 CHAPTER XXVII. The Wars of Italy. Louis XII. 1498-1515. Part 6. From 1510 to 1512 the war in Italy was thus proceeding, but with no great results, when Gaston de Foy, Duke of Nemours, came to take the command of the French army. He was scarcely twenty-three, and had hitherto only served under Tvolzio and La police, but he had already a character for bravery and intelligence in war. See the Twelfth loved this son of his sister, Mary of Orleans, and gladly elevated him to the highest rank. Gaston, from the very first, justified this favour. Instead of seeking for glory in the field only, he began by shutting himself up in Milan, which the Swiss were besieging. They made him an offer to take the road back to Switzerland, if he would give them a month's pay. The sum was discussed. Gaston considered that they asked too much for their withdrawal. The Swiss broke off the negotiation, but to the greatest astonishment of everybody, says Guicardini, they raised the siege and returned to their own country. The Pope was besieging Bologna. Gaston arrived there suddenly with a body of troops whom he had marched out at night through a tempest of wind and snow, and he was safe inside the place whilst the besiegers were still ignorant of his movement. The siege of Bologna was raised. Gaston left it immediately to march on Brescia, which the Venetians had taken possession of for the Holy League. He retook the town by a vigorous assault, gave it up to pillage, punished with death Count Louis Avogarro and his two sons, who had excited the inhabitants against France, and gave a beating to the Venetian army before its walls. All these successes had been gained in a fortnight. According to universal opinion, says Guicardini, Italy for several centuries had seen nothing like these military operations. We are not proof against the pleasure of giving a place in this history to a deed of virtue and civil-risk kindness on by-ards part, the story of which has been told and retold many times in various works. It is honourable to humankind, and especially to the Middle Ages, that such men and such deeds are met with here and there, amidst the violence of war and the general barbarity of manners. By-art had been grievously wounded at the assault of Brescia, so grievously that he said to his neighbour, the Lord of Malart, Comrade, march your men forward, the town is ours. As for me, I cannot pull on farther, for I am a dead man. When the town was taken, two of his archers bear him to a house, the most conspicuous they saw thereabouts. It was the abode of a very rich gentleman, but he had fled away to a monastery, and his wife had remained at the abode under the care of our Lord, together with two fair daughters she had, the which were hidden in a granary beneath some hay. When there came a knocking at her door, she saw the good night who was being brought in thus wounded, the which had shut the door incontinently, and said at the entrance the two archers, two of which he said, Take heed for your lives that none enter herein, unless it be any of my own folk. I am certified that, when it is known to be my quarters, none will try to force a way in. And if, by your aiding me, I be the cause that ye lose a chance of gaining somewhat, never ye mind, ye shall lose not thereby. The archers did as they were bid, and he was born into a mighty fine chamber, into the which the lady of the house herself conducted him. And throwing herself upon her knees before him she spoke after this fashion, being interpreted, Noble Sir, I present unto you this house, and all that is herein. For well I know that it is yours by right of war. But may it be your pleasure to spare me my honor and life, and those of two young daughters that I and my husband have, who are ready for marriage. The good night, who never thought wickedness, replied to her, Madam, I know not whether I can escape from the wound that I have, but so long as I live you and your daughter shall be done no displeasure, any more than to my own person. Only keep them in your chambers. Let them not be seen, and I assure you that there is no man in the house who would take upon himself to enter any place against your will. When the good lady heard him so virtuously speak, she was all assured. Afterwards he prayed her to give instructions to some good surgeon who might quickly come to tend him, which she did, and herself went in quest of him with one of the archers. He having arrived did probe the good night's wound, which was great and deep. How be it he certified him that there was no danger of death. At the second dressing came to see him the Duke of Nemours' surgeon, called Master Claude, the witch did thenceforward have the healing of him, and right well he did his devoir, in such short that in less than a month he was ready to mount a horse back. The good night, when he was dressed, asked his hostess where her husband was, and the good lady, all in tears, said to him, By my faith, my Lord, I know not whether he be dead or alive, but I have a shrewd idea that, if he be living, he will be in a large monastery, where he hath large acquaintance. Lady, said the good night, have him fetched, and I will send in quest of him in such sort that he shall have no harm. She set herself to inquire where he was, and found him. Then were sent in quest of him the good night steward and two archers, who brought him away in safety, and on his arrival he had joyous cheer, reception, from his guest, the good night, the witch did tell him not to be melancholic, and that there was quartered upon him numb but friends. For about a month or five weeks was the good night ill of his wound, without leaving his couch. One day he was minded to get up, and he walked across his chamber, not being sure whether he could keep his legs. Somewhat weak he found himself, but the great heart he had gave him not leisure to think long thereon. He sent to fetch the surgeon, who had the healing of him, and said to him, My friend, tell me, I pray you, if there be any danger in setting me on the march. It seems that I am well, or all but so, and I give you my faith that, in my judgment, the binding will henceforth harm me more than mend me, for I do marvelously fret. The good night servitors had already told the surgeon the great desire he had to be at the battle, for every day he had news from the camp of the French, how they were getting nigh the Spaniards, and there were hopes from day to day of the battle, which would to his great sorrow have been delivered without him. Having knowledge whereof, and also knowing his complexion, the surgeon said in his own language, My Lord, your wound is not yet closed up, how be it inside it is quite healed. Your barber shall see to dressing you this once more, and provided that every day, morning and evening, he put on a little piece of lint and a plaster for which I will deliver to him the ointment, it will not increase your hurt, and there is no danger, for the worst of the wound is atop, and will not touch the saddle of your horse. Whoso had given him ten thousand crowns, the good night had not been so glad. He determined to set out, in two days, commanding his people to put in order all his gear. The lady with whom he lodged, who held herself, all the while his prisoner, together with her husband and her children, had many imaginings. Thinking to herself that, if her guest were minded to treat with rigor herself and her husband, he might get out of them ten or twelve thousand crowns, for they had two thousand a year, she made up her mind to make him some worthy present, and she had found him so good a man, and of so gentle a heart, that to her thinking he would be graciously content. On the morning of the day whereon the good night was to dislodge after dinner, his hostess, with one of her servitors carrying a little box made of steel, entered his chamber, where she found that he was resting in a chair, after having walked about a great deal, so as continually little by little to try his leg. She threw herself upon both knees, but incontinently he raised her up, and would never suffer her to speak a word until she was first seated beside him. She began her speech in this matter. My Lord, the grace which God did me, at the taking of this town, in directing you to this our house, was not less than the saving to me of my husband's life, and my own, and my two daughters, together with their honor, which they ought to hold dearer still. And more, from the time that you arrived here, there hath not been done to me, or to the least of my people, a single insult, but all courtesy, and there hath not been taken by your folks of the goods they found here the value of a farthing without paying for it. My Lord, I am well aware that my husband, and I, and my children, and all of this household are your prisoners, for to do with, and dispose of, at your good pleasure, as well as the goods that are herein. But knowing the nobleness of your heart, I am come for to entreat you right humbly that it may please you to have pity upon us, extending your wanted generosity. Here is a little present we make you. You will be pleased to take it in good part. Then she took the box which the servitor was holding, and opened before it the good night, who saw it full of beautiful dookets. The gentle Lord, who never in his life made any case of money, burst out laughing and said, Madam, how many dookets are there in this box? The poor soul was afraid that he was angry at seeing so few, and said to him, My Lord, there are but two thousand five hundred dookets, but if you are not content we will find a larger sum. Then said he, By my faith, Madam, though you should give me a hundred thousand crowns, you would not do so well towards me as you have done by the good cheer I have had here, and the kind tendons you have given me, in whatsoever place I may happen to be, you will have, so long as God shall grant me life, a gentleman at your bidding. As for your dookets I will none of them, and yet I thank you. Take them back. All my life I have always loved people much better than crowns, and think not in any wise that I do not go away as well pleased with you as if this town were at your disposal, and you had given it to me. The good lady was much astonished at finding herself put off. My Lord, said she, I should feel myself forever the most wretched creature in the world if you did not take away with you so small a present as I make you, which is nothing in comparison with the courtesy you have shown me here to fore, and still show me now by your great kindness. When the night saw her so firm he said to her, Well then, Madam, I will take it for love of you, but go and fetch me your two daughters, for I would feign bid them farewell. The poor soul, who thought herself in paradise, now that her present was at last accepted, went to fetch her daughters, the which were very fair, good, and well educated, and had afforded the good night much pastime during his illness, for white well could they sing and play on the lute and spin it, and white well work with a needle. They were brought before the good night, who whilst they were attiring themselves, had caused the dookets to be placed in three lots, two of a thousand each and the other of five hundred. They having arrived would have fallen on their knees, but were incontinently raised up, and the elder of the two began to say, My Lord, these two poor girls, to whom you have done so much honour as to guard them, are come to take leave of you, humbly thanking your lordship for the favour they have received, for which, having nothing else in their power, they will be forever bound to pray God for you. The good night, half weeping to see so much sweetness and humility in those two fair girls, made answer, Dear Demoiselle, you have done what I ought to do, that is, thank you for the good company you have made me, and for which I feel myself much beholden and bounden. You know that fighting men are not likely to be laden with pretty things for to present to ladies, and for my part I am sore displeased that I am in no wise well provided for making you such a present as I am bound to make. Here is your lady mother, who has given me two thousand five hundred dookets, which you see on this table. Of them I give to each of you a thousand towards your marriage, and for my recompense, you shall, and it please you, pray God for me. He put the dookets into their aprons, whether they would or not, and then, turning to his hostess, he said to her, Madam, I will take these five hundred dookets for my own profit, to distribute them amongst the poor sisterhoods which have been plundered, and to you I commit the charge of them, for you better than any other will understand where there is need thereof, and thereupon I take my leave of you. Then he touched them all upon the hand after the Italian manner, and they fell upon their knees, weeping so bitterly that it seemed as if they were to be led out to their deaths. Afterwards they withdrew to their chambers, and it was time for dinner. After dinner there was little sitting ere the good night called for the horses, for much he longed to be in the company, so yearned for by him, having fine fear lest the battle should be delivered before he was there. As he was coming out of his chamber to mount a horseback, the two fair daughters of the house came down and made him, each of them, a present which they had worked during his illness. One was too pretty and delicate bracelets, made of beautiful tresses of gold and silver thread, so neatly that it was a marvel. The other was a purse of crimson satin, worked right cunningly. Greatly did he thank them, saying that the present came from a hand so fair that he valued it at ten thousand crowns. And in order to do him the more honour he had the bracelets put upon his arms, and he put the horse in his sleeve, assuring them that, so long as they lasted he would wear them for love of the givers. Bayard had good reason for being in such a hurry to rejoin his comrades in arms, and not miss the battle he foresaw. All were as full of it as he was. After the capture of Brescia, Gaston de Foy passed seven or eight days more there, whilst Bayard was confined by his wound to his bed. The prince went, once at least, every day to see the good night, the which he comforted as best he might, and often said to him, Hey, Sir Bayard, my friend, think about getting cured, for well I know that we shall have to give the Spaniards battle between this and a month. And if it should so be, I had rather have lost all I am worth than not have you there, so great a confidence I have in you. Believe me, my lord, answered Bayard, that if so it is there is to be a battle, I would, as well for the service of the King my master as for love of you and for my known honour, which is before everything, rather have myself carried thither in a litter than not be there at all. The Duke of Nemours made him a load of presence according to his power, and one day sent him five hundred crowns, the which the good night gave to the two archers who had stayed with him when he was wounded. Louis XII was as impatient to have the battle delivered as Bayard was to be in it. He wrote time after time to his nephew Gaston that the moment was critical, that Emperor Maximilian harboured a design of recalling the five thousand lands-connects he had sent as auxiliaries to the French army, and that they must be made use of whilst they were still to be had, that on the other hand Henry VIII King of England was preparing for an invasion of France, and so was Ferdinand King of Spain in the south. A victory in the field was indispensable to baffle all these hostile plans. It was Louis XII's mania to direct, from Paris, or from Lyon, the war which he was making at a distance, and to regulate its movements as well as its expenses. The Florentine ambassador, Pendolfini, was struck with the perilousness of this mania, and cardinal Dumbois was no longer by to oppose it. Gaston de Foy asked for nothing better than to act with vigor. He set out to march on Ravenna in hopes that by laying siege to this important place he would force a battle upon the Spanish army which sought to avoid it. There was a current rumour in Italy that this army, much reduced in numbers and cooled in arder, would not hold its own against the French if it encountered them. Some weeks previously, after the siege of Bologna had been raised by the Spaniards, there were distributed about at Rome little bits of paper having on them. If anybody knows where the Spanish army happens to be, let him inform the sacrosan of peace. He shall receive, as reward, a lump of cheese. Gaston de Foy arrived on the 8th of April, 1512, before Ravenna. He learned that, on the 9th of March, the ambassador of France had been sent away from London by Henry VIII. Another hint came to him from his own camp. A German captain, named Jacob, went and told Chevalier Bayard, with whom he had contracted a friendship, that the Emperor had sent orders to the captain of the Lance Connects that they were to withdraw incontinently on seeing his letter, and that they were not to fight the Spaniards. As for me, said he, I have taken oath to the King of France, and I have his pay. If I were to die a hundred thousand deaths, I would not do this wickedness of not fighting, but there must be haste. The good night, who well knew the gentle heart of Captain Jacob, commended him marvelously, and said to him, by the mouth of his interpreter, My dear comrade and friend, never did your heart imagine wickedness. Here is my lord of Nemmer, who has ordered to his quarters all the captains to hold a council. Go we thither, you and I, and we will show him privately what you have told me. It is well thought on, said Captain Jacob. Go we thither. So they went thither. There were dissensions at the council. Some said that they had three or four rivers to cross, that everybody was against them, the Pope, the King of Spain, the Venetians, and the Swiss, that the Emperor was anything but certain, and that the best thing would be to temporise. Others said that there was nothing for it but to fight or die of hunger like good for knots and cowards. The good Duke of Nemmer, who had already spoken with the good night and with Captain Jacob, desired to have the opinion of the former, the witch said, My lord, the longer we sojourn, the more miserable too will become our plight, for our men have no victual, and our horses must need live on what the willows shoot forth at the present time. Besides, you know that the King, our master, is writing to you every day to give battle, and that in your hands rests not only the safety of his duchy of Milan, but also all his dominion of France, seeing the enemies he has today. Wherefore, as for me, I am of opinion that we ought to give battle and proceed to it discreetly, for we have to do with cunning folks and good fighters. That there is peril in it is true, but one thing gives me comfort. The Spaniards, for a year past have in this Romagna, been always living like fish in the water, and are fat and full-fed. Our men have had and still have great lack of victual, whereby they will have longer breath, and we have no need of odd else, for whoso fights the longest to him will remain the field. The leaders of note in the army sided with the good night, and noticed thereof was it once given to all the captains of horse and foot. CHAPTER 27 The Battle took place on the next day but one, April 11th. The gentle Duke of Nemours set out pretty early from his quarters, armed at all points. As he went forth he looked at the sun, already risen, which was mighty red. Look, my lords, how red the sun is, he said to the company about him. There was a gentleman whom he loved exceedingly, a bright, gentle comrade whose name was Hobrodin. The witch replied, No, you, pray what that means, my lord. Today will die some prince or great captain. It must needs be you or the Spanish viceroy. The Duke of Nemours burst out a laughing at this speech, and went on as far as the bridge to finish the passing and review of his army, which was showing marvelous diligence. As he was conversing with Bayard, who had come in search of him, they noticed not far from them a troop of twenty or thirty Spanish gentlemen, all mounted. Amongst whom was Captain Pedro de Paz, leader of all their genetiers, light cavalry, mounted on Spanish horses called genets. The good night advanced twenty or thirty paces and saluted them, saying, Gentlemen, you are delverting yourselves, as we are, whilst waiting for the regular game to begin. I pray you, let there be no firing of arch-booses on your side, and there shall be no firing at you on ours. The courtesy was reciprocated. Sir Bayard asked Don Pedro de Paz, who is yawned lord in such goodly array, and to whom your folks show so much honour. It is our chief, the Duke of Nemours, answered Bayard, nephew of our prince and brother of your queen. Germain de Foy, Gaston de Foy's sister, had married, as his second wife, Ferdinand the Catholic. Hardly had he finished speaking when Captain Pedro de Paz and all those who were with him dismounted and addressed the noble prince in these words. Sir, save the honour and service due to the king our master. We declare to you that we are, and wish for ever to remain your servants. The Duke of Nemours thanked them gallantly for their gallant homage, and after a short, chivalrous exchange of conversation they went respectively to their own posts. The artillery began by causing great havoc on both sides. Odd's body, said a Spanish captain, cut up in a fort which the French were attacking, and which he had been charged to defend. We are being killed here by bolts that fall from heaven. Go we and fight with men. And he sallied from the fort with all his people, to go and take part in the general battle. Since God created heaven and earth, says the lawyer, Servitur of Bayard, was never seen a more cruel and rough assault than that which the French and Spaniards made upon one another, and for more than a long half hour last of this fight. They rested before one another's eyes to recover their breath. Then they let down their visors, and so began, all over again, shouting, France and Spain, the most imperiously in the world. At last the Spaniards were utterly broken, and constrained to abandon their camp, whereon, and between two ditches, died three or four hundred-minute arms. Every one would feign have set out in pursuit, but the good knight said to the Duke of Nemours, who was all covered with blood and brains from one of his men-at-arms, that had been carried off by a cannon-ball. My Lord, are you wounded? No, said the Duke, but I have wounded a many others. Now God be praised, said Bayard, you have gained the battle, and abide this day the most honoured prince in the world. But push not farther forward. Reassemble your men-at-arms in this spot. Let none set on to pillage yet, for it is not time. Captain Louis Dar and I are off after these fugitives that they may not retire behind their foot. But stir not, for any man living from here, unless Captain Louis Dar or I come hither to fetch you. The Duke of Nemours promised, but whilst he was biding on his ground, awaiting Bayard's return, he said to the Baron du Chame, an honest gentleman who had knowledge, says Flourange, of things to come, and who before the battle had announced to Gaston that he would gain it, but he would be in danger of being left there if God did not do him grace. Well, Sir Dottard, am I left there, as you said? Here I am still. Sir, it is not all over yet, answered Chame, whereupon there arrived an archer, who came and said to the Duke, my Lord, yonder be two thousand Spaniards who are going off all orderly along the causeway. Sir, said Gaston, I cannot suffer that. Who loves me, follow me. And resuming his arms he pushed forward. Wait for your men, said Sire de La Trek to him. But Gaston took no heed, and followed by only twenty or thirty men at arms, he threw himself upon those retreating troops. He was immediately surrounded, thrown from his horse, and defending himself all the while, like Roland at Rance Ball, say the chroniclers, he fell pierced with wounds. Do not kill him, shouted La Trek, it is the brother of your queen. La Trek himself was so severely handled and wounded that he was thought to be dead. Gaston really was, though the news spread but slowly. Bayard, returning with his comrades from pursuing the fugitives, met on his road the Spanish force that Gaston had so rashly attacked, and that continued to retire in good order. Bayard was all but charging them, when a Spanish captain came out of the ranks and said to him in his own language, What would you do, sir? You are not powerful enough to beat us. You have won the battle. Let the honour thereof suffice you, and let us go with our lives, for by God's will are we escaped. Bayard felt that the Spaniards spoke truly. He had but a handful of men with him, and his own horse could not carry him any longer. The Spaniards opened their ranks, and he passed through the middle of them and let them go. Las, says his loyal servitor, he knew not that the good Duke of Nemor was dead, or that those yonder were they who had slain him. He had died ten thousand deaths, but he would have avenged him if he had known it. When the fatal news was known, the consternation and grief were profound. At the age of twenty-three, Gaston de Foy had, in less than six months, won the confidence and affection of the army, of the king, and of France. It was one of those sudden and undisputed reputations which seemed to mark out men for the highest destinies. I would feign, said Louis XII, when he heard of his death, have no longer an inch of land in Italy and be able, at that price, to bring back to life my nephew Gaston, and all the galants who perished with him. God keep us from often gaining such victories. In the Battle of Ravenna, says Guiarcadini, fell at least ten thousand men, a third of them French, and two-thirds their enemies. But in respect of chosen men and men of renown, the loss of the victors was by much the greater, and the loss of Gaston de Foy alone surpassed all the others put together. With him went all the vigour and furious onset of the French army. La Palice, a warrior valiant and honoured, assumed the command of this victorious army, but under pressure of repeated attacks from the Spaniards, the Venetians and the Swiss, he gave up first the Romagna, then Milanese, withdrew from place to place, and ended by falling back on Piedmont. Julius II won back all he had won and lost. Maximilian's Forza, son of Ludovic the Moor, after twelve years of exile in Germany, returned to Milan to resume possession of his father's Dutchy. By the end of June 1512, less than three months after the victory of Ravenna, the domination of the French had disappeared from Italy. Louis XII had indeed something else to do besides crossing the Alps to go to the protection of such precarious conquests. Into France itself war was about to make its way. It was his own kingdom and his own country that he had to defend. In vain, after the death of Isabella of Castile, had he married his niece, Germaine de Foy, to Ferdinand the Catholic, whilst giving up to him all pretensions to the kingdom of Naples. In 1512 Ferdinand invaded Navarre, took possession of the Spanish portion of that little kingdom, and thence threatened Gascony. Henry VIII, King of England, sent him a fleet, which did not withdraw until after it had appeared before Bayonne, and thrown the south-west of France into a state of alarm. In the north, Henry VIII continued his preparations for an expedition into France, obtained from his parliament subsidies for that purpose, and concerted plans with Emperor Maximilian, who renounced his doubtful neutrality and engaged himself at last in the Holy League. Louis XII had in Germany an enemy as zealous almost as Julius II was in Italy. Maximilian's daughter, Princess Marguerite of Austria, had never forgiven France or its king, whether he were called Charles VIII or Louis XII, the treatment she had received from that court, when, after having been kept there and brought up for eight years to become Queen of France, she had been sent away and handed back to her father to make way for Anne of Brittany. She was now ruler of the Low Countries, active, able, and full of passion, and in continual correspondence with her father, the Emperor, over whom she exercised a great deal of influence. This correspondence was published in 1839 by the Société de l'histoire de France in two volumes from the originals, which exist in the archives of Lille. The Swiss on their side, continuing to smart under the contemptuous language which Louis had imprudently applied to them, became more and more pronounced against him, rudely dismissed Louis de la Tramoy, who attempted to negotiate with them, reestablished Maximilian's Forza in the Duchy of Milan, and haughtily styled themselves, banquishers of kings and defenders of the Holy Roman Church. And the Roman Church made a good defender of herself. Louis II had convoked at Rome, at St. John Latterin, a Council which met on the 3rd of May, 1512, and in presence of which the Council of Pisa and Milan, after an attempt at removing to Lyon, vanished away like a phantom. Everywhere things were turning out according to the wishes and for the profit of the Pope, and France and her king were reduced to defending themselves on their own soil against a coalition of all their great neighbors. Man proposes and God disposes. Not a step can be made in history without meeting some corroboration of that modest, pious, grand truth. On the 21st of February, 1513, ten months since Gaston de Foy, the victor of Ravenna, had perished in the hour of his victory, Pope Julius II died at Rome at the very moment when he seemed invited to enjoy all the triumph of his policy. He died without bluster and without disquietude, disavowing not of his past life and relinquishing none of his designs as to the future. He had been impassioned and skillful in the employment of moral force, whereby alone he could become master of material forces, a rare order of genius, and one which never lacks grandeur, even when the man who possesses it abuses it. His constant thought was how he might free Italy from the barbarians, and he liked to hear himself called by the name of liberator, which was commonly given him. One day the outspoken Cardinal Grimani said to him that nevertheless the kingdom of Naples, one of the greatest and richest portions of Italy, was still under the foreign yoke, whereupon Julius II, brandishing the staff on which he was leaning, said, wrathfully, assuredly, if heaven had not otherwise ordained, the Neapolitan's too would have shaken off the yoke which lies heavy on them. Giacchardini has summed up with equal justice and sound judgment the principal traits of his character. He was a prince, says the historian, of incalculable courage and firmness, full of boundless imaginings which would have brought him headlong to ruin if the respect borne to the church, the dissensions of princes and the conditions of the times, far more than his own moderation and prudence, had not supported him. He would have been worthy of higher glory had he been a laic prince, or had it been in order to elevate the church in spiritual rank, and by processes of peace, that he put in practice the diligence and zeal he displayed for the purpose of augmenting his temporal greatness by the arts of war. Nevertheless he has left, above all his predecessors, a memory full of fame and honor, especially amongst those men who can no longer call things by their right names, or appreciate them at their true value, and who think that it is the duty of the sovereign pontiffs to extend, by means of arms and the blood of Christians, the power of the holy sea, rather than to wear themselves out in setting good examples of a Christian's life, and in reforming manners and customs pernicious to the salvation of souls, that aim of aims for which they assert that Christ has appointed them his vickers on earth. The death of Julius II seemed to Louis XII a favorable opportunity for once more setting foot in Italy, and recovering at least that which he regarded as his hereditary right, the duchy of Milan. He commissioned Louis de la Tramoy to go and renew the conquest, and whilst thus reopening the Italian war, he commenced negotiations with certain of the coalitionists of the Holy League, in the hope of causing division amongst them, or even of attracting some one of them to himself. He knew that the Venetians were dissatisfied and disquieted about their allies, especially Emperor Maximilian, the new Duke of Milan, Maximilian Sporza, and the Swiss. He had little difficulty in coming to an understanding with the Venetian Senate, and on the 14th of May, 1513, a treaty of alliance, offensive and defensive, was signed at Bloy between the King of France and the Republic of Venice. Louis hoped also to find it Rome in the new Pope, Leo X, Cardinal Giundimetici, elected Pope March 11th, 1513, favorable inclinations, but they were at first very ambiguously and reservedly manifested. As a Florentine, Leo X had a leaning towards France, but as Pope he was not disposed to relinquish or disavow the policy of Julius II as to the independence of Italy in respect of any foreign sovereign, and as to the extension of the power of the Holy See, and he wanted time to make up his mind to infuse into his relations with Louis XII, good will instead of his predecessors' impassioned hostility. Louis had not, and could not have, any confidence in Ferdinand the Catholic, but he knew him to be as prudent as he was rascally, and he concluded with him at Orthes, on the first of April 1513, a year's truce, which Ferdinand took great care not to make known to his allies, Henry VIII, King of England, and the Emperor Maximilian, the former of whom was very hot tempered, and the latter very deeply involved, through his daughter Margaret of Austria, in the war-like league against France. Madame, the name given to Marguerite as ruler of the low countries, wrote the Florentine minister to Lorenzo de Medici, asks for not but war against the most Christian king. She thinks of not but keeping up and fanning the kindled fire, and she has all the game in her hands, for the King of England and the Emperor have full confidence in her, and she does with them just as she pleases. This was all that was gained during the year of Julius II's death by Louis XII's attempts to break up or weaken the coalition against France, and these feeble diplomatic advances were soon nullified by the unsuccess of the French expedition in Milanese. Louis de la Tramoy had once more entered it with a strong army, but he was on bad terms with his principal lieutenant, John James Trevolzio, over whom he had not the authority wielded by the young and brilliant Gaston de Foy. The French were close to Navarra, the siege of which they were about to commence. They heard that a body of Swiss was advancing to enter the place. La Tramoy shifted his position to oppose them, and on the 5th of June, 1513, he told all his captains in the evening that they might go to their sleeping quarters and make good cheer, for the Swiss were not yet ready to fight, not having all their men assembled. But early next morning the Swiss attacked the French camp. La Tramoy had hardly time to rise, and with Abba's armor on, mount his horse. The Swiss outposts and those of the French were already at work pel mel over against his quarters. The battle was hot and bravely contested on both sides, but the Swiss, by a vigorous effort, got possession of the French artillery, and turned it against the infantry of the lands connects, which was driven in and broken. The French army abandoned the siege of Navarra, and put itself in retreat, first of all, on Vercel, a town of Piedmont, and then on France itself. And I do assure you, says Flourange, an eyewitness and partaker in the battle, that there was great need of it. The men at arms there were but few lost, or of the French foot, which turned out a marvelous good thing for the king and the kingdom, for they found him very much embroiled with the English and other nations. War between France and England had recommended at sea in 1512. Two squadrons, one French of twenty sale, and the other English of more than forty, met on the 10th of August somewhere off the coast of Ischante. A brave Breton, admiral Hervé Primojouet, a board of the great ship of the Queen of France, named the Cordellière, commanded the French squadron, and Sir Thomas Knevet, a young sailor of more bravery than experience, according to the historians of his own country, commanded, on board of a vessel named the Regent, the English squadron. The admiral's vessels engaged in a deadly duel, but the French admiral, finding himself surrounded by superior forces, threw his grappling irons onto the English vessel, and rather than surrender, set fire to the two admiral ships, which blew up at the same time, together with their crews of two thousand men. The sight of heroism and death has a powerful effect upon men, and sometimes suspends their quarrels. The English squadron went out again to sea, and the French went back to breast. Next year the struggle recommenced, but on land, and with nothing so striking. An English army started from Calais, and went and blockaded, on the 17th of June, 1513, the fortress of Therouane in Artois. It was a fortnight afterwards before Henry VIII himself quitted Calais, where festivities and tournaments had detained him too long for what he had in mind, and set out on the march with twelve thousand foot to go and join his army before Therouane. He met on his road, near Thornham, a body of twelve hundred French-men-at-arms with their followers a horseback, and in the midst of them Bayard. Sire de Pien, Governor of Picardy, was in command of them. My Lord, said Bayard to him, let us charge them. No harm can come of it to us, or very little. If at the first charge we make an opening in them they are broken. If they repulse us, we shall still get away. They are on foot, and we a horseback. And nearly all the French were of his opinion, continues the chronicler, but Sire de Pien said, Gentlemen, I have orders, on my life from the king our master, to risk nothing, but only hold this country. Do as you please, for my part I shall not consent there, too. Thus was the matter stayed, and the king of England passed with his band under the noses of the French. The Eighth arrived quietly with his army before Theroyan, the garrison of which defended itself valiantly, though short of provisions. Louis XII sent orders to Sire de Pien to revictual Theroyan at any price. The French men-at-arms, to the number of fourteen hundred lances, at whose head marched La Palice, Bayard, the Duke of Longvia, grandson of the great Dunoy, and Sire de Pien himself, set out on the 16th of August to go and make, from the direction of Gingate, a sham attack upon the English camp, whilst eight hundred Albanian-like cavalry were to burst, from another direction, upon the enemy's lines, cut their way through at a gallop, penetrate to the very fossils of the fortress, and throw into them munitions of war and of the stomach, hung to their horses' necks. The Albanians carried out their orders successfully. The French men-at-arms, after having skirmished for some time with the cavalry of Henry VIII and Maximilian, began to fall back a little carelessly and in some disorder towards their own camp. When they perceived two large masses of infantry and artillery, English and German, preparing to cut off their retreat. Surprised led to confusion, the confusion took the form of panic. The French men-at-arms broke into a gallop, and dispersing in all directions, thought of nothing but regaining the main body and the camp at Blanchie. This sudden rout of so many gallants received the sorry name of the Affair of Spurs, for Spurs did more service than the sword. Many a chosen captain, the Duke de Longvia, Sire de la Palice, and Bayard, whilst trying to rally the fugitives, were taken by the enemy. Emperor Maximilian, who had arrived at the English camp three or four days before the Affair, was of opinion that the allies should march straight upon the French camp to take advantage of the panic and disorder. But Henry VIII and his lords did not agree with him. They contented themselves with pressing on the siege of Theroyne, which capitulated on the 22nd of August for want of provisions. The garrison was allowed to go free, the men-at-arms with lance on thigh and the foot with pike on shoulder, with their harness and all that they could carry. But in spite of an article in the capitulation, the town was completely dismantled and burnt, and by the advice of Emperor Maximilian, Henry VIII made all haste to go and lay siege to Tornais, a French fortress between Flanders and Hanalt, the capture of which was of great importance to the Low Countries and to Marguerite of Austria, their ruler. CHAPTER XXVII. PART VIII. OF VOLUME III. OF A POPULAR HISTORY OF FRANCE FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES. THIS IS A LIBERVOX RECORDING. ALL LIBERVOX RECORDINGS ARE IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librevox.org. VOLUME III. OF A POPULAR HISTORY OF FRANCE FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES. BY FRANCE WAGUISAU. TRANSLATED BY ROBERT PLACK. CHAPTER XXVII. THE WARS OF ITALY. Louis XII. 1498-1515. PART VIII. On hearing these sad tidings, Louis XII, though suffering from an attack of gout, had himself moved in a litter from Paris to Amiens, and ordered Prince Francis of Anglem, heir to the throne, to go and take command of the army, march it back to the defensive line of the Somme, and send a garrison to Tornay. It was one of that town's privileges to have no garrison, and the inhabitants were unwilling to admit one, saying that Tornay had never turned and never would turn tail, and if the English came they would find someone to talk to them. How be it, says Florange, not a single captain was there, nor likewise the said Lord Duke, but understood well how it was with people besieged, as indeed came to pass, for at the end of three days, during which the people of Tornay were besieged, they treated for appointment, terms, with the King of England. Other bad news came to Amiens. The Swiss, puffed up with their victory at Novara, and egged on by Emperor Maximilian, went to the number of thirty thousand entered Burgundy, and on the seventh of September laid siege to Dijon, which was rather badly fortified. Latramoy, Governor of Burgundy, shut himself up in the place and bravely repulsed a first assault, but sent post-haste to warn the King to send him aid. Where to the King made no reply beyond that he could not send him aid, and that Latramoy should do the best he could for the advantage and service of the kingdom. Latramoy applied to the Swiss for a safe conduct, and without arms and scantily attended, he went to them to try whether, in consideration of a certain sum of money for the expenses of their army, they could be packed off to their own country without doing further displeasure or damage. He found them proud and arrogant of heart, for they styled themselves chastisers of princes, and all he could obtain from them was that the King should give up the Duchy of Milan, and all the castles appertaining thereto, that he should restore to the Pope all the towns, castles, lands, and lordships which belonged to him, and that he should pay the Swiss four hundred thousand crowns to wit, two hundred thousand down, and two hundred thousand at Martinmas in the following winter. Core Diplomatique du Droit des Gents by Dumont, part one, page 175. As brave in undertaking a heavy responsibility as he was in delivering a battle, Latramoy did not hesitate to sign, on the thirteenth of September, this harsh treaty. And as he had not two hundred thousand crowns down to give the Swiss, he prevailed upon them to be content with receiving twenty thousand at once, and he left with them as hostages, in pledge of his promise, his nephew Rende d'Anjou, Lord of Maizière, one of the boldest and discreetest knights in France. And for this honorable defeat the veteran warrior thought the kingdom of France had been then undone. For assailed at all its extremities, with its neighbors for its foes, it could not, without great risk of final ruin, have borne the burden and defended itself through so many battles. Latramoy sent one of the gentlemen of his house, the Chevalier Reginald de Moussi, to the king, to give an account of what he had done and of his motives. Some gentlemen about the persons of the king and queen had implanted some seeds of murmuring and evil thinking in the mind of the queen, and threw her in that of the king, who readily gave ear to her words because good and discreet was she. The said Reginald de Moussi, having warning of the fact, and without borrowing aid of a soul, for bold man was he by reason of his virtues, entered the king's chamber, and falling on one knee announced, according to order, the service which his master had done, and without which the kingdom of France was in danger of ruin. Whereof he set forth the reasons. The whole was said in presence of them who had brought the king to that evil way of thinking, and who knew not what to reply to the king when he said to them, By the faith of my body I think and do know by experience that my cousin, the Lord of Latramoy, is the most faithful and loyal servant that I have in my kingdom, and the one to whom I am most bounden to the best of his abilities. Go, Reginald, and tell him that I will do all that he has promised, and if he has done well let him do better. The queen heard of this kind answer made by the king, and was not pleased at it, but afterwards, the truth being known, she judged contrary wise to what she, through false report, had imagined and thought. Word was brought at the same time to Amiens that Tornay, invested on the 15th of September by the English, had capitulated, that Henry VIII had entered it on the 21st, and that he had immediately treated it as a conquest of which he was taking possession, for he had confirmed it in all its privileges except that of having no garrison. Such was the situation in which France, after a reign of fifteen years and in spite of so many brave and devoted servants, had been placed by Louis XII's foreign policy. Had he managed the home affairs of his kingdom as badly and with as little success as he had matters abroad, is it necessary to say what would have been his people's feelings towards him, and what name he would have left in history? Happily for France and for the memory of Louis XII, his home government was more sensible, more clear-sided, more able, more moral, and more productive of good result than his foreign policy was. When we consider this reign from this point of view, we are at once struck by two facts. First, the great number of legislative and administrative acts that we meet with bearing upon the general interests of the country—interest political, judicial, financial, and commercial. The recueil des ordonnances des Roies de France contains forty-three important acts of this sort owing their origin to Louis XII. It was clearly a government full of watchfulness, activity, and attention to good order and the public wheel. Second, the profound remembrance retaining in succeeding ages of this reign and its desserts. A remembrance which was manifested in 1560 amongst the state's general of Orleans, in 1576 and 1578 amongst the states of Blois, in 1593 amongst the states of the Ligue, and even down to 1614 amongst the states of Paris. During more than a hundred years France called to mind and took pleasure in calling to mind the administration of Louis XII as the type of a wise, intelligent, and effective regiment. Confidence may be felt in a people's memory when it inspires them for so long afterwards with sentiment of justice and gratitude. If from the simple table of the acts of Louis XII's home government we pass to an examination of their practical results, it is plain that they were good and salutary. A contemporary historian, earnest and truthful though penetrical, Claude du Cessell, describes in the following terms the state of France at that time. It is, says he, a patent fact that the revenue of benefices, lands, and lordships has generally much increased, and in like manner the proceeds of gobbles, turnpipes, lofties, and other revenues has been augmented very greatly. The traffic, too, in merchandise, whether by sea or land, has multiplied exceedingly. For by the blessing of peace, all folks accept the nobles, and even them I do not accept altogether, engage in merchandise. For one trader that was, in Louis XI's time to be found rich and portly at Paris, Rouen, Lyon, and other good towns of the kingdom, there are to be found in this reign more than fifty, and there are in the small towns greater number than the great and principal cities were want to have. So much so that scarcely a house is made on any street without having a shop for merchandise or for mechanical art. And less difficulty is now made about going to Rome, Naples, London, and elsewhere over sea than was made formally about going to Lyon or to Geneva. So much so that there are some who have gone by sea to seek, and have found new homes. The renown and authority of the king, now reigning, are so great that his subjects are honored and upheld in every country, as well at sea as on land. Foreigners were not less impressed than the French themselves with this advance in order, activity, and prosperity amongst the French community. Machiavelli admits it, and with the melancholy of an Italian politician acting in the midst of rivalries amongst the Italian republics, he attributes it above all to French unity, superior to that of any other state in Europe. Asked the question to whom reverts the honor of the good government at home under Louis XII, and of so much progress in the social condition of France, M. Georges Picot, in his Histoire des Etats Generaux, pages 532-536, attributes it especially to the influence of the states assembled at Tour in 1484, at the beginning of the reign of Charles VIII. They employed, he says, the greatest efforts to reduce the figure of the impost. They claimed the voting of subsidies, and took care not to allow them, saved by way of gift and grant. They did not hesitate to revise certain taxes, and when they were engaged upon the subject of collecting them, they energetically stood out for the establishment of a unique, classified body of receiver's royal, and demanded the formation of all the provinces into districts of estates, voting and apportioning their imposts every year, as in the cases of Langdoc, Normandy, and Dophany. The dangers of want of discipline in an ill-organized standing army and the evils caused to agriculture by roving bans drove the states back to reminiscences of Charles VII's armies, and they called for a mixed organization, in which gratuitous service, co-mingled in just proportion with that of paid troops, would prevent absorption of the national element. To reform the abuses of the law, to suppress extraordinary commissions, to reduce to a powerful unity, with parliaments to crown all, that multitude of jurisdictions which were degenerate and corrupt products of the feudal system in its decay, such was the constant aim of the state's general of 1484. They saw that a judicial hierarchy would be vain without fixity of laws, and they demanded a summarization of customs and a consolidation of ordinances in a collection placed within reach of all. Lastly they made a claim, which they were as qualified to make as they were intelligent in making, for the removal of the commercial barriers which divided the provinces, and prevented the free transport of merchandise. They pointed out the repairing of the roads and the placing of them in good condition as the first means of increasing the general prosperity. Not a single branch of the administration of the kingdom escaped their conscientious scrutiny. Law, finance, and commerce by turns engaged their attention, and in all these different matters they sought to ameliorate institutions, but never to usurp power. They did not come forward like the shrivality of the University of Paris in 1413, with a new system of administration. The reign of Louis XI had left nothing that was important or possible in that way to conceive. There was nothing more to be done than to clean after him, to relax those appliances of government which he had stretched at all points, and to demand the accomplishment of such of his projects as were left in a rear, and the cure of the evils he had caused by the frenzy and the aberrations of his absolute will. We do not care to question the merits of the stage general of 1484. We have but lately striven to bring them to light, and we doubt not but that the enduring influence of their example and their sufferings counted for much in the progress of good government during the reign of Louis XII. It is an honor to France to have always resumed and pursued from crisis to crisis, through a course of many sufferings, mistakes, and tedious gaps, the work of her political enfranchisement and the foundation of a regiment of freedom and legality in the midst of the sole monarchy which so powerfully contributed to her strength and her greatness. The stage general of 1484, in spite of their rebuffs and long years after their separation, held an honorable place in the history of this difficult and tardy work. But Louis XII's personal share in the good home government of France during his reign was also great and meritorious. His chief merit, a rare one amongst the powerful of the earth, especially when there is a question of reforms and of liberty, was that he understood and entertained the requirements and wishes of his day. He was a mere young prince of the blood when the states of 1484 were sitting at tour, but he did not forget them when he was king, and far from repudiating their patriotic and modest work in the cause of reform and progress, he entered into it sincerely and earnestly with the aid of Cardinal Damboy's, his honest, faithful, and ever influential counselor. The character and natural instincts of Louis XII inclined him towards the same views as his intelligence and moderation in politics suggested. He was kind, sympathetic towards his people, and anxious to spare them every burden and every suffering that was unnecessary, and to have justice, real and independent justice rendered to all. He reduced the taliages a tenth at first and a third at a later period. He refused to accept the dues usual on a joyful accession. When the wars in Italy caused him some extraordinary expense, he disposed of a portion of the royal possessions, strictly administered as they were, before imposing fresh burdens upon the people. His court was inexpensive, and he had no favourites to enrich. His economy became proverbial. It was sometimes made a reproach to him, and things were carried so far that he was represented, on the stage of a popular theatre, ill, pale, and surrounded by doctors, who were holding a consultation as to the nature of his malady. They at last agreed to give him a potion of gold to take. The sick men at once sat up, complaining of nothing more than a burning thirst. When informed of this scandalous piece of buffoonery, Louis contented himself with saying, I had rather make courtiers laugh by my stinginess than my people weep by my extravagance. He was pressed to punish some insolent comedians, but, no, said he, amongst their rivalries they may sometimes tell us useful truths, let them amuse themselves, provided that they respect the honour of women. In the administration of justice he accomplished important reforms, called for by the State General of 1484, and promised by Louis XI and Charles VIII, but nearly all of them left in suspense. The purchase of offices was abolished and replaced by a twofold election. In all grades of the magistracy, when an office was vacant, the judges were to assemble to select three persons, from whom the king should be bound to choose. The irremovability of the magistrates, which had been accepted but often violated by Louis XI, became under Louis XII a fundamental rule. It was forbidden to every one of the king's magistrates, from the premier president to the lowest provost, to accept any place or pension from any lord, under pain of suspension from their office or loss of their salary. The annual mercurials, Wednesday meetings, became in the supreme courts a general and standing usage. The expenses of the law were reduced. In 1501 Louis XII instituted at Ex-Saint-Provence a new parliament. In 1499 the court of Exchequer at Rouen, hitherto a supreme but movable and temporary court, became a fixed and permanent court, which afterwards received under Francis I the title of parliament. Being convinced before long by facts themselves that these reforms were seriously meant by their author and were practically effective, the people conceived in consequence, towards the king and the magistrates, a general sentiment of gratitude and respect. In 1570 Louis made a journey from Paris to Lyon by Champagne and Burgundy, and wherever he passed, says St. Jealous, men and women assembled from all parts, and ran after him for three or four leagues. And when they were able to touch his mule or his robe or anything that was his, they kissed their hands, with as great a devotion as they would have shown to a reliquary. And the Burgundians showed as much enthusiasm as the real old French. CHAPTER XXVII. CHAPTER XXVII. Louis XII's private life also contributed to win for him. We will not say the respect and admiration, but the good will of the public. He was not, like Louis IX, a model of austerity and sanctity. But after the licentious court of Charles VII, the coarse habits of Louis XI, and the easy morals of Charles VIII, the French public was not exacting. Louis XII was thrice married. His first wife, Joan, daughter of Louis XI, was an excellent and worthy princess, but ugly, ungraceful, and humpbacked. He had been almost forced to marry her, and he had no child by her. On ascending the throne he begged Pope Alexander VI to annul his marriage. The negotiation was anything but honourable, either to the king or to the pope. And the pope granted his bull in consideration of the favours shown to his unworthy son, César Borgia, by the king. Joan alone behaved with a virtuous as well as modest pride, and ended her life in sanctity within a convent at Borgia, being wholly devoted to pious works, regarded by the people as a saint, spoken of by bold preachers as a martyr, and still the true and legitimate Queen of France, and treated at a distance with profound respect by the king who had put her away. Louis married in 1499 his predecessor's widow, Anne, Duchess of Brittany, twenty-three years of age, short, pretty, a little lame, witty, able, and firm. It was on both sides a marriage of policy, though romantic tales have been mixed up with it. It was a suitable and honourable royal arrangement without any lively affection on one side or the other, but with mutual esteem in regard. As queen, Anne was haughty, imperious, sharp-tempered, and too much inclined to mix in intrigues and negotiations at Rome and Madrid, sometimes without regard for the king's policy. But she kept up her court with spirit and dignity, being respected by her ladies whom she treated well, and favourably regarded by the public, who were well disposed towards her for having given Brittany to France. Some courtiers showed their astonishment that the king should so patiently bear with the character so far from agreeable. But one must surely put up with something from a woman, said Louis, when she loves her honour and her husband. After a union of fifteen years, Anne of Brittany died on the ninth of January, fifteen-fourteen, at the castle of Blois, nearly thirty-seven years old. Louis was then fifty-two. He seemed very much to regret his wife, but some few months after her death another marriage of policy was put on his behalf in course of negotiation. It was in connection with Princess Mary of England, sister of Henry VIII, with whom it was very important for Louis XII and for France to be once more at peace and on good terms. The Duke de Longbia, made prisoner by the English of the battle of Gingate, had by his agreeable wit and his easy, chivalrous grace, won Henry VIII's favour in London, and he perceived that the prince, discontented with his allies, the Emperor of Germany and the King of Spain, was disposed to make peace with the King of France. A few months, probably only a few weeks, after Anne of Brittany's death, de Longbia, no doubt with Louis XII's privity, suggested to Henry VIII the idea of a marriage between his young sister and the King of France. Henry liked to do sudden and striking things. He gladly seized the opportunity of avenging himself upon his two allies, who in fact had not been very faithful to him, and he welcomed de Longbia's idea. Mary was sixteen, pretty, already betrothed to Archduke Charles of Austria, and further, passionately smitten with Charles Brandon, the favourite of Henry VIII, who had made him Duke of Suffolk, and, according to English historians, the handsomest nobleman in England. These two difficulties were surmounted. Mary herself formally declared her intention of breaking a promise of marriage which had been made during her minority, and which Emperor Maximilian had shown himself in no hurry to get fulfilled, and Louis XII formally demanded her hand. Three treaties were concluded on the 7th of August, 1514, between the Kings of France and England, in order to regulate the conditions of their political and matrimonial alliance. On the 13th of August, the Duke de Longbia, in his sovereign's name, espoused the Princess Mary at Greenwich, and she, escorted to France by brilliant embassy, arrived on the 8th of October at Abbevia, where Louis XII was awaiting her. Three days afterwards the marriage was solemnised there in state, and Louis, who had suffered from gout during the ceremony, carried off his young queen to Paris, after having had her crowned at Saint-Denis. Mary Tudor had given up the German Prince, who was destined to become Charles V, but not the handsom English nobleman she loved. The Duke of Suffolk went to France to see her after her marriage, and in her train she had, as made of honour, a young girl, a beauty as well, who was one day to be Queen of England, Anne Boleyn. Less than three months after this marriage, on the 1st of January, 1515, the death-bell men were traversing the streets of Paris, ringing their bells and crying, The Good King Louis, Father of the People, is dead. Louis XII, in fact, had died that very day at midnight, from an attack of gout and a rapid decline. He had no great need to be married, for many reasons, says the loyal servitor of Bayard, and he likewise had no great desire that way, but because he found himself on every side at war, which he could not maintain without pressing very hard upon his people, he behaved like the pelican. After that Queen Mary had made her entry, which was mighty triumphant into Paris, and that there had taken place many jousts and turnies which lasted more than six weeks, The Good King, because of his wife, changed all his manner of living. He had been want to dine at eight, and he now dined at midday. He had been want to go to bed at six in the evening, and he often now went to bed at midnight. He fell ill at the end of December, from the which illness not could save him. He was, whilst he lived, a good prince, wise and virtuous, who maintained his people in peace, without pressing hard upon them in any way, saved by constraint. He had in his time much of good and of evil, whereby he got ample knowledge of the world. He obtained many victories over his enemies, but towards the end of his days fortune gave him a little turn of her frowning face. He was born to his grave at Saint Denis, amongst his good predecessors, with great weeping and wailing, and to the great regret of his subjects. He was a gentle prince, says Robert Delamarch, Lord of Flourange, both in war and otherwise, and in all matters wherein he was required to take part. It was a pity when this malady of gout attacked him, for he was not an old man. To the last of his days Louis XII was animated by earnest sympathy and active solicitude for his people. It cost him a great deal to make with the King of England the Trees of August the 7th, 1514, to cede tournée to the English, and to agree to the payment to them of a hundred thousand crowns a year for ten years. He did it to restore peace to France, attacked on her own soil, and feeling her prosperity threatened. For the same reason he negotiated with Pope Leo X, Emperor Maximilian, and Ferdinand the Catholic, and he had very nearly attained the same end by entering once more upon Pacific relations with them, when death came and struck him down at the age of fifty-three. He died sorrowing over the concessions he had made from a patriotic sense of duty as much as from necessity, and full of disquietude about the future. He felt a sincere affection for Francis de Balloy, Count of Angulam, his son-in-law and successor. The marriage between his daughter Claude and that Prince had been the chief and most difficult affair connected with his domestic life, and it was only after the death of the Queen, Anne of Brittany, that he had it proclaimed and celebrated. The bravery, the brilliant parts, the amiable character, and the easy grace of Francis I delighted him, but he dreaded his presumptuous inexperience, his reckless levity, and his ruinous extravagance. And in his anxiety as a king and father, he said, we are laboring in vain. This big boy will spoil everything for us.