The
dispatches of Panin were at length brought to her hand.
The trial of the conspirators was remitted by her to the
senate. Mirovitch was condemned to death, and publicly
executed in pursuance of his sentence. The inferior actors
escaped death for punishments perhaps not less severe. The
assassins of the prince were rewarded for their loyalty and
fidelity to their trust. A manifesto filled with expressions of
piety and humanity, the office-style of the court, and published
by authority, narrated the whole proceeding. º
The public opinion respecting the transaction appeared to
be divided. That a private individual should hazard an enter- &... . . .
prise so rash and so romantic, so prosperous in it its commence-
ment, and so tragical in its catastrophe, that no one should
suffer injury in the contest, that the death of its object should
produce so immediate a calm, and that no inquiry should be
set on foot for accomplices, seemed to many singularly wonder-
ful. The destruction of the victim appeared to be the sole end
towards which the whole machinery tended. During the
absence of the empress, assuredly none of her party wo gº
without her knowledge and consent, have undertaken thi
service.” . * . . . . . . . :
But, on the contrary, the manifesto found upon Mirovitch,
in which Catherine was calumniated, had been actually p



duced, perused, and sent to Riga; while the author had publicly
suffered the punishment of his temerity, if some unknown
malefactor had not, indeed, been substituted in his place.
The decision, it must be confessed, abounds with difficul-
ties; the reader must therefore on this subject be left to form his
own conclusions: to those who have studied the human mind,
the powers of the imagination, and the progress of the passions,
it is probable there will appear nothing very incredible in the
enterprise of Mirovitch. The unsettled state of the empire,
the ferment in the public mind, the peculiar situation of his
own family and affiairs, his vicinity and office near the prince,
the apparent facility of his project, in a fortress which seems
to have been but slenderly guarded, his ardent temper, and
his fancy heated by incessant contemplation on the subject,
afford a combination of motives not inadequate to the cir-
cumstances produced. In this case, to suspect the empress of
a plan so unnecessarily complicated and refined, appears to be
substituting, for a simple solution, an hypothesis perplexed
with entanglement, and replete with contradiction.
The popular emotions of compassion and dipleasure, which
this disastrous catastrophe excited, were variously, but uni-
formly, testified. The multitudes that continued to flock to the
castle and demand a sight of the corpse, gave alarm to the go-
vernment: the body was ordered to be secretly removed in the
silence of the night, from the church of the castle, and convey-
ed to the monastery of Tichfina, two hundred versts from
Petersburgh. Violent commotions arose among the regiments
of the guards, who, like the Roman praetorians, conceived the
right of deposing and murdering emperors to be exclusively
vested in themselves. In the night of the 24th of July, when
he ferment reached its crisis, the prudent measures of the
brince Galitzin diverted the bursting storm. Tranquillity was
at length happily restored, and the commotions gradually sub-
sided. But on the return of the assassins of Ivan to court, every
ye beheld them with scorn, and every tongue muttered curses
nst them. x
The throne of Catherine thus firmly established, she
exter ded her clemency towards the surviving members of the
:uted far mily of the murdered prince, who were liberated
eir captivity, trk, in consequence of
and sent to Denma

















CATHERINE II. 467
a negotiation with the Danish court. Catherine presented to
them, on their departure for the place of their destination, two
hundred thousand rubles, for the purpose of providing them
with clothes and equipage suited to their station and rank.
This was accompanied by a present of rich furs and jewels
from the imperial cabinet, while persons of distinction were
appointed to attend them on their voyage. The city of Horsens
in Yutland was selected by the court of Copenhagen as their
place of residence. A deed of renunciation of all pretensions,
either of themselves or of their posterity, to the Russian suc-
cession, it is probable was required of the illustrious exiles;
pretensions which had cost them too dear to be resigned with
regret. Towards their establishment in Denmark, the empress
presented to them twenty thousand rubles; while thirty thou-
sand were allowed annually for the maintenance of their
dignity.
Catherine, soon after the tragedy at Schlusselburg, returned
to her dominions through the conquered provinces. On her
entry into Petersburgh, the people crowded round her, to dis-
cover in her countenance what passed in her heart. Ever
mistress of herself, her face beamed with smiles, her aspect
was serene, and her step firm: her deportment announced no
symptom of disquietude or internal reproach.
Mirovitch and his accomplices, having been privately
examined by lieutenant-general Veymar, had been brought to
Petersburgh, and tried before a commission, composed of five
prelates, an equal number of senators, and several general
officers. Mirovitch maintained before his judges a composed
and tranquil demeanor; he even replied to their interroga-
tories with a frivolous and insolent air. The judges, it is
said, appeared by their questions fearful of investigating the
mysterious business. One alone, having declared against
their procedure, was checked for his indiscreet zeal, and
threatened with degradation. The prisoner was condemned
to lose his head, not as guilty of high treason, but as a dis-
turber of the public peace. He appeared unmoved at his
sentence, and advanced to the scaffold with a fearless air, as
if, at the last moment, assured of a reprieve. If this hope was
well founded, he was most cruelly deceived: the time of hi
execution was accelerated; he became the victim of a poli -
ºf which he was supposed to have been the instrument.
*









4ss cATHERINE II.
On the supposition of the concurrence of the empress in the
plot to which Ivan owed his death, a conjecture which certainly
admits of doubt, it would have been difficult, without implicat-
ing herself, to screen him from punishment. Questions like
these can perhaps scarcely be determined by individuals, who,
happily removed by the obscurity of their station from a per-
fidious state policy, are incompetent to judge of its motives or
its crimes: crimes, in the comparison of which, private passions
and private offences appear but as venial errors. By Omni-
science only can the thoughts be scrutinized, and the heart
made manifest. If different systems of morals seem necessarily
to belong to sovereigns and to their people; if power, in its
natural operation, and in proportion to its extent, tends to stifle
humanity, and to confound truth and justice; let us, in scan-
ning the conduct and characters of princes, exercise candour:
and, in contemplating the dazzling advantages which appear
to surround them, contrast with them their perils, their dis-
quietudes, and their temptations, and learn to rejoice in a
humbler destiny. . .x.
The beneficial consequences of the regulations and estab-
lishments of Catherine became daily more apparent through all
parts of the empire. The government, more simply organized
and animated with a new energy, displayed a spirit of indepen-
dence worthy a great nation. “The volumes of modern his-
tory,” says an historian,” “can produce no reign like this: for
no monarch has ever yet succeeded in the attainment of such
a dictature in the grand republic of Europe as Catherine II.
now holds; and none of all the kings, who have heretofore
given cause to dread the erection of an universal monarchy,
seem to have had any knowledge of her art; to present herself
with the pride of a conqueror in the most perilous situations,
and with an unusual, a totally new dignity, in the most com-
mon transactions. And it is manifestly not only the supreme
authority which here gives law, but the judgment which knows
when to show that authority, and when to employ it.”
Catherine knew how to asssign limits to the encroachments
of those whom she favoured with her esteem and friendship;
to punish those who offended her; and to issue her commands
th mildness and firmness. Mistress of her passions, however
* M. spittler. “ sketch of the History of the Governments of Europe.”


CATHERINE II. 439
moved, she controlled their emotions, and appeared tranquil
till the moment when the maturity of her plans ensured suc-
cess. Judicious in her bounty, she bestowed, by her manner
of conferring them, a double value on her favours. While she
gave laws to Poland, amused Austria, conciliated Prussia, and
treated with England, she extorted the respect of every court
in Europe. She afforded to the commerce of Russia a new
spirit, augmented its navy, softened the manners of the people,
and advanced the progress of civilization. -
In the midst of these occupations, the turbulence of inter-
nal division continued to interrupt and harass her: every day
teemed with plots and conspiracies, from which her prudence
and her fortune combined to deliver her: the favours she
showered on those whom it was important to conciliate, but
stimulated their rapacity; her punishments, though secret and
terrible, proved unavailing to preserve her from new outrages.
A contention between the favourite and the minister prov-
cd yet more perplexing; the courage and activity of the former,
and the abilities of the latter, being equally essential to her
safety. The defects and imperfections of Panin were balanced
by his capacity for business; but the influence of Orloff, which
he continually abused, rested on a different basis: his favour
with the empress, which he took no pains to secure, was gra-
dually declining; negligent, insolent, absorbed in the amuse-
ments of the chace, and careless of his influence at court, from
which he perpetually absented himself, the attachment of Ca-
therine became gradually alienated, while disgust and indif.
ference succeeded to its place. * <-- -->
This change escaped not the sagacity of Panin, who watched
for an occasion of triumphing over his adversary. The em-
press had appeared to behold with complacency Vissensky, a
young officer, who, tutored by the minister, improved and
flattered her predilection. The hour of the dismissal of Orloff
appeared at no great distance. .
But at this crisis the favourite perceived his danger, and
altered his conduct; his influence was regained, the hopes of
the minister blasted, and Vissensky, with brilliant presents,
dismissed to an employment that fixed him remote from Pe-
tersburgh.
The honours and interest enjoyed by Panin were yet i


ficient for the cravings of his ambitic cºui in ui tilt
-hancellor Vorontzoff, whose functio had performed dur-
ing his absence, gave him new inquietude; to secure his ad-
vantages and to supplant his rival, he humbled himself before
the man whose ruin he had proj ected, and was enabled, through
influence of Orloff, to supersede the chancellor and to
maintain his post. It was intimated to Vorontzoff that h
would do well to retire from court, while a gratuity of fifty
thousand rubles, and a pension of seven thousand, rewarded
his acquiescence.
Among the various means employed by Catherine for de-
tecting the designs of her enemies, was the interception of the
letters of the foreign ministers; in those of the agent of
France she thought she perceived a cognizance of the projects
formed against her. Hurt at this discovery, the coldness of her
manner intimated to the minister the propriety of a retreat.
His place was supplied by a man of little capacity, and ill cal-
culated to repair the errors of his predecessor. The empress
maintained a correspondence with Voltaire and d’Alembert.
To the latter she offered, with the place of governor to the
grand-duke, a salary of twenty-four thousand livres, and ac-
commodations for finishing at Petersburgh the Encyclopædia:
advantages which the philosopher thought proper to refuse.
Having received information that Diderot, in straitened cir-
cumstances, was desirous of selling his books for a portion to
his daughter, Catherine, with royal munificence, purchased the
. library, and, leaving it in the possession of the original owner,
appointed him librarian, with a liberal endowment. To Mo-
ard, a celebrated surgeon, she sent, as a testimony of her re-
it for his talents and skill, a collection of the medals, in
and silver, which had been struck in Russia. Among the
mel of letters and artists in Paris, distinguished for their ta-
, there were few who received not marks of her bounty.
he purposes for which Poniatoffsky had been raised by
ress to the crown of Poland, gradually began to unfold
es. Conceiving herself secure in the submission of
arch she had made, she threw off all constraint and
her pretensions; while, at the moment of this




































CATHERINE II. 441
which a great part of the Polish territory was assigned to Russia,
she insisted, in a tone of command from which there seemed no
appeal, on the recognition of these limits, and the propriety of
her claim. It was also further exacted, that the king and re-
public should conclude with Russia a treaty of alliance, offen-
sive and defensive; likewise, that dissidents and catholics
should, without exceptions, enjoy equal rights.
This last, and most equitable of her demands, excited the
loudest murmurs from the indignant nobles. Complaints were
heard on every side; recourse to arms was loudly threatened;
even the king, whether from fear or shame, refused the sacri-
fices exacted of him. Palliatives were attempted without suc-
cess; an intollerant and despotic nobility would listen to no
accommodation: having ventured to recommend more mode-
rate sentiments, the monarch was grossly insulted. In a public
assembly, the bishop of Kief had the temerity to say: ‘That
were his advice taken, they would have the king hanged, if
there were still to be found among the Poles men sufficiently
charitable to do the state that service.’ He had afterwards the
insolence, in the presence of the court, to tell the king to his
face: “I used formerly to pray to God for your prosperity; my
prayer to him at present is, that he would send you to the
devil.” Such in Poland was the spirit of the ministers of a
meek and holy religion. From religious to political feuds the
progress is easy: Poland was split into parties and factions; a
civil war, with all its horrors, ravaged this unhappy and devoted
kingdom. .
The Russian army which had been gradually advancing, at
length surrounded and invested the capital; the prelate and no-
bles, who had most furiously opposed the emancipation of the
dissidents, were seized by a detachment of Russian troops,
carried off to Siberia, and retained in exile six years. The de-
liberation of the diets were governed by force; the dissidents
obtained their privileges; an act of justice unjustly extorted.
The only real affliction to the true friends of the liberty of Po-
land was the regulations admitted by the orders of Catherine,
the tendency of which was to exasperate the troubles of the
country, and to leave it defenceless against her future usurpa.
VoI. I. 2 : 3 K

442 CATHERINE II.
A servile obedience succeeded in Warsaw to the excesses
of a turbulent resistance: but this forced sentiment was of no
long duration; murmurs, complaints, and clamours, ensued.
Confederacies were formed for the defence of the Romish
faith; crosses were embroidered on the garments of the con-
federates, as in the times of the crusades, while Jesus and the
Virgin were painted on their standards. These zealous Chris-
tians, armed against their brethren, placed themselves, with a
curious consistency, under the protection of the Turks: the
banner of Mohammed was preparing to wave with the standard
of Christ. r
The unfortunate Poniatoffsky, despised by his subjects and
contemned by Russia, the friendship of which he had forfeited,
lived in his capital, accused by all parties, as a prisoner of state
rather than as a king. The influence of Orloff kept alive in the
mind of Catherine the sense of his defection; while prince
Repnin, who commanded as a despot in Warsaw, lost no op-
portunity of making his court to the favourite, by adding to
the humiliation of the feeble and fallen king. Europe beheld
with surprise the conduct of the empress; a persecutor of the
man, who had owed to her his elevation: but the faint remem-
brance of an extinguished passion opposed but a slight barrier
to the ambition of a princess who, by imposing shackles on
Poland, aimed to render herself arbitress of the north. Aware
of the desire of Prussia to share her spoils, she had nothing to
fear from Frederic; Sweden and Denmark she managed at
pleasure; while a treaty of alliance and commerce secured her
with England. Every event combined to favour her views.
The duke de Choiseul was the first to penetrate the de-
signs of Catherine: he saw in the augmentation of her power
the diminution of the influence of the court of Versailles; to
attack the evil in its source, he resolved to involve Russia in a
war with the Ottoman Porte. Tutored for the occasion, Ver-
gennes, the ambassador from France to Constantinople, whose
long residence in Turkey afforded him the means of negotiat-
ing with success, represented to the Porte the injustice of
Russia in its conduct towards Poland, the consequences at-
tending its increase of power, and the necessity for opposing
s usurpations. The Ottomans, whom the confederates had
already petitioned for aid, took the alarm, and complied with



CATHERINE II. 443
the counsels of the crafty Vergennes. An intimation of its
favourable intentions was sent by the Porte to Poniatoffsky,
who, fearful of giving umbrage to Catherine, and solicitous to
regain her friendship, disavowed the necessity for any inter-
ference. The divan, having received this assurance, relapsed
into its usual indifference.
Between the courts of Petersburgh and London a treaty of
alliance and commerce advantages to the latter was concluded.
To her inclination for England, Catherine added the desire of
securing additional succours in the war she already meditated
against the Turks. .
Whatever might be the irregularities of her own conduct,
the empress strictly discountenanced violations of decorum,
thereby paying a tacit homage to virtue. Her partiality for the
British nation failed of pleading an excuse for the improper
conduct of its minister, an affair of gallantry between whom
and one of the ladies of honour becoming public, the lady was
dismissed from her post, and the lover, for some time, prohibi-
ted from appearing at court. Two ladies also, who at a mas-
querade entertained themselves with talking too loudly of their
respective admirers, received from Catherine a severe repri-
mand. With a stern countenance she ordered them to leave
the ball-room, since they paid no more respect to modesty.
Princess Dashkoff, whose enterprising spirit delighted in
braving dangers, and who had, to avenge herself on the in-
gratitude of the empress, fomented the discontents against her,
revealed the crimes of the conspiracy against the czar, in
which she had herself been a principal actor. By this conduct
she obliged Catherine, a second time, to banish her to Moscow.
Without esteeming the princess, many persons partook in her
resentments: the seeds of sedition which she had artfully sown,
continued to ferment on every side. º
Informed of the discontents at Moscow, Catherine, while
affecting to contemn her danger, resolved to suppress them by
her presence. But the severity of the season having protracted
her purpose, she sought, in the mean time, by a tumult of plea-
sures, to amuse the disaffected courtiers. The spectacles of
chivalry were revived, and the prowess of the Russians
exercised in tournaments, in which strength and magnificence,
rather than gallantry and skill, were ostentatiously displayed.

444 CATHERINE II.
The nation murmured at exhibitions, which were considered
by the severe as frivolous and expensive. The manners and
costume of different countries, Sclavonians, Indians, Turks,
and Romans, were, in these games, exhibited by the combat-
ants. A profusion of gold and jewels adorned the champions,
who, with their ladies, were divided into four troops. The
band of Romans, led off by Orloff, appeared in the lists with
peculiar splendour. Tilting at the ring, and beheading the
infidels, artificially represented; tossing the heads and catch-
ing them on the point of a sabre; firing at a shield, with similar
achievements performed at full gallop, and musical time,
formed the principal parts of the spectacle, which continued,
with variations, for several days. The festival concluded with
the distribution of prizes, and a speech from the venerable
marshal, count Munich, grand judge of the field. The ladies of
the court, like the heroines of old, justed at these tournaments;
on which occasion the highest prize, valued at five thousand
rubles, was adjudged to the countess Bourthurlin, the sister of
of princess Dashkoff. A splendid repast crowned the cere-
monies, in the dessert of which was an admirable repre-
sentation of the circus wherein the sports had been perform-
ed. The imperial summer gardens were grandly illuminated
with arches of lamps burning with naphtha, radiant temples,
resplendent fountains, and magnificent fireworks, terminating
with a masquerade, which continued till the dawn. .
Nor was Catherine, for the establishment of her authority,
negligent of worthier means; useful institutions were erected
and reforms made; the tribunals were corrected, schools found-
ed, hospitals built, and colonies planted. She sought to inspire
the nation with a respect for the laws, and, by instruction, to
soften their manners. Rapacious of power and jealous of glory,
she aimed at once to be a legislatrix and a conqueror. Amidst
internal dissensions and preparation for war, amidst public
pleasures and private indulgences, she omitted nothing that
might attract the admiration of her contemporaries, and con-
sign her name with renown to posterity. - -
The perplexed and uncertain jurisprudence of Russia
more peculiarly engaged her attention, to the disorders of
which she determined to apply a remedy. For this purpose
she simplified and divided the departments of legislation, and
º





CATHERINE II. 445
augmented the emoluments of the judges, to deprive them of
a pretext for rapacity and negligence. In the ukause published
on this occasion, ‘Indigence,’ says she, “may perhaps, hitherto
have led you to self-interest; the country itself shall reward
your labours, and render henceforth criminal what might have
been venial.” Beside the augmentation of their salaries, the
judges had an appointment of half-pay secured to them for the
season of age and infirmities.
The primary business being arranged, the empress pro-
ceeded in the composition of a new code of laws. The pro-
vinces of the empire, without excepting any, however barbarous
or remote, had orders to present, by deputies to Moscow, their
ideas on the regulations fitted to their peculiar exigences.
Catherine having herself repaired to the ancient capital, the
opening states was held with solemn pomp.
To behold the deputies of a numerous people, various in
manners, dress, and language, ignorant of law, and accustomed
to the arbitrary will of a master, assembled for the purpose of
a legislative discussion, afforded a novel and affecting spectacle.
To leave to the assembly an unconstrained appearance, a
gallery had been constructed in the hall, where the empress;
without being perceived, witnessed all that passed. The busi-
ness commenced by reading, translated into the Russian, lan-
guage, those instructions, the original of which, written in
French, almost wholly in the hand of Catherine, has been since,
inclosed in a case of silver gilt, deposited in an apartment of
the imperial academy of sciences at Petersburgh.
Peter the Great, so worthy of admiration, and so justly
celebrated, had framed no permanent laws: to Catherine II.
he work of legislation was left; it was she only who, having
conceived this grand idea, had the courage and magnanimity
to put it in execution. A code of laws,” founded in truth and
justice, was, by a woman, presented to the Russian empire.
Bursts of applause interrupted the reading of the instruc-
tions, while the sagacity, the wisdom, the humanity of the
czarina were loudly extolled. In these acclamations, doubtless,
* This work, though principally taken from Montesquieu and the French
writers, must ever redound to the glory of Catherine, whose liberality of mind
led her to draw from such sources,



440 CATHERINE II.
fear and adulation had their share. One only, the deputy of the
Samoyedes, had the courage to speak with freedom in the
name of his brethren: “We are a simple and honest people,’
said he, “we quietly tend our rein-deer. We want no new
code: but make laws for the Russians, our neighbours, that
may put a stop to their depredations.” 2.
The succeeding sittings passed less quietly. Liberty to the
boors had been proposed: thousands of this oppressed class
prepared to support by force what they expected from equity.
An insurrection was dreaded by the nobles, who feared still
more a defalcation of their revenue. Among them were some
who rashly asserted, that the first man who should move for
the affranchisement of the vassals, should fall by their poniards.
In despite of these menaces, count Schereme toff, the richest
individual in Russia, to whom a hundred and fifty thousand
peasants appertained, rising up, declared, that for his part, he
would cheerfully accede to the affranchisement. The debate
grew warm, fatal consequences were apprehended, and the
deputies were dismissed to their respective provinces.
Previous to the dissolution of the assembly, it was required
of the members to signalize their meeting by a memorial of
gratitude to the empress. The titles of great, wise, prudent,
and mother of her country, were by unanimous acclamation
conferred upon Catherine. When informed of this decree, she
replied, with apparent modesty, “That if she had rendered
herself worthy of the first title, it was for posterity to confer
it on her. That wisdom and prudence were the gifts of Hea-
ven, to which she daily gave thanks, without presuming to ar- /
rogate merit to herself. But that the mother of her country was
the title to her the most dear, the only title she could acce
and which she regarded as the benign and glorious recompense
for her solicitudes and labours in behalf of a people whom she
loved.” z -
Proud of the work which had obtained her this flattering
homage, copies of the Instructions were dispatched to those
sovereigns, whose esteem she courted. Having complimented
her on her labours, they hesitated not to pronounce that they
would afford to her honour an eternal monument. The king
of Prussia, among other flattering observations, thus expres-
sed himself: “Semiramis commanded armies, Elizabeth of



ſ CATHERINE II. 447
England was accounted a politician, but no woman has hither-
to been a legislatrix; a glory reserved for the empress of
Russia, who so well deserves it.” Ž
This letter was received at Kasan by Catherine, who had
long desired to visit her provinces in Asia, and the shores of
the Volga. Her Instructions, founded on the principles of an
enlightened humanity, recognise no legitimate authority which
does not originate in justice. Though an absolute monarch,
her laws tended to enfeeble despotism, and to render equity
respectable; their purpose was to form a solid, rather than
an arbitrary legislation; to restrain caprice and tyranny, and
to subject those to whom their administration was confided
to a just and invariable conduct. It is to be lamented, that
the accomplishment of this great design was impeded by
difficulties probably unforeseen: in an assembly, composed
of tribes so adverse and customs so various, a common con-
clusion could scarcely be expected; the whole apparatus was
suffered to fall, after appearing as a machine, directed to a
vast but inadequate end. .
The spirit of the Instructions, respecting the proportion to
be observed between punishments and crimes, the rare occa-
sions on which death ought to be inflicted, the rules to be ob-
served in forfeitures and confiscations, which could not extend
beyond acquired property, with many other just and mild re-
gulations, bespoke profound meditation, rectitude of judgment,
and benevolence of heart. The publication and dispersion of
this work throughout the empire, could not fail, by diffusing
just principles, of producing beneficial effects. The legislation
of Russia had been, like that of most countries, complicated,
rplexed, and contradictory; drawn out to a voluminous
length, loaded with precedents, cases, and opinions, calculated
rather for eternal altercation than for the administration of
equity. Catherine determined to reduce this chaos to order;
if her endeavours failed of their complete accomplishment,
the very attempt was glorious, and the way was cleared for
future amelioration and success. “If,” says she, in these In-
structions, “it be not, for political reasons, practicable to free
the boors throughout the empire from their vassalage, yet º
means should be thought of to enable them to acquire proper- º







CATHERINE II.
ty. In pursuance of this idea, should not a method be devised
for gradually improving the condition of this lower order of the
people?” The whole performance is a compendium of just
maxims and generous sentiments, illustrated by passages from
the most celebrated of the philosophers of Greece and Rome,
with examples from ancient and modern history, and from the
manners of cultivated and savage nations.
Catherine, proceeding on the same englarged and liberal
principles which dictated the Instructions, continued to culti-
vate the sciences and arts, to make her kingdom the asylum of
learning and genius, to reform the manners and instruct the
minds of the people.
The transit of Venus over the sun, which was expected to
take place in the summer of 1769, afforded to the empress a
new opportunity of displaying her munificence and liberal cu-
riosity. In a letter, written by her own hand from Moscow,
to the director of the academy of sciences at Petersburgh,
she desired to be informed of the most proper situation for
making observations on this occasion, and offered every requi-
site assistance to the undertaking.
While thus seeking to build her fame on a solid founda-
tion, the czarina was not free from the weaknesses of humani-
ty; she discovered an extraordinary anxiety to obtain from the
powers of Europe an acknowledgment of the title of Imperial
Majesty, which some had persisted in refusing to her. This
style was pertinaciously resisted by Lewis XV. a resistance
which, combined with other sources of dissatisfaction, irritat-
ed the empress against France. The vexations arising from
foreign powers, the dangers of war, and the cares of empire,
by dividing the attention of Catherine, enabled her to elude
reflections that more bitterly pressed upon her mind: one ad-
verse moment, she felt, might despoil her of the fruits of her
toils; and even that moment, many among the people for
whose welfare she laboured were but too eager to accelerate.
The name of Peter III. was become dear to the Russians; in
the recollection of his good qualities, and in compassion for
his fate, his vices and weakness were remembered no more.
In the multitude of malecontents, dispersed through the na-
tion, an avenger of the czar might yet be found.


II.
Tschoglokoff, a young officer, believing himself inspired
by Heaven, resolved to appear in this, character; having
reflected on the execution of his sanguinary project, he lurk-
ed, for several succeeding days, in the dark passages of
the palace, leading to its retired and interior apartments.
Catherine, on this occasion, owed her preservation to an
accidental circumstance, which procrastinated the time of
her passing through the avenues, where the assassin laid in
wait to receive her. Tschoglokoff, impatient of this delay,
and eager to strike a blow in his heated fancy so propitious to
his country, boasted of his purpose to a brother officer, whom
he believed to be his friend. By this imprudence he was be-
trayed. Orloff, informed of his measures and designs, had
him seized in the ambuscade, where he awaited the empress:
a long poniard was found upon him, when he confessed, with-
out hesitation, the use for which it was designed. Aº
Catherine, mistress of her indignation and of her fears,
affected to forgive the attempt of a youth whom political
fanaticism had deluded from his duty: she even desired to see
him, and spoke to him with mildness. By this apparent gene-
rosity she sought to suppress the transaction, lest imitators
should be found of an example so pernicious. But, hopeless of
converting a man whom humanity made an assassin, she caused
him secretly to be imprisoned, and afterwards exiled to the
heart of Siberia. .
In the middle of the year 1767, the empress conceived the
idea of deputing men of learning to travel into the interior of
her immense territories, for the purpose of determining he
geographical position of the principal places; also to mark
their temperature, to examine their soil, their productions
wealth, and to ascertain the manners and character of
orders were given to the academy of sciences, to who
office was left of selecting proper persons.
Among the ingenious men * who, at the invi ation of Ca
rine, had sought an asylum at Petersburgh, was
professor Euler, from Berlin, on whom the
Aware that in the precedence of knowle

























§
iseful arts consist the real happiness and distinction of a nation,
Catherine encouraged artists and scholars of all denominations.
New privileges were granted to the academy of sciences,
and its members exhorted to add to the names which had
conferred a lustre on their society, those of distinguished ſo-
reigners. Nor was the empress less attentive to the academy
of arts; the number of its pupils was augmented, scholars
were not to be admitted after the age of six years, lest by the
previous defects of a bad education, their manners should have
been corrupted or their tempers spoiled. After having been
three years in the care of women, they were devoted to the
art for which they displayed a predilection. During their resi-
dence in the academy, they were to receive nothing from their
parents; they were clothed, lodged, and boarded, at the public
expense. At the end of fifteen years they were to leave the
institution, and to receive patents of nobility, should it then be
found that their conduct corresponded with the education that
had been bestowed on them. To those of the pupils who gain-
ed by their talents the highest prizes, pensions were allotted
for travelling three years over Europe. As a still farther en-
couragement to knowledge, an annual sum of five thousand
rubles was assigned by Catherine for the translation of foreign
literature into the Russian language. .
The small-pox, about this period, was rife in Petersburgh,
where it committed dreadful devastations. To avoid infection,
the empress and her son remained at Tzar-sko-selo. The
danger to which they were exposed, and the welfare of the
nation, gave rise, on this occasion, to the introduction of
inoculation. It was determined by the first personages in the
mpire, to submit to the operation as an example to the people;
for which purpose a physician was invited from England. .
In the beginning of July, 1768, Dr. Thomas Dimsdale re-
º ved, at Hertford, a letter from the Russian minister at the
court of London, containing information of the wishes of the
mpress. Domestic considerations produced in the doctor a
nt hesitation, when a second courier from Petersburgh
ed at court by count Panin; but the
In O. n hearing of º his arrival. % º tº e fir gº
n the questions she put to him rel;























CATHERINE II. 451
tive to the practice and success of the inoculated small-pox:
on retiring, he received from her an invitation to dinner. The
doctor, in describing this repast, thus speaks of the empress:
“But what most enlivened the entertainment was the unaffec-
ted ease and affability of the czarina. Each of her guests had
a share of her attention and politeness; the conversation was
kept up with a freedom and cheerfulness rather to be expected
from persons of the same rank, than from subjects admitted to
the company of their sovereign.” ?
On the following day a second conference took place, in
which Dr. Dimsdale required the assistance of the court phy-
sician, to whom he proposed to communicate the methods he
meant to pursue. Catherine, with great good sense, objected
to a measure which could tend but to his embarrassment, and
which would seem to imply her want of confidence in his
skill: “My life is my own,” said she, “and I shall with cheer-
fulness confide it to your care. With regard to my constitu-
tion, you shall receive from myself every necessary informa-
tion. I have also to acquaint you, that it is my determination
to submit to the operation before the grand-duke, and as soon
as you judge it convenient. This, for the present, must remain
a secret: the preparations for the grand-duke will countenance
your visits to the palace,’ &c. The physician engaged obedi-
ence to all her commands; but was desirous that some experi-
ments might be first made on persons of her own sex, ag
and, as nearly as possible, constitution. “If the practice had
been novel,” replied the empress, “ or any doubt of its general
success had remained, such precautions might be necessary;
but, satisfied in these particulars, why should there be any
delays?” -
Having been privately inoculated on the 12th of October,
Catherine returned the next morning to Tzar-sko-selo,
lace four-and-twenty versts from Petersburgh. She was at f
accompanied only by her attendants; but several of the nobi
following, and, among the rest, some who had not hi
distemper, the empress charged Dr. Dimsdal
when it would be possible for her to comm
“Though I wish to keep my inoculation
would be far from concealing it
come hazardous to others.” Dur









in every amusement with her usual affability and unconceru,
constantly dined with the nobility, and enlivened the court
with the peculiar graces and vivacity of her conversation.
The grand-duke, shortly after, submitted to the operation.
On his recovery, Catherine rewarded the operator by creating
him a baron of the Russian empire, appointing him actual
counsellor of state, and physician to her imperial majesty, with
a pension of five hundred a-year to be paid to him in England:
he also immediately received a present of ten thousand pounds
sterling, with a miniature picture of the empress, and another
of the grand-duke, as a memorial of his services. On his son,
by whom he had been accompanied, Catherine conferred the
same title; and ordered a superb golden snuff-box to be given
to him, richly set with diamonds. - .
* The principal families of Petersburgh and Moscow were
impatient to follow the imperial example. This business being
happily accomplished, baron Dimsdale, laden with wealth, was
preparing to return to his native land, when he was informed by
a nobleman that the empress desired to see him. The baron
found her, to his concern, with every symptom of a pleuritic
fever, and, at her desire, he delayed his departure. After
losing some blood, she experienced relief, and in a short time
began to recover. . . . . . . . . . . . ; .
At the end of three weeks, the baron again prepared for
his voyage to England; and on his audience of leave, experi-
enced farther proofs of the munificence of the empress.
* On the third of December, 1768, the recovery of the cza-
rina, and of the grand-duke, from the small-pox, was celebra-
ted with solemn pomp, by a thanksgiving service, in the chapel
of the palace; and an annual festival in commemoration of the
t was decreed by the senate. .
Catherine, not yet prepared for hostilities, had, on the first
e of the Turkish war, suspended the settlement of the
limits; but her purpose, though deferred, was not re-
tussian troops continued to harass Poland,
%
theatre of a complicated and cruel war.
















CATHERINE II. 453
general Soltikoff, ravaged and divided the country. Thus
pressed, a second application, supported by the minister of
France, was made by the confederates to the Ottoman empire,
and favourably received by the divan. The Russian ambassa-
dor was, previous to a declaration of war, shut up in the prison
of the seven towers, and hostilities were commenced in form.
The Porte having complained of the ambition and rapacity
of Catherine, of the violation of their territory, and the in-
fringement of treaties, proposed to open the campaign with an
army of 500,000 men. This event, foreseen, if not desired, by
the Russian court, was regarded by the empress with little
dismay: the army, the magazines, and the stores, had been
for some time in a state of preparation. Catherine loudly jus-
tified the conduct of her minister, and expected the enemy
with firmness. The measures of the Porte on this occasion
were not less politic than just: those of Russia exhibit a pic-
ture of despotism, oppression, and cruelty; at the contempla-
tion of which humanity sickens. A dark and sanguinary cloud
obscured at this period the reign of Catherine, and threw into
shade the lustre of her magnanimous qualities. 3.
§
The empress and the king of Prussia, long solicitous for a
conference respecting the partition of Poland, had hitherto
forborne to indulge this desire, fearful of giving umbrage to
the potentates of Europe. The better to conceal their purposes,
it was determined that prince Henry, the brother of Frederic, .
under the pretence of a visit to his sister, the queen of Sweden,
should be charged with the negotiation of the Polish affairs.
When arrived at Stockholm, the prince talked of returning to
Prussia through Denmark, but was induced without difficulty
to change his design, by the complaisance of Catherine, from
whom he received an invitation, while so near her dominions,
to visit Petersburgh. The premeditated purpose of his journey
was thus veiled under the appearance of accident. § º
* The prince was received at Petersburgh with sovereign
honours; after the first ceremonials, he conversed with th
new empress without restraint; while every day waſ
scenes of festivity. The entertainment g
prince, at Tzar-sko-selo, the seat ! czars, and
residence of Catherine, was distinguished by sº . . .3
cence, and is deserving of commemoration. In thi

















mansion, which owed its origin to Catherine I., was embelish-
ed by Elizabeth, and indebted for its elegant completion to
Catherine II., a little temple of simple architecture was by the
latter devoted to reflection and retirement. In this retreat,
surrounded by books, and the scenery of beautiful nature, she
descended from her rank, contracted her sphere of action,
remembered that she was human, and delivered herself up to
quiet meditation. It was at this seat, celebrated for its gran-
deur, magnificence, and taste, that the empress determined to
entertain her guests with a truly regal munificence.
On the appointed evening, Catherine, the grand-duke, the
prince of Prussia, with several of the nobility, amounting in
the whole to sixteen persons, seated themselves on a sledge,
drawn by sixteen horses, covered and enclosed by double
glasses, which from within and without reflected numberless
images. More than two thousand sledges followed that which
conveyed the imperial family; every person masked and
dressed in fancy habits. At the distance of two versts from
Petersburgh, the train of sledges passed under a triumphal
arch, illuminated with various coloured lamps, and adorned
with transparent emblems. A pyramid of lamps, a superb
structure, a magnificent temple, a display of fireworks or
illuminated colonnades, was exhibited at every succeeding
verst; opposite to each was erected a house of public enter-
tainment, where rustics of both sexes, dressed as shepherds
and shepherdesses, mingled in the dance, or amused them-
selves by sports, as at a country wake. Each of these houses
was, by the costume of the people, the music, the dances, and
e sports, made to represent a different nation. Vaulting,
bling, interludes, &c. were performed at intervals. On the
roach to Tzar-sko-selo, within the distance of two versts, a
gh mountain appeared, which, seen through an avenue cut in
e wood, represented Vesuvius throwing out torrents of
le, which alluminated the surrounding atmosphere. This
iº g the time the sledges wer
ain, and till they entered, throug
illage, which led to



















CATHERINE II. 455
grand discharge of cannon was heard, the ball ceased, the
tapers were extinguished, while the company ran to the win-
dows, through which were beheld magnificent fire-works,
extending the length of the palace. A thundering discharge of
artillery concluded the exhibition; when the tapers were re-
illumined as by enchantment, and a splendid supper appeared
already served up. The repast being concluded, the dancing
was resumed, and continued till a late hour in the morning.
During the whole of her reign, Catherine was accustomed to
entertain the public with magnificent spectacles, not exceeded
by any court in Europe. :
Prince Henry passed every evening in company with the
empress, in her favourite suit of apartments, which she had
named her hermitage. This sumptuous edifice, to which its
modest appellation but little suited, was contiguous to the
imperial palace, with which it communicated by a covered pas-
sage erected over an arch. It was in these apartments, which
every luxury combined to embellish, that Catherine enjoyed
with her friends the pleasures of familiar and social intercourse.
Here was her private library, here the picture gallery, with
cabinets of medals, of coins, collections of prints, of natural hist
tory, of mineralogy, of curious pieces of art, of mechanical in-
ventions, of antique and modern gems, &c. &c. Here were placed
the busts of great and eminent men. In one of the apartments was
to be seen that of the English patriot, Mr. Charles James Fox,
placed between to others in the middle of a marble chimney-
piece. One room was allotted to musical entertainments,
another to billiards, and others to various games and amuse-
ments. From one of the apartments you enter a pleasur -
garden, supported by arches with furnaces beneath, whic
produce amidst the rigours of winter an artificial summer, in
which the peach, the anana, the rose, and the hyacinth, bl. om
and ripen. A fine brass wire covers this northern Eden, in
which beautiful and rare birds, from every country and from
every clime, fly among the trees, sport in the blossoms, and
hop in the walks. These little animals, tamed by their situa-
tion, would take food from the hand of their royal mistress.
Here Catherine, in the depths of winter, wanders with her
friends and favourites in a paradise of her own creation, on
downy lawns, and beneath verdant trees, amidst a profi
nature’s bounties artificially produced.

















Above this garden, on a terrace, is a second, in the
Asiatic taste, uncovered, and appropriated to more genial
seasons. From this palace of Armida, a covered gallery leads
to the court-theatre, to which a select company only is admitted.
The remaining apartments of the hermitage are composed of
two spacious and elegantly-ornamented halls, and a dining-
room, in which dinner is served up by a mechanical apparatus,
without the visible aid of servants, the dishes rising on small
tables through doors in the floor. The company being seated,
ſ each on-wishing his plate exchanged, has only to strike it in
the centre, when, having fallen through the table and floor, it
starts up again, furnished with whatever was written on a
small piece of paper, that had descended with it. At a certain
signal the whole course descends, and is succeeded by another.
The prince of Prussia expressing a desire to see Moscow,
the sledges were immediately prepared, which transported him
with celerity to the ancient capital. Three weeks afterwards he
was already returned to Petersburgh. Among the various pre-
sents which he received from the empress was the star of the
order of St. Andrew, full of large brilliants, together with a
single diamond valued at forty thousand rubles. The portrait
of Catherine was enclosed in the ring. &
Amidst these festivities and pleasures, the dismember-
ment of Poland was, in private conferences between the em-
press and the prince, finally resolved upon. This measure was
and England, guarantees of the treaty, appeared indifferent to
the fate of this unhappy country, or unable to give it aid. ‘I,’
said Catherine to the prince of Prussia, “will frighten the Ot-
mans, and flatter England; do you buy over Austria that
she may amuse France.” - -
The conditions to be observed in the dismemberment of
I oland were thus settled; and the extent of country to be al-
lotted to each of the powers finally fix ed. This treaty, however,
was not signed till two years afterwards, in February, 1772.
The war continued to rage on the frontiers of Turkey with
*** success: ifter ten months, at the end of the cam-
advantage appeared manifestly on the side of the
e artifices of Catherine, and the devotedness



















CATHERINE II. 457
of its king, Poland was induced to join its oppressors, and to
declare war against the Porte. But from a country drained of
its resources, plunged in anarchy, and without an army, no es-
sential service could on either side be expected. While the
troops of Russia were thus engaged, a project worthy her dar-
ing genius was conceived by Catherine, who resolved to attack
her enemies in the isles of Greece. For the execution of this
plan, notwithstanding the opposition of her ministry, prepara-
tions were immediately commenced.
In September, 1769, two squadrons of Russian men of war
were prepared for the occasion with inconceivable celerity:
sailing from Revel and Archangel, they steered for the Medi-
terranean, a course hitherto unexampled. This fleet, accom-
panied by numerous small vessels conveying troops, having
crossed the north seas, passed the straits of Gibraltar, been
dispersed by a tempest, and again collected, displayed at length
in the Archipelago its victorious flag. Europe beheld with
astonishment a nation scarcely known till the present century,
braving its coasts and entering its harbours. In the islands, on
Paros and Melos, and on the continent of ancient Greece,
Russians appeared: the Pylas of Nestor, the famous Sparta,
was conquered by barbarians, who laid siege to Corinth, and
captured Lemnos, with Mytelene. In Syria and in Egypt the
Russian armies were beheld supporting the enterprising Ali-
bey for three years.
On the war against the Turks depended the fate of Poland:
aware of this, Catherine omitted no effort to ensure its suc-
cess. New squadrons were built, and numerous recruits join-
ed her camps. The campaign was opened by the siege of
Bender, celebrated for the sojourn of Charles XII. and at length
decided by two signal and more important actions, in which
victory remained with the imperial army. Great and repeated
successes augmented the pride and the security of Catherine:
the restless spirits were employed, murmurs were no longer
heard; every conspiracy was crushed, and every discontent
overpowered in the splendor of victory. Distant provin
sending deputies to Petersburgh, did homage to a victor
and triumphant princess, who received them with m
cence, and loaded them with benefits. Foreign o
Vol. I. . . 3 M







England, from Denmark, and from Holland, of tried valour
and experience, offered their services to the empress, and
were incorporated in the Russian navy.
When but recently elevated to the throne, Catherine had, ,
from the conversations of Munich, conceived the idea of
wresting Constantinople from the Turks, and driving them
out of Europe; the ancient veteran had, at the time, offered to
conduct the enterprise, which too many obstacles then oppos-
ed. The propitious moment seemed now arrived. The em-
press, though hopeless of retaining the Grecian islands,
determined to rend them from the Ottoman Porte, to be the
patroness of liberty in Greece, and the foundress of a new re-
public. The people were disposed, by secret agents, to rise up
in arms, and to hail the Russians as their deliverers. At the
instant the squadron reached the height of cape Matapan, the
whole Archipelago believed itself free. The Mainots, descen-
dants of the ancient Lacedaemonians, were the first to take
arms; their neighbours followed the example, and a massacre
of the Turks ensued. This insurrection was cruelly avenged:
thousands of the debased and miserable Greeks fell, in their
turn, under the sabres of the Janissaries.
. º
Between the Russians and the Turks a terrible conflict en-
sued, that terminated in the destruction of the Turkish fleet;
which, linked together, and blocked up in a narrow and slimy
bay, became a prey to devouring flames. Three Englishmen,
Elphinston, Greig, and Dugdale, more particularly distinguish-
ed themselves on this occasion. Dugdale, observing the posi-
tion of the enemy, advanced with his fire-ships, and, in the
face of a vigorous fire, encouraging by his example the Rus-
sians, himself fastened the grapplings of a fire-ship to a Turk-
I -
ish vessel. Having effected his daring purpose, he threw himself
into the sea, his hair, face, and hands scorched, and, in this con-
dition, swam back to the Russian squadron. The rising sun no
longer discovered the Turkish flag. Catherine thought fit to
deprive the Englishman of his severely earned laurels, by as-
cribing the idea to Alexius Orloff: she expressed this to Vol-
aire, and repeated it again to the ambassador of France.
Russians, after the destruction of the enemy's fleet,
Paros, whence they commanded the Grecian seas,
d homage from every vessel that appeared. A re-














CATHERINE II.
bellion which had broken out in Turkey, rendered the vicinity
of such an adversary still more formidable. The incapacity of
her generals only opposed this career of fortune, and prevented
Catherine from wresting Syria and Egypt from the Ottoman
empire. º
The empress was the first person in Petersburgh who learned
from a courier, dispatched for the purpose, the catastrophe of the
Turkish fleet. The minsiter of the marine department had, by a
quarrel with the college of admiralty, occasioned some embar-
rassment in an affair of little moment. When sent for by Cathe-
rine, on the intelligence from the navy, he expected a reproof,
and, eager to exculpate himself, exclaimed on entering, “It was
not my fault, I do assure you, madam.” “Oh! I know that well,’
replied the empress; nevertheless it is true.’ ‘Alas! yes,
madam, and I am very sorry for it.” “What, are you sorry that
the Turks have no longer a fleet?’ Having thus said, she,
smiling, communicated to him the dispatches. This event was
celebrated at Petersburgh by magnificent festivals: a palace
was afterwards built, and the foundations of a town laid, to
consecrate to posterity a victory so decisive. ::::::
Count Alexius Orloff, who had the command of the expe-
dition, returned to Petersburgh (March 15th, 1771) to enjoy
his triumphs, and to solicit the means of extending his con-
quests. His appearance renewed the public rejoicings, while
he received from his sovereign the grand ribband of St.
George. -
Having laid before the council a plan by which he proposed
to render himself master of Greece, and to rescue Egypt from
the power of the Turks, he demanded for its execution ten
millions of rubles. ‘I grant you twenty, replied Catherine,
with quickness; “I am resolved you shall want for noth .
s were immediately issued for the equipment of a new
ladron, to reinforce the Archipelago fleet.
The Turkish empire, reduced to extremities, was con-,
vulsed in all its parts: insurrection, massacre, and pestilence,
combined to ravage the country, and to fill it with desolation.
Alexius Orloff, intoxicated with fortune, and elate with the
favour of his sovereign, departed from Petersburgh on his re-
turn to the Archipelago. At Vienna, where he made some
stay, he distinguished himself by a boundless lus
º












indiscretions that reflected discredit on the court by which he
was employed. One evening, at a supper with the Russian am-
bassador and a numerous company, he spoke of the revolution
and the fate of the czar. No one presumed to question him on
the circumstances of this event, which he voluntarily narrated
with all its horror and atrocity. Perceiving the company
shudder, he endeavoured to extenuate, in some degree, the
crime, in which the instant before he appeared to glory. “It
was a lamentable thing,” he observed, “for a man of his hu-
manity to be compelled to such an action.” But the impression
produced by his character was already indelible, and not to be
effaced. On leaving Vienna, he rejoined the squadron, which
lay expecting him at Leghorn, and with which, though in a
shattered condition, he continued to complete the ruin of the
marine and commerce of the Turks. -
He had been commissioned by the empress to cause four
pictures to be painted in Italy, representing the engagements
of the fleets, and the conflagration of the Ottoman ships. Or-
loff, in compliance with this command, applied to a painter
named Hackert. The artist having informed him that he had
never witnessed the blowing up of a ship, the Russian scrupled
not, at the hazard of firing all the vessels in the road of Leg-
horn, to satisfy his curiosity, by affording h m an opportunity
of exhibiting with greater truth the subject proposed for his
pencil.” #
But this conduct, however extravagant, excites a transient
indignation, when compared with the perfidy practised by this
wretch, in ensnaring into his power a young and innocent vic-
tim, the daughter of the empress Elizabeth, by a clandestine
riage, whose birth rendered her obnoxious to Catherine.
This young person, betrayed by the basest artifices, dishonour.
ed by a fictitious marriage, and delivered over to a powerful
and vindictive rival, to languish out her days in the gloom of
a dungeon, or fall beneath a secret execution, afforded a new
instance of the barbarity of a man whose career of ambition
neither guilt nor remorse was able to impede. .
The Ottoman armies, though repeatedly vanquished, still
ited the efforts of their enemies; the war continued with
ir pictures hang in the hall of audience at Peterhoff











alternate successes; but victory predominated on the side of
Russia. With the scourge of war pestilence combined, to sweep
away those whom the sword had spared.
This dreadful disease, having for some time ravaged the
interior of Russia, appeared at length at Moscow, where the
ignorance of the physicians, and the superstition of the people,
united to augment its force. It had been for some time mis-
taken by the medical men for an epidemic fever; when the
populace, perceiving every remedy fail, with blind rage attack-
ed the physicians, pursued them on every side, and forced
them into concealment. This disorder had been brought from
Turkey by the victorious Russians, of whom the enemy was
thus avenged. The folly of the generals, who expected to sub-
ject nature to military command, increased the malady. In the
winter of the preceding year, its name was, by peremptory
orders, forbidden to be pronounced: the physicians and sur-
geons were even compelled to draw up a declaration that
it was only a spotted fever. One alone refused to sign it. Pre-
vention was by these means neglected, and the people were
mowed down as with a scythe. The camp was depopulated:
the general fell a victim to his incredulity and obstinacy. The
baggages, on being opened, spread the contagion; the people
/
employed in unpacking them were instantly seized with mor-
bid ulcers. The free intercourse in the markets and churches
aggravated the evil, which the plunder of the effects of the de-
ceased served to extend. The cleansing and ventilating the
houses were neglected by the governor, whom avarice impel-
led to stow under the vaults of his palace goods and chests of
linen brought from infected houses. He was even induced by
his ignorance to authorise a ridiculous and pernicious su
stition, by which a Turkish prisoner, imposing on his creduli
,
purchased his freedom. A ticket was written by this man,
containing the following adjuration: “Oh, Mohammed! for
this once have pity on the Christians, and free them, for the
sake of our deliverance from captivity, from the pestilence.”
This writing, or charm, was, by order of the governor, stuck
on poles against the belfries of the churches. The people,
trusting to the remedy, became still more careless: the ravages
of the pestilence spread far and wide; within a few m
the year 1770, upwards of six thousand persons perish
one quarter of the town, N.






The distemper, owing to this wretched negligence, had by
Christmas reached Moscow. Here also, at its commencement,
the people were assured by an ukause that a false alarm had
been raised by wicked incendiaries, and that no pestilence
existed. Several surgeons and physicians joined in this assur-
ance. Catherine was no sooner informed of the dreadful
truth, than she dispatched assistance with all speed
where the calamity had already risen to its heigh
tagion spread rapidly through the neighbouring towns and
villages, where thirty thousand persons became its vi
Moscow it was computed that a fourth part of the iſ
only were left alive. In December, 1771, it was fº
ceasing, that upwards of sixty thousand had died within the
city of Moscow in less than a year. The dead lay without in-
terment in the streets, where they ha fallen or been thrown
from the houses: the police possessed neither carts nor people
sufficient to remove the bodies.
Every exertion in his power had been made by general
Yerapkin, when the empress, in September, suffering private
feelings to yield to her solicitude for the welfare of her subjects,
commissioned her favourite Gregory Orloff, with full and ex-
traordinary powers, to check the incursi n of the malady, and
put a stop, if practicable, to its devastation. The sum of
100,000 rubles was issued from the treasury on this occasion.
º º The exertions of the favourite were in a great degree suc-
cessful: a commission of health was appointed: in addition to
the pest-houses, monasteries and palaces were converted into
lazarets: a building was appropriated for the orphan children
of infected houses; the public offices were converted into places
larantine; and other measures, equally wise and salutary,
were adopted. The physicians and surgeons were rewarded
according to their diligence and zeal, and the assistants at the
various establishments put immediately upon stipends. By
these precautions the contagion was checked and confined, but
it was the severe winter only by which it was terminated. To
§ ease the calamity, during the . nig t of the 30th of Decem-
in the midst of a storm of wind, a fire broke out in the
erial palace, inhabited by prince Volkonsky, the newly ap-
governor. The whole structure, chiefly built of timber,
hurch, consumed in the flames. In the
º 3:... . . § 3: ... . . . . . . .3


















cA.
disastrous history of this devoted city, another incident yet re-
mains to be told.
The populace, sunk in a deplorable ignorance, contemned
alike the regulations of the government, and the medical pre-
scriptions: the physicians, as they passed through the streets,
more especially if foreigners, were in danger of their lives,
from a brutal and misguided fanaticism. Prayers to the pic-
tures of the saints were, by these miserable wretches, believed
the only method of cure; by a natural gradation their folly
speedily grew into a crime. A fortnight before the arrival bí
Orloff, an enthusiast of the lower class of people, summoned a
crowd, to whom he declared, that a picture of the mother of
God, near the Varvaskoi gate,” appearing to him, had com-
plained of the people's neglect in worshipping her image; and
promised, in case of a reformation, to quell, by a miracle, the
pestilence. Standing at the gate, he continued to repeat to the
priests and passengers the same story. The tale spread, and
pulace are seldom given to infidel doubts. The faithful
flocked to St. Barbara's gate from all parts of the town; the
picture was addressed by cries and exclamations; ornaments
were hung about it, and presents made to it of gold and jewels.
Processions marched in endless succession. The sick and the
healthy, pressing forward, mingled together. In the demon of
superstition, the demon of pestilence found a friend and ally.
The primate of Moscow, a virtuous and enlightened m n,
applied to the general for the means to put a stop to this tragic
farce. Five soldiers were sent to him, whom he commissions §
silently to remove the picture, the cause of the tumult, i.
dead of the night. But neither the night nor the day deprived
the mother of God of her zealous votaries. The soldiers were
driven back, and invectives were poured on the author of the
profanation, who was by one and all accused of heresy. The
bells were rung, the populae 5used, and brou
gether to be informed of t trage. A co
cause was made with the insurgents
alarmed for the consequences of his temerity, fle
city, and took refuge in the monastery of Don
treat becoming known the ensuing morning, the multi
d to his asylum, where they found him engaged in
he bridge-gate of St. Barbara leading t 1.






























celebration of worship. His venerable age, his habit, his occu-
pation, his office, the place, pleaded in vain for mercy: the
fanatic barbarians falling upon him, threw him to the ground
with savage fury, beat him on the head, and with their knives
completed the tragedy. The body of this friend of mankind,
this martyr to humanity and an enlightened mind, remained till
the following day exposed before the gate of the monastery.
The crowd, after effecting their atrocious purpose, ran
back to the city: a party of them attacked a monastery which
had been converted into a lazaret, brought out the diseased, and
ill treated the surgeons. The same conduct was repeated at
the house of quarantine. The archiepiscopal residence being
plundered, and the most valuable of the goods taken away,
the rest were destroyed: the store-cellars beneath it, hired by
a merchant for wine and liquors, were presently emptied.
Those among the officers who attempted to restrain these
excesses, were turned back with bleeding heads.
The madness augmenting every moment, the rage was now
directed against medical practitioners, to whom the pestilence
was attributed. An Italian dancing-master unfortunately pas-
sing, was mistaken for a physician, his legs and arms broken,
and left in that condition to perish in the streets. Having
attacked and plundered the house of a physician, they proceed-
ed in triumph to the principal hospital, from which the director
and attendants, even the soldiers, amounting to an hundred
armed men, fled away. Towards evening general Yerapkin, at
the head of one hundred and fifty soldiers, carabineers and
hussars, with two field-pieces, marched against the maniacs:
the contest was obstinate, and lasted till midnight; two
hundred and fifty of these misguided wretches were laid dead
in the streets; three hundred taken prisoners; and of the dis-
persed, many dropped wounded and dying by the way. Early
in the morning, the general, at the head of his men, rode with
drawn sabres through the streets of Moscow, and fixed piquets
in proper places. A regiment of infantry from the villages the
entered the town, whence those whose duty it was to
ºf , red. Catherine rewarded the brave
gnificence. This aggravation of the
y devoured by pestilence, affords to the imagi-
an afflicting picture: by the promiscous mixture of
















465
the people the malady must of course have been incalculably
increased. - “. . . " . - -
At the re-appearance of spring its return being apprehend-
ed, the cares and precautions of the police were redoubled. It
was proclaimed through the city, with a wise and magnanº
mous policy, that a reward should be given to those who would
produce infected goods, even though they had been stolen; and
that effects in possession of infected persons, should, on being
delivered to the flames, be paid for to their full value. Mea-
sures like these could not fail of producing a salutary effect.
By such similar means, at the close of January, 1772, the
plague had entirely disappeared. By some statements it was
calculated, that the pestilence, during its continuance, from
December, 1771, to December, 1772, had cost the Russian
empire 133,299 persons. 3& --
Praise was due to Orloff for his courage and services on
this occasion. The presence of a person in authority was
necessary to awe the populace, and to enforce the regulations.
The favourite braved both the pestilence, and a superstition
but little less formidable. Having prohibited all assemblies,
he himself visited the sick, procured them assistance, and in
person witnessed the burning of the infected clothes.
On his return to. Petersburgh he found in Catherine a
º º
grateful miſtress: by her order a column was erected, and a
medal struck, as memorials to posterity of this im
service. w - ...”
The contending armies of Ottomans and Russians had not
escaped the pestilence on the banks of the Danube; whence,
spreading into Poland, it served the king of Prussia as a
pretence for his meditated invasion. > >
The yoke of Catherine on this unhappy country became
daily heavier and more oppressive: the confederates were on all
sides pursued and pillaged by her troops; nor did the empress
disdain to partake of the spoil. The celebrated library of prince
Radzivil, containing an invaluable collection of Lithuanian
history, was transported to Petersburgh, whence it nº
returned. Catherine, amidst these depreda
her declarations to Warsaw, of equity, be
desire of peace.


















The Poles, justly irritated by this union of tyranny and
mockery, struggled to free themselves: their king became sus-
pected as conspiring against their liberties in concert with
Russia. A conspiracy among the confederates to seize his
person was the natural consequence of these jealousies: their
general Pulaufsky, whose intrepidity only equalled his passion
for freedom, hesitated at no means, however criminal, for the
acquirement of his end. An ambuscade was formed, the king
seized, wounded, forced from his carriage, and dragged
through the streets between the horses of the assassins. After
fatigues and terrors almost insupportable, he at length escaped
with life, and found shelter in a mill, whence a countryman
was dispatched to the colonel of his guards. His hat had been
found covered with blood. Warsaw was in consternation when
intelligence arrived of his safety. The inhabitants received
him with transports of joy: several of the conspirators perished
on the scaffold; while their chief, by a manifesto to which no
one gave credit, exonerated himself from all share in the
transaction. . N.
The danger incurred by Stanislaus in this enterprise, af.
forded to Russia a new pretext for pursuing the confederates,
and preparing the dismemberment of the kingdom. The
and wearied with the conflict, submitted to a negotiation by
ntervention of the ministers of Austria and Prussia. An
armistice was agreed on, and a congress appointed to meet at
Fokshiani.
The present appeared a crisis favourable to the ambition of
Orloff, who had long aspired to share with Catherine the
throne. He sought and obtained the honour of treating with
the plenipotentiaries of the divan. By obtaining a peace, he
tered himself with acquiring the gratitude of the empire,
i surmounting the difficulties which had hitherto opposed
hemselves to his views. T he empress had been, and was still,
º ionally attached to him: gratitude and ambition were the
ily sentiments which bound him to her; proud of the favour
s sovereign, he had been zealous to deserve it; but, when
secured, his ardour had cooled, and his behaviour became
it and reserved. In proportion as Catherine sought to re-
n him his former sentiments, he retreated and carried























his devoirs to other shrines.” However piqued by his insensi-
bility, and offended at his ingratitude, the fondness of Cathe-
rine for the child which had been the fruit of this connexion,
enabled her for some time to subdue her resentments, and
bear with the caprices of the father. The boy had been
privately reared in one of the suburbs of the city, where the
empress, disguised and under a borrowed character, frequently
visited him. It is said, that a proposal was made to Orloff by
his mistress of a clandestine marriage, which he rejected dis-
dainfully, conceiving himself authorised to aspire to share with
her a throne, for which she had been in a great measure in-
debted to his exertions. Catherine dissembled her surprise
and disappointment, while she secretly resolved to subdue an
attachment, become dangerous to her peace and humiliating to
her character. ×
Panin, though not daring to attack him openly, had long
regarded the favourite with jealousy and aversion. Orloff,
bold and open in his conduct, hated no one, yet by his arro-
gance provoked numerous enemies. Every one saw him retire
from court with satisfaction; while the empress hoped, in his
absence, to root out from her heart the lingering remains of
her former partiality. His adversaries seized the opportunity
of undermining his interest: he was represented to Catherine
as a man whose ambition and unbounded presumption risqued
the safety of the empire. Panin, who attentively watched the
inclinations of his mistress, perceived that she beheld with
complacency a young man, named Vassiltschikoff, a sub-lieute-
nant of the guards. Every art was used to flatter this rising
preference; and as the lieutenant became daily more acceptable
to Catherine, the influence of Orloff declined in proportion.
Youth and a good figure were the sole attractions of Vassilts-
chikoff; he was indebted for his fortune rather to the arts of
his supporters than to his personal merit: appointed chamber-
lain to the empress, and distinguished by magnificent presents,
his preferment became soon apparent to the courtiers.
Orloff had expected, that his refusal to agree to the secret
nuptials, would have irritated the desire of the empress, and
prepared his way to the throne; accustomed to receive tes-
timonies of her affection, he thought not of the possibility of
forfeiting her favour. On receiving an intimation of w s










passing in his absence, rage and surprise were his first emo-
tions: pride at length coming to his relief, he doubted not of
being able to revive by his presence the expiring flame of his
mistress. Possessed with this idea, the peace, the negotiations,
the concerns of the state, were all forgotten: without asking
permission, he left Fokshiani, and arrived at the gates of
Petersburgh. < … . .
Two days previous to his coming, news had been received
of his retreat from Fokshiani: the empress, aware of his tem-
per, and apprehensive that he would force his way to her pre-
sence, gave orders to double the guards of the palace, and to
place sentinels at the gate of the new favourite. To increase
her security, she caused the locks to be changed of those apart-
ments to which Orloff had keys. Her precautions were useless:
the discarded favourite was no longer to be feared; not a par-
tizan appeared in his favour, while his enemies pressed for-
ward from all parts. Orloff beheld his danger without being
dismayed; when, in the name of the empress, his employments
were required of him, he haughtily refused to comply.
Catherine chose to treat with lenity, rather than to punish,
a man to whom she owed obligations, and whom she had long
been accustomed to regard. A compromise was accordingly
proposed. Orloff, subdued by her bounty, consented to travel
through Europe, and, as a recompense for his submission, re-
ceived 100,000 rubles, the brevet of a pension of 150,000, a
magnificent service of plate, and an estate with six thousand
peasants. He had already obtained a patent of prince of the
Roman empire: Catherine chose that a man who had been her
favourite should appear in foreign nations with dignity and
splendor. This conduct was not impolitic; the empress was
desirous of proving that her gratitude survived her affection.
§ The congress at Fokshiani afforded at its opening the
. rospect of peace: the Russians received from the Turks pre-
sents of excellent arms, fine stuffs, and superb carpets. It was
eclared by Osman Effendi, who first broke silence, “That the
and-s º gnior, his master, had recommended him to serve
and to love peace.” The Russians, in return, presented
man diamonds and precious stones, trinkets of gold and
; on the delivery of whi :h they also professed them-
overs of peace and justice. Notwithstanding these
#
º
º





























ERINE II.
appearances, the sacrifices demanded by Russia were of such
extent as to disgust the Ottomans: after a fruitless altercation
the congress broke up, and the plenipotentiaries separated.
During these negotiations, preparations were making for
new hostilities. But the mind of Catherine was then occupied
by more important objects: she at length beheld herself on the
point of reaping the fruits of those divisions she had been
so long sowing among the Poles. To Prussia had been left the
care of securing the consent of Vienna to the dismemberment
of Poland. The minister of France was not endowed with
much foresight. England was by its commerce bound to
Russia. The states bordering on the Baltic, however jealous
of these encroachments, wanted power to oppose them. Nor
were the Ottomans, whom pestilence and war had exhausted,
in a condition more formidable. 3.
The plague, which had ravaged the frontiers of Poland,
afforded a pretence to Frederic for advancing his troops into
Polish Prussia: the emperor also, on the same pretext, sent
troops into such of the provinces as lay contiguous to his do-
minions. The confederates, pressed by the foreign armies,
which spread through the country, were compelled to separate:
a part returned to their homes, while the majority, dispersed
in foreign nations, published their misfortunes and their com-
plaints. Europe had its attention fixed on Poland: it appeared
a moral phenomenon that three powers should, during a tim
of peace, seize on a country, the independence of which had
been guaranteed by solemn treaties. The first who gave no
tice to the king and senate of Poland of the treaty of Peters- *
burgh, was the minister of Vienna. The ambassador of Russia,
and the Prussian envoy, immediately followed in support of
the declaration. The conduct of the partitioning powers had
gradually unfolded their rapacious designs; the arrangements
now concluded, had been silently progressive; they had by de-
grees familiarised themselves with their own designs, and pre-
pared Europe for the atrocious novelty. The king of Prus
less solicitous of appearances, had made no secret of his in
tions: he gave to his acquisitions, as to countries lately d
vered, the title of New Prussia. A manifesto was d ~
at Warsaw, September 18th, 1772, by the ministers ol
respective powers, in which their purpose was openly avo

















470 CATHERIN
This declaration was followed by a specification of the countries
to be appropriated. x .
The indignant Poles protested in vain against this injustice,
and appealed to the treaty of Oliva, that had assured to them
their territory, and had long been regarded as the grand charter
of the north. The confederated despots, not content with de-
spoiling them of their country, insisted that the cession should
be a solemn act of the nation. In a diet convoked with reluc-
tance, everything was over-ruled by corruption and force: the
courage of individuals, who protested against the proceedings,
was of little avail against armed troops. The uniform opposi-
tion of the king to the partition, procured him no credit with a
people prepossessed with his devotion to Russia. Poland by its
dismemberment, lost nearly 5,000,000 of inhabitants. The
country allotted to Russia contained 1,500,000. That to
Austria, on a territory less extensive, 2,500,000. Prussia ac-
quired only 860,000 people, but received, in compensation,
other advantages. The government of Poland was, for the
security of the usurpers, rendered yet more corrupt: under the
specious pretence of correcting its defects, they were aggravated
by the confederated powers, and rendered altogether incurable.
The Prussian troops ravaged the country by new modes of
rapine, oppression, and tyranny: no forms were observed, no
measures kept, even the appearance of justice was insulted and
violated. Crushed beneath a yoke the most insupportable and
oppressive, the nobles fled from their estates, the monks from
their monasteries, the priests from their cures: while those
whom infirmity or age yet retained, were bound hand and foot,
carried away as criminals. The young men and maidens
ere torn from their parents: the former were destined to
supply the Prussian armies, the latter, with doweries with
which their friends were compelled to furnish them, sent to
increase the population of the country of their merciless
tyrants. These oppressions continued from the latter part of
he year 1770, to the same period in the year 1772, when the
rtition of Poland was formally declared. * ,
in estimate of the wealth of Russia, and the magnificence
he czarina, may be made, when we are informed, that in
expenses of a long and extended war, in rewards to the














CATHERINE II. 471
%
having thus taken time to form a judgment of the ch &3%
officers and generals, in presents to men of learning, in the en-
couragement of arts, in the purchase of libraries, statues,
antiques, pictures, jewels, the sum expended by Russia greatly
exceeded those of any European prince or potentate, if Lewis
XIV. of France be excepted. During this year, Catherine
purchased a diamond of an extraordinary size, weighing 779 |
carats, brought by a Greek from Ispahan to Holland, for which
she paid upwards of 100,000l. sterling, beside settling a pen-
sion of 4000 rubles upon the person of whom it was bought.
While the provinces of Poland were acquired by negotia-
tion, the Russian armies continued, with various success, to
ravage the frontiers of Turkey: a ruinous and sanguinary war,
in which blood was spilt without effect, and courage displayed
to no purpose. Dissatisfied with this waste of men and treasure,
the empress in her dispatches to marshal Romantzoff, inquired
why he forbore to risk a battle? “Because,” replied the general,
“the grand-vizier, whose people exceed three-fold the number
of ours, would find his advantage in such an event.” Catherine
answered: “The Romans inquired only where there enemies
were, and not after their numbers, in order to engage them.”
The Russian operations in the Levant, notwithstandin
the destruction of the Turkish fleet, were attended with littl
advantage: an unsuccessful attempt, in which great loss was
suffered, was made on the island of Negropont: in those de-
scents, which were made with better fortune, plunder was the
only advantage obtained: four sacks filled with Russian heads
were sent from the isle of Stanchio as a present to Constan- &
tinople.
In the year 1773, Catherine, who meditated an alliance for
the grand-duke, found herself embarrased in the choice of a
consort. She dreaded a rival, and wished to find a princess
whom neither talents nor ambition could render in any degree
formidable. The daughters of the landgrave of Hesse Darm-
stadt fixed her attention. These princesses, three sisters, were,
with their mother, invited to the court of Petersburgh. The
invitation was unhesitatingly accepted by the landgravine,
whom ambition rendered desirous of securing for one of her
daughters the imperial throne. She was received by Cathe
with magnificence, and laden with presents. The em









of the princesses, selected the eldest as a spouse for the grand-
duke. The young lady, as a preliminary, embraced the faith
of the Greek church, and was united in form to the heir of
the czars. . .
It was expected by the party of Orloff, that the marriage
of Paul Petrovitch would be followed by the fall of Panin;
who, on this event, received orders to leave the apartments
which as governor to the grand-duke, he had occupied in the
palace. The courtiers began to shun him, and his friends took
the alarm, when the generosity of his pupil averted the gather-
ing storm. By his representations the empress was induced to
change her designs; Panin, instead of a mandate to retire, re-
ceived from Catherine a friendly letter, thanking him for the
cares bestowed on the education of her son, and confirm-
ing him in his appointment of minister for foreign affairs.
A few days previous to the nuptials, and on the anniversary of
her coronation, she loaded him with emoluments and honours:
he received in perpetuity an estate valued at 7000l. a-year; a
pension for life to an equal amount; and an appointment of
half the sum for the conduct of his department; with the
choice of any house in Petersburgh to be purchased as his
residence; also an allowance of 35,000l. for plate and furniture.
A proportional munificence was displayed to every officer of
the duke's late household.
Among the men of letters with whom Catherine regularly
corresponded, Voltaire and Diderot were the most distinguish-
ed: pressed by her to visit Petersburgh, the former, expe-
rienced in courts, declined the dangerous honour. Diderot
was more complaisant, and received during his stay in Russia
eral proofs of the bounty of the empress; she discoursed
at the conclusion of dinner, on subjects of po-
ſophy, and legislation. While, with eloquence and
% § nfolded his principles on the rights and liber-
ties of nations, the empress sat beside him, and listened with
sparent pleasure. The rectitude of her understanding ren-
her sensible to the charms of a theory, from the practice
she was withheld by stronger motives. “Monsieur
1 she, “is in some respects an hundred years old,
no more than ten:” a fine compliment, which im.
imbination of the wisdom of a sage, with the innocence
plicity of a child. ..
























cATHERINE II. 473
Of Voltaire, perhaps as the dispenser of fame, she ever
spoke with singular respect and deference. In her letters to this
celebrated writer, she artfully courted those eulogiums which
he so lavishly bestowed. In a letter, dated the 2d of August,
1771, she thus expresses herself: “Now we are speaking of
haughtiness, I have a mind to confess to you. I have had great
successes during this war, of which I am glad, as you will
conclude. I have said Russia will be known by this war. It
will be seen that we possess men of merit; that we are not de-
ficient in resources, &c. Full of these ideas, I have not once
thought on Catherine, who, at the age of forty-two, can im-
prove neither in body nor mind, but in the order of things
must remain as she is. Do her affairs prosper? so much the
better. Did they prosper less, she would exert all her faculties
to put them in better train. This is my ambition.. I have no
other. I wish for the sparing of human blood. I sincerely wish
for peace. The Turks desire it from different motives, but
know not how to set about it. I desire equally the pacification
of the unreasonable contentions of Poland. But I have to do
with brainless heads, who by caprice and levity throw impedi-
ments in the way. My ambassador has, by a declaration, tried
to open their eyes. But rather than adopt a consistent line of
conduct, they choose to expose themselves to the last extre-
mity. The vortices of Descartes exist only in Poland, &c.,
Do not scold your rustics for having sent me a surplus of
watches: the expense will not ruin me. Judge not of our
finances by those of the ruined potentates of Europe. Though
we have for three years been engaged in a war, we proceed in
our buildings, and everything goes on as in a time of profound
peace. I am satisfied when I meet with your approbation. I
have been reading again my instructions, to which much yet
remains to be done, before they are brought to the perfection
at which I aim, &c. The khan of the Crimea will perhaps in a
little time be brought to me in person. Should he come, we
will endeavour to polish him. To take my revenge on him, I
will make him dance, and go to the French comedy. When
about to fold up this letter, I received yours of the 1C º
July, in which you inform me of the adventure that h
to my Instructions in France. I knew the anecdote,
VoI. I. & 3 O






its appendix, in consequence of the order of the duke de
Choiseul. I confess that I laughed on reading it in the news-
paper, and found that I was amply revenged.” %.
The successes of the Turkish war excited in the minds of the
people, who rejoiced at the humiliation of the oriental pride, a
lively attachment to their sovereign. To perpetuate the me-
mory of their victories, Catherine caused medals to be struck
and columns to be erected. The advantages gained by the
Russians in a new campaign, determined the Porte to sue for
peace. The plenipotentiaries having met, Russia persisted in
its former demands, to which the Turks at length agreeing,
the preliminaries of the treaty were mutually signed. Russia
obtained the free navigation of the Ottoman seas, and the pas-
sage of the Dardanelles, with the independence of the Cri-
mea, a clause most severely felt by the Turks; also a tract of
land between the Bohg and the Dniepr; a sum of money te
Adefray the expenses of the war; and the title for Catherine,
hitherto refused to her, of Padishah or empress.
The czarina, by these stipulations, weakened the enemy
while she increased her power: the commerce of the Euxine
and the mart of the Levant opened to her an immense source
of riches: the protection granted to the Tartars furnished the
means of dividing them, and of conquering their country:
while the acquisition of the Ukraine afforded her the means of
overawing the Ottoman empire, and completing the ruin of
'oland. In a word, she beheld her influence and reputation
extending throu ghout Europe.
On the confirmation of a peace so advantageous, joy and
vity prevailed at Petersburgh: eight days were by the or-
f Catherine devoted to public rejoicing: rewards were
tributed in the spirit of her usual magnificence, while the
rison doors were set open to all not attainted of high trea-
n, that the wretched might share in the general joy. Even
miserable exiles languishing in Siberia were in this season
sperity not forgotten: an order was issued from the
ign for the liberation of all such as had been condemned
year 1746. § & . :: & .
X st all these external appearances, a gangrene cor-
heart of the empire: the finances were in a state of
tion; the succours received from Eng
gland were at the

















expense of immense advantages granted to their commerce:
the pestilence had ravaged the nation, devoured the armies,
and penetrated to the fleets: the provinces were a prey to re-
volt, which even threatened Moscow; while an extraordinary
emigration had changed into a desert once flourishing and
eommercial countries. * . . . . . .º.º.
The court of Petersburgh, while occupied by these impor-
tant concerns, forgot not its pleasures and intrigues. The em-
press passed from the council to the ball-room, and from the
senate to the theatre. She gave audience to the ministers of
foreign powers, received her courtiers, dictated a law, and
wrote a billet with equal grace and facility. Satisfied in her
new attachments, she appeared not to remºniber those that
were past. Orloff, after travelling five months, suddenly re-
appeared at Petersburgh: his enemies were alarmed; but
Catherine, refusing to admit him to her presence, sent him
orders to repair to Revel; he was at the same time presented
with considerable presents; while his friends were received by
the empress with honours and favour. Her motives for a con-
duct apparently so magnanimous, were to oppose the party of
her former favourite to a faction which she had reason to
dread was forming under the sanction of the name of the grand-
duke. .
Victorious over her enemies, respected by Europe, adored
by her courtiers, the mind of Catherine was nevertheless a
prey to the most poignant disquietudes. º
While she form
projects for the aggrandizement of her dominions, she tre
bled for her throne and her life. But, dissembling her feelings
she spoke with confidence of the long career she expecte
run: nor did she ever shew herself more tranquil and comp
than one day after finding in her cabinet a paper which a
her notice of a threatened assassination. Ambition enable
to conquer her emotions, and to preserve self-possession
most trying and critical circumstances. Whatever m
sincerity, clemency, and generosity. The blood o
reeked from the ground: Catherine, moved at thi
family from which she had no longer anything to fear,
liberty to the duke, with the means of retiring into Geri



















º .”
empire, to publish the excess of my miseries, and to excite an
useless compassion?” .. . º:-
The place of favourite, vacated by the banishment of Or-
loff, had been for some time filled by his successor, who, using
his influence with moderation, provoked no enemies: Cathe-
rine, praising the prudence of this conduct in her lover, ap-
peared daily more attached to him; when suddenly, in the
career of his favour, an order was brought to him to depart to
Moscow. He obeyed the mandate, and fresh presents reward-
ed his docility. His favour had continued during the term of
two and twenty months.
At this instant, whether secretly recalled from Revel, or
wearied of his exile, Orloff once more appeared at court.
No censures were thrown on his conduct; he was received, on
the contrary, with an appearance of pleasure. Elated with the
behaviour of the empress, and the recollection of past favours,
he doubted not of being able to resume his honours and his in-
fluence; which, while possessed, he appeared to contemn, and
of which the loss only had taught him the value. Born in ob-
scurity, and trained up in the barracks, his sudden elevation,
while it had inflated his pride, had neither altered his taste nor
polished his manners: eleven years passed near the person of
the empress, in the elegance of luxury and the refinements of
voluptuousness, had neither reformed the coarseness of his
mind, nor deprived him of his hardy habits. In possession,
nce his dismissal from his post, of a princely revenue, he yet
led the life of an officer in garrison; he kept an ordinary table,
and ate with the commensals of the court; in his amours he
was still less delicate; the emotions excited in his mind by a
qualid Finn, a savage Kalmuck, or court beauty, were in no
ject dissimilar. 3:
Jealous of the authority enjoyed by his rivals, and contem-
ating with envy the throne to which he had aspired, he de-
ded of the empress to be re-established in his functions,
that he whom he accused as the instrument of his disgrace,
•r count Panin, should be sent into exile. Catherine,
eart Orloff appeared to have regained his ascendency,
lot to restore to him his employments: to the banish-
Panin she however refused her assent.
jeriod the buildings and embellishments of Pe:

















CATHERINE II. , 477
tersburgh had proceeded without interruption; while works of
imperial magnificence gave dignity and fame to the city. But
sumptuous bridges, palaces, and public offices, were yet con-
trasted, in the eye of the stranger, with dirty lanes and
wretched huts: the renovation of a city must necessarily be
slow, and its progress gradual to order and improvement. The
various benevolent and patriotic institutions, planned by the
empress, required new buildings, in the erection of which
magnificence and taste were equally consulted. Moscow,
Iver, Toula, Kief, with other cities, grew also under her form-
ing hand. %
Catherine had, in the midst of the Turkish war, purchased
pictures in Holland to the amount of 60,000 rubles, a collection
unfortunately lost, by the wreck of the vessel in which they
were conveyed, on the Finland coast: others were brought
from France; and from Italy numerous curiosities and antiques.
By her liberality to Diderot, whose library she purchased at a
price above its value, and returned to its owner, whom, with a
large annual stipend, she appointed librarian, Catherine gained
the esteem of literary men. The expenditure of her court
establishment, without including her numerous and magnificent
presents, was reckoned annually at 4,000,000 rubles. The court
of Petersburgh had, during the reign of the empress, become the
most brilliant in Europe; the resort of talents, of wealth, and º
accomplishments. The favourites of Catherine were not suf.
fered to influence her in affairs of state. Orloff and Panin held
their places in opposition and in defiance of each other. The
princess Dashkoff had, after a long absence, appeared again at
Petersburgh, where she received from the empress a present
of 60,000 rubles; and, with other marks of favour, the post of
director of the academy of sciences. Panin filled under t .
empress and her son the most important places, in which he
acquired the esteem of both: integrity and indolence were
qualities peculiarly ascribed to him by the public. In his
illness, the tears of his imperial pupil manifested his ow
sibility, and the worth of the tutor.
By an impartial observer, who saw her in 1772 a.
the empress is thus described. “She is of that stature
is necessary to the perfect elegance of the female form.
*It would be somewhat difficult to fix the standard.












eyes are blue, large and fine; her eye-brows and hair brown;
her mouth well proportioned; her chin round; her nose rather
long; her forehead regular and open; her hands and arms round
and white; her complexion not perfectly clear; her shape rather
full; her neck and bosom high; the air of her head full of grace
and dignity. She rouges high, according to the Russian cus- ,
tom: she adopts as the model of her dress the usual habit of
the Russian ladies, with some slight alterations which render
it tasteful and becoming. Her rich clothes are reserved for
solemn festivals, when her head and corset are entirely set with
brilliants. In grand processions she wears a crown of diamonds
and precious stones. Her gait is majestic; her form and man-
ner noble and dignified: in a circle of ladies, though without
external distinction, she would be immediately recognized as
chief. In her aspect, and in the features of her face, authority
and command are expressed. In her character there is more
liveliness than gravity: her manners are gentle, courteous, be-
neficent, and extremely devout. She rises at six in the morn-
ing, and frequently, even in the depth of winter, earlier.
Without calling any person, she prepares her own breakfast:
she dislikes personal attendance, and dispenses with it as much
as possible. The business of her toilet, during which she signs
orders and commissions of various purport, lasts not long.
Those days which the council does not meet, she employs her-
lf in her cabinet from eight till eleven; thence she proceeds
shapel, where the service occupies an hour. From twelve
one she receives the ministers of the several departments,
d sits down to dinner at half pastone; after which she employs
rself again for an hour or two as business may require. She
walks, rides on horseback, in a coach, or on a sledge. At six
s at the theatre, where the drama is performed alter-
Russ and French. If she sups in public, which happens
he meal is never protracted later than half past ten;
ires atten. Excepting holidays, Sunday is the only
e week. On the morning of this day, as the em-
from chapel to her apartments, the ambassadors
ers of rank, who have been once presented, receive
iss: such persons also who have any petitions,
ous to return thanks for favours received, are or
sented to the empress, whose hand they kiss on one
%






























Knee. The court begins at six in the evening. A ball or a con-
cert is at the same time usually given. The empress never
dances, but sits down to cards, having previously informed the
chamberlain in waiting whom she chooses to be of her party.
She generally chooses piquet, or some other game at which
silence is not necessary. A semi-circle is formed round her
card-table, beginning on the left hand with the ladies, and
closing on the right with the privy-counsellors. When the game
is concluded, the empress rises, and converses indiscriminately
with those who form her circle. Atten, and sometimes earlier,
she breaks up the party, and retires without form through a
side-door. Such is the ordinary routine of her conduct through
the winter months, when the court is at Petersburgh. When
the empress is at Tzar-sko-selo, no court, except on extraor-
dinary festivals, is held. ~
“Of civil processes, criminal causes, &c. nothing is referred
to the empress during the hours of the forenoon, which are
allotted to conferences with the minister: but, without previ-
ous information delivered to her, no person can be condemned
to death; this punishment is almost always commuted or
mitigated. All business relative to the army, navy, finances,
taxes, &c. are reported to her by the chiefs of the several
departments. Acquainted with all that concerns the adminis-
tration of government, the empress, in state affairs, acts from
herself. As she never interferes in the private concerns of her
household, she has sufficient time for public business. The reg
larity and uniformity with which she apportions her hours,
allow her leisure for writing, conversation, company, and ex-
ercise. Her constitution is robust and healthy: her mind active,
tranquil, and cheerful.”
* With a view of introducing the practice of inoculation into
the remoter parts of the empire, Catherine instituted hospitals
in various provinces, even to the extremities of Asia, where it
has been since practised with uniform success.
The prosperity of the empress seemed to have reached
height: the horizon was overcast with clouds; the st
mured at a distance; everything menaced a reverse
The ancient nobility, disgusted at the arrogance of th
ites, openly murmured; the clergy cherished veng
the loss of their privileges; while the people groan
















CATHERINE II.
numerous oppressions. The peasants beholding their children
successively torn from them to recruit the armies, mowed
down by the sword, or perishing by the pestilence, became
desperate and outrageous. The Kozacs of the Don gave the
first signal of revolt; several provinces followed, who wanted
but a skilful leader to give a new turn to the empire.
A report was spread by the priests that Peter III. was still
living, and would quickly appear to reclaim his rights. Several
impostors had, under the pretence, already appeared, and suf-
fered the reward of their temerity: these tragical farces were
the prelude of scenes still more sanguinary and threatening.
Catherine was destined to witness, in an open rebellion and
civil war, the greatest calamity that had yet befallen the
empire since her accession to the throne.
Ikhelman Pugatcheff, the son of a Kozac, born at a village
on the borders of the Don, having served in several campaigns
in the capacity of a soldier, applied for his dismissal from the
army: on being refused, he fled to Poland, where he lay some
time concealed by some hermits of the Greek confession. In
a conversation with these recluses respecting his various ad-
ventures, he one day related to them, that when in the army, a
Russian officer, after attentively regarding him, had said to him
earnestly, “If the emperor, Peter III. my master, was not
dead, I should believe that I once more saw him in you.” The
hermits listened to this account without apparent interest; but
some time after, one of their comrades, whom Pugatcheff
had not yet seen, suddenly exclaimed, ‘Is not that the emperor,
Peter III?” From this time the monks found little difficulty in
seducing him to their purpose. Having prepared their instru-
ment, the impostor, assuming the garb of a patriarch, and the
external of sanctity, supported by the numerous sectaries of
the Greek religion, began with the air of an apostle to court
popularity, and to bestow his benedictions upon the people.
Under the name of the late emperor, he affected to abjure all
interested views, professing that, weaned from the vanities of
the world, he had devoted his life to piety; that his purpose
was but to place on the throne his dear son, when he would
again retire to the occupations of a hermit. These pretences,
however gross, his appeal to the sympathy of the people, with
the marvelous circumstances of his tale, procured him a crowd








cATHERINE II. as
of followers. Apprehensive of being detected as a deserter, he
fled to the Kozacs of the banks of the Yaik, communicated
to them his design of putting himself at the head of a party,
and engaged them to accompany him to the mountains of
Caucasus, with an assurance that they would there find power-
ful succours. He had not yet announced himself to them as
Peter III. . .
At Malkoffska he was seized while disposing the people to
revolt, imprisoned, and sent to Kasan to take his trial. In
prison he was visited by the priests, who furnished him with
money, which having employed in corrupting his guards, he
contrived to escape. Having rejoined his old comrades, he
penetrated into the desert, where his adherents daily increased.
When he conceived his party sufficiently strong, he publicly
declared himself to be Peter III., delivered by a miracle out
of the hands of his assassins. A soldier who resembled him
had, he pretended, been substituted as a victim in his stead:
the report of his death, he added, had been fabricated by the
court to quiet the people, and to reconcile them to the usurpa-
tion. The Kozacs on the borders of the Caspian, a credulous
and ignorant race, received this intelligence with honest joy:
religious differences with the established faith increased their
attachment to their supposed master; whose cause, as it flatter-
ed their superstitions, and imposed on their simplicity, they
embraced with zeal and ardour. .
In the middle of September, 1773, Pugatcheff began his
operations. It belongs not to the design of this work minutely
to describe his progress; the cruelties which he exercised on
several persons of rank who fell into his power, his marches
from place to place, his sieges, his battles, and his conquests.
The moderation which he at first affected was changed by suc-
cess to the most savage brutality: whole hordes, allured by his
victories and the hope of plunder, flocked to his standard: the
revolt spread over the provinces, which it ravaged as a torrent,
Pugatcheff, for a season, strictly adhered to the lessons of
the hermits, and continued to wear the mask of religion :
humility; but, intoxicated by the rapidity of his successe
at length threw off a constraint which he had impati
endured, gave a scope to his brutal passions and sangu
VoI. I. % 3 F
ź.









482
mper, cooled the enthusiasm of his disciples, gave time t.
his adversaries to collect their strength, and suffered a check
in the midst of his career.
The spirit of rebellion had reached to Moscow, the garri-
son of which consisted of only six hundred men: Pugatcheff,
by presenting himself before it, must inevitably have become
master of the place. He neglected his advantage, and by his
negligence ºbst, with the second city of the empire, an army of
one hundred thousand vassals, who waited his arrival to escape
from bondage. He wasted the greater part of the winter in
useless sieges: before Orenburg, he exterminated with the
sabre all the officers and gentry of the country, whose families
were involved in the promiscuous carnage: he professed him-
self determined to shed to its last drop the blood of a haughty
and despotic nobility. While he thus inhumanly butchered the
nobles, he conferred, with curious inconsistency, their vacant
titles and ensigns of honour on those of his partizans in whom
he most confided. He alienated a number of his adherents by
violating those religious principles of which he had affected to be
the zealot: though a husband and a father, he had the effrontery
to take another wife, a woman of abandoned character, and to
celebrate his nuptials with a bacchanal licentiousness.
Catherine, alarmed at a rebellion that menaced her throne,
seriously prepared to check its progress. General Bibikoff was
recalled from the frontiers of Turkey, and ordered to march,
with a considerable army, against the insurgents. Manifestoes
were published, which followed close on each other; deserters
were invited back to the imperial standard, an amnesty pro-
sed, and a reward of 100,000 rubles set upon the head of
usurper. - -
°ugatcheff, on his side, spared not declarations, to which
fixed the name of Peter III. By one of his manifestoes
anchised all the boors: he caused rubles to be struck
r" -- 1 - 1. iption, “Peter III. emperor and
” on the reverse, “Redivivus et
temper
sjoined the imperial general, bloody and despe-
sued, the rebels increased in number and in
vaged an extent of country of more than six
The ferocious intrepidity of the insurgents
º s















CATHERINE II.
appeared to be directed by officers of superior skill: in one of
these encounters the Russian general lost his life. The contest
continued with various success; the steps of the rebel chief
were tracked in blood, and his laurels stained with the most
atrocious cruelty. In the town of Dmitrefsk, which was sur-
rendered by treachery, the governor was, by his order, im-
paled alive. The astronomer Lovitch, member of the imperial
academy of sciences, being employed in the neighbourhood in
taking levels for a canal projected between the Don and the
Volga, was, by the commands of Pugatcheff, brought into his
presence, when he ordered him to be lifted on the pikes of the
soldiers, for the purpose, as he expressed it (adding insult to
barbarity), of being nearer the stars, and then caused him to be
cut in pieces by the Kozacs. In this monstrous atrocity and
savage insolence the empress perceived her safety. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A peace being concluded between the Russians and the
Turks, fresh troops under the command of general Panin (the
brother of the minister), were dispatched against the rebels;
with these reinforcements their convoys were cut off, their
armies deprived of provision, and an attack made upon them,
when, loaded with baggage, and encumbered with women,
they were entangled in the intricate passes of a mountain.
Notwithstanding these disadvantages, they refused to submit;
numbers fell on the spot, while many perished in the precipices,
and among the steep and rugged rocks, where they sought a
refuge. Pugatcheff, having kept the field till all means of de-
fence failed, swam over the Volga, crossed the desert,
found himself nearly at the place where he had first raised the
standard of revolt. Here he was joined by many of his friends;
but hunger, fatigue, and disappointment, had caused mor
abandon him. His power of disturbing the empire was by
means exhausted, when treachery stepped in to precipit
fall. Antizoff, a chief of the Kozacs, his confident an
fell into the hands of the imperial army, who employed
obedience. .
But to the exertions of colonel Mikelson, Russia w
particularly indebted for its deliverance. This officer, i.
of the rebels, suffered almost incredible fatigues;
march over deserts of trackless snow, without a gu
















succours, and at times nearly without food. In a few months,
in the most inclement season, he traversed, with his small
band, over the space of 7000 versts. Supported by the confi-
dence his prudence and his bravery had acquired among his
troops, always bold, and always victorious, he encountered the
rebels, however numerous, wherever they were to be met.
The wasted army of the insurgents was shut up by Mikelson
in a desert, 500 versts in length, behind Tzaritzin, where dis-
tress and famine opened their eyes. 3. §
While the miserable chief was in this condition, gnawing
the bones of a horse, some of the principal of the Kozacs,
running up to him, exclaimed, “Thou hast been long enough
emperor!” Pugatcheff, firing a pistol, shattered the arm of the
foremost; the rest, having bound him, carried their prisoner
over the desert to their seat on the Yaik, where they sent
to the commandant of the place, informing him of what they
had done. Hence he was at length delivered over to general
Panin, when Mikelson, who was still pursuing the enemy
through the deserts, received news of his capture. On this in-
telligence, having conducted his troops to Saratoff, and left
them to repose after their fatigues, he repaired to Panin,
whom he experienced a generous and noble reception;
whence Catherine recalled him to bestow on him the re-
mpense of his services and his merit. Thus terminated a
on which cost the empire 100,000 men. Pugatcheff was,
by the order of the general, conveyed in an iron cage to Mos-
cow, together with several of his principal accomplices.
The empress, informed of what had past, appointed a com-
n, in unison with the senate, for the trial of the impostor.
is recommended to the judges to be satisfied with the con-
on of his guilt without applying the torture, and without
ting the names of his accomplices. The czarina dreaded
igation of multiplying punishments, which might in-
lation in new calamities. The sentence passed on
to lose both his hands and feet; and, having
people in this condition, to be quartered
rrid sentence was not fulfilled; whether by an
empress, or by the mistake of the executioner,
first mercifully decapitated, after which his
5 quarters, was exposed in different parts of


















cAtherine II.
the city; five of his accomplices suffered with him; three were
hanged, and eighteen, having undergone the knout, were ban-
ished to Siberia. Pugatcheff arrived at Moscow in Septem-
ber, 1774, and was executed in the January following. He
acknowledged the justice of his sentence, the deception he had
used, with his true name and condition, and submitted to his
fate with undaunted resolution. § .
In the midst of these rapid and important events, Cathe-
rine, firm and self-possessed, calmly selected the most judi-
cious measures, which she as resolutely applied: her sagacity
and fortitude, on the most trying occasions, secured her autho-
rity, commanded the respect of her friends, and extorted admi-
ration even from her enemies. In the convulsions which
agitated the state, she forgot not its internal welfare : the arts
of peace followed in her train, while of science and literature
she continued the beneficent patroness. Shortly after the exe-
cution of Pugatcheff, a new occasion occurred for the display
of her clemency; the public money had been embezzled, but
the depredators were not even brought to trial. Catherine had,
from the lessons of philosophy, conquered the impetuosity of
her temper: “What I cannot overthrow,” she was accustomed
to say, “I undermine and root up.’ She had not been prevent-
ed by the heavy burthens of foreign and domestic war from
taking off most of the taxes that had been levied for their sup-
port; a number of the ancient taxes, considered as burthen-
some to agriculture, or partially oppressive, were also abolished.
It seemed as if the resources of the government increased
with its expenses. In the same spirit of policy and benevo-
lence, large sums were lent out, interest free, for a specified
term of years, to those provinces which the revolt had ri
ed; while a strict prohibition was laid against any recrimina-
tions or reproaches on the subject, which was condemned to
perpetual oblivion. . .
Various other regulations were also established, in a spiri
equally enlightened: pernicious distinctions were wea º
ruinous monopolies destroyed, the severity of pu
mitigated, impolitic restrictions removed, absurd I
softened, and mankind brought nearer to an equitab
in the several ranks of society. A pardon was gran
minals who, by long suffering, had already expiated their










n certain cirumstances, and under
ain limitation eased from confinement: the heirs of
debtors to the crown were wholly discharged from their
bonds and obligations. The affairs of Russia were conducted
on a liberal system, and all her acts were in a great style: she
sat between Europe and Asia, often dictator to both, as a rising
empire, not yet arrived at the summit of its growth, with vigour
and animation circulating through every part. .
Ambition, the vice of strong minds, was that of Catherine's;
the period of peace left her not the leisure which it had at first
seemed to promise; too large a share of her attention was en-
grossed and absorbed by foreign affairs. Alliances, guarantees,
leagues, preparations, plans for future enterprises, all which
the thirst of power can suggest, alternately engaged her
thoughts; if she forgot not the interest of her people, if new
life and improved organization rose beneath her forming hand,
this external attention disturbed the tranquillity of the nation,
and again kindled a war, which, though triumphantly conclud-
ed, emptied the exchequer and wasted the force of the nation.
A generous scorn of foreign fame would have reflected on the
empress a truer and more lasting reputation. -
But, amidst the dreams of ambition, she neglected not the
se urity and happiness of the empire, by an attention to the
regulation of its civil police: Peter the Great had done much
for his country, but it remained for Catherine to give to Rus-
sia a constitution. The ordinances out of which it arose, ac-
knowledging the rights of mankind, breathe throughout a wise,
a b nign, and an enlightened spirit. The public security of
rsburgh was great in proportion to its population and ex-
robberies and murders were seldom known in the city;
passenger, at all hours in the night, and in the most ob-
scure parts, might walk in safety. The police of Petersburgh
is a simple and competent system, in which there is no spies:
...: io peculiarly obnoxious to gaming; no sports or games
ed, except such as require bodily exertion and dex-
insist of a due proportion of skill and hazard. In
nes the police has regard to the motive of the
plaints and demands relative to play debts
a lottery, is permitted in the Russian

























empire. Work is found with facility in Peter º º
no beggars were to be seen, the high price of labour leaving
indigence without excuse. For those really incapable of pro-
curing a subsistence, a poor house, on an excellent plan, was
provided. A house of correction was likewise appointed for
#
delinquents condemned to labour, in which their punishment
was rendered beneficial to the state.
It would be greatly exceeding the limits of the present
work, which have, in this interesting life, been already en-
croached upon, to extend the details of the various institutions
and regulations of Catherine, for the better security of the
lives, the health, the morals, and the property of her people.
Every law, promulgated by the autocratic authority, and sub-
scribed by the empress, must be transmitted to the police- -
office, and entered, with its particulars, in the proper books.
If it be sent for publication, the crown-advocate of the police
is called, and his legal opinion taken; if any doubtful point ap-
pear, it must be represented in the place appointed; if none
arise, a resolution is made concerning its publication. The
preceding faint sketch may suffice to give a general outline of
the ordinances and conduct of a despotic sovereign. It is thus
that the most unnatural and odious prerogatives are amelior,
ed by an enlightened mind.
Gregory Orloff had been from policy reinstated by Cathe-
rine in his post of favourite; but a passion once extinguished i
rarely revived: she lavished on him favours, but to the pos-
session of her affections nothing could restore him. The di
mission of Vassiltschikoff had not, as he believed, been a .
rifice to Orloff. On the day of the revolution of 1762, Cath
rine had been struck by the gallantry and noble air of Potemkin,
a young officer, who, riding up, as she mounted her horse
presented her with the plume from his hat. The empr
ing resolved at length to become better acquainted wit
he had found means to secure an ascendency over h
Elate with success, his pride and presumption, which haſ
pace with his prosperity, received at length a sev º
One day being engaged at billiards with the brother of
he imprudently boasted of the favour he enjoyed with
rime; while he asserted, with arrogance, that it depend
on him to remove from the court any persons whom h






















press, and requested of her the
end of that period he was recalled by the empress, in
ence of his contrition and entreaties, and reinstated at
§: hence the reproaches of his rival proved insufficient to
The post of favourite had been, during the preceding
reigns, for many years in Russia an established court etiquette:
was the business of the person on whom this office was
. ** wed, and who occupied an apartment in the palace, to at-
by express permission. When his attendance became no
yer agreeable, he had orders to travel; but was assured of
, at the place of his destination, a consolation for his
: sword had been sheathed in Poland, her conduct had been,
d with that of Prussia and Austria, moderate and
tead of new and endless claims, she had observed the
; she had even been the advocate and mediatrix of this
people, and preserved them from farther outrages.
time after the conclusion of the peace with Turkey, she
mitted to the king of Poland, as a compensation for that
dominions which had fallen into her hands, 250,000
territories of the republic and the partitioning
is of the latter were too
ºš.3 e court of Petersburgh, was
empress, as a measure
exorbitant to
gº




















































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