gland, actuated by the counsels of Wolsey, who was in the pay of the empire, on some contemptible and frivolous pretext, declared war against the man to whom two years previously he had sworn eternal friendship. An army, under the command of Surrey, invaded French territory, but effected nothing. In the next year Venice, which had hitherto been Francis's ally, finding his cause in Italy desperate, entered into the league against him. Thus did the unfortunate monarch find himself alone, and encompassed by enemies. It was now the dauntlessness and power of his character shone forth, and instead of shrinking back within the defensive, he daringly resolved to march into Italy, and attack his enemies in their strongholds. But not even yet was the sum of his misfortune complete. He had already begun his march towards Lyons when he received intelligence that the Constable de Bourbon was in league with Charles, and had promised to aid the imperial troops to invade France as soon as the king had crossed the Alps. The naturally frank and generous character of Francis is admirably displayed in his mode of acting upon this warning. He at once started for Moulins, where the constable, who had pretended illness to excuse his absence from the army, was then lying, and told him unreservedly all he had heard; upon which Bourbon protested his innocence in such solemn terms that Francis accepted his pledge, and refused to have him arrested, as more cautious councillors advised. Immediately afterwards the traitor fled, and the king was doomed to bitterly expiate his too credulous trustfulness. Not considering it safe to quit his territory, he gave up the command of the invading army, thirty thousand strong, to Admiral Bonnivet, and by fortifying all frontier towns, and arresting all suspected persons, entirely defeated the conspiracy. This king certainly displayed considerable The queen-mother, who had always been jealous of the Bourbons, on account of the partiality shown by Anne of Brittany, the queen of Louis the Twelfth, for that branch of the royal family, had poisoned the mind of her son against the constable. His merits had never received their due reward, and he had been treated with uniform coldness and suspicion. But upon the death of his wife, the duchess, enamored of his fine person, formed the idea of marrying him. Not only did he repel her advances, but treated them with scorn and ridicule. From that hour she swore his destruction, and commenced by instituting a lawsuit to deprive him of his estates, which she claimed partly for herself, partly for the king. It was then he opened negotiations with the imperial court which promised him the hand of the emperor's sister, Eleanor, who afterwards became the queen of Francis, together with Provençe and Dauphiné, which he was to rule under the title of king. genius by the manner in which he kept all Europe, and even domestic treachery, at bay. The brief and rapid wars of the feudal ages had been succeeded by those slow and strategic operations which made the military art until the appearance of Buonaparte. Bonnivet, who had been selected to command the army, not on account of his abilities, which were mediocre, but because of his known hatred to Bourbon, which was a pledge of his fidelity, and of the king's friendship for him, was outgeneralled and outnumbered, and at Biagrassa was totally and irretrievably defeated. It was on that field fell the Chevalier Bayard, the last of the knights of chivalry. That same year Charles invaded France, entering through Provence. But still the masterful genius of the king was equal to the occasion, and the imperialists, decimated by disease and famine, were compelled to retire back into Italy. It was now that Francis's good angel deserted him, and rashness and evil counsel ruined all his glory. He had still a magnificent army under his command, and with this he resolved once more to invade Milan. To this course he is said to have been determined by the persuasions of Bonnivet, who represented conquest as certain and easy. He had become enamored of a Milanese lady, and was desirous of revisiting her; hence his assurances. Upon such trifles hang wars, the lives of thousands, and the fate of great empires. Again Milan opened her gates, and Sforza and the imperialists retired before the invaders. But instead of pursuing and destroying them, as he might have easily done, Francis, by some strange error of judgment, sat down before Pavia, a strongly fortified and well-garrisoned town, and sent half his army to make a descent upon Naples. For three months he laid close siege to this place, and reduced it almost to the extremities of famine; the imperialists were scarcely strong enough to attack him. But the vigor and selfsacrifice of Bourbon, now in the imperial forces, came to their aid; he pawned his jewels, took a journey into Germany, and with the proceeds raised twelve thousand mercenaries. With these reinforcements the enemy advanced towards Pavia. The unanimous advice of the French council of war was to retire, and decline a battle. There was only one dissentient voice, that of the fatal Bonnivet, who urged the disgrace of retreat. Again the king listened, because, probably, it harmonized with his own feelings. He had sworn to take | Wolsey, disappointed of the papal throne, Pavia or perish, and with that romance which the emperor had promised him, was and that strange echo of the olden time filled with revenge against his cajoler. which ever and anon broke in upon the soul of this man of the Renaissance, he held that it would be an eternal shame to him to break it. On February 24, 1525, was fought a fatal and renowned battle. The troops on both sides were splendid. The first advantage was with the French, but the treacherous and mercenary Swiss, worthy forefathers of the brigand innkeepers of to-day, who were forever betraying those who trusted them, and whose every vice and virtue were absorbed in the greed for gold, at the critical moment deserted their posts. The day was lost. But the king fought with the heroism of a knight-errant. Wounded severely, thrown from his horse, he fought on foot and killed seven men with his own hand. One by one the officers and nobles who had gathered round him were slain, and he stood alone, and though almost fainting with exhaustion, still wielded his terrible sword. Thus he was found by a follower of Bourbon's who entreated him to throw down his arms, but he would have died rather by the hands of the Spanish soldiers who were attacking him than have yielded to his traitorous subject. And so he would have fallen, had not Lannoy, the Spanish general, come up at the time, and to him he delivered his sword. The Spaniard took it, knelt and gave him his own, saying: "It does not become so great a monarch to remain disarmed in the presence of a mere subject of the emperor." Here again we hear the noble and sweet voice of the olden time, so soon to be forever silenced in the hell-born war of creeds. Ten thousand men fell in this engagement, and two weeks afterwards there was not one French soldier within the length and breadth of Italy. "All is lost save honor," wrote Francis to his mother, whom he had appointed regent in his absence. It was now that the nobler side of the character of the woman who had been the root of all the mischief displayed itself. Spite of all she had done, she loved her son. She gathered together the remnants of the army that had found their way back, made new levies, and assembling the nobles at Lyons, exhorted them to stand by their country in this terrible extremity. She also appealed to the Tudor, who, frightened at the prodigious success of Charles, lent a ready ear to her pleadings; and what was more important, Most harshly and rigorously did Charles treat his royal captive, and the conditions of freedom he proposed, including as they did the surrender of Burgundy, Provence, and Dauphiné, were so monstrous, that Francis passionately drew his dagger, and pointing it at his breast, exclaimed: "It were better a king should die thus!" While the mother was working with heart and brain within his kingdom to procure his release, the sister, Marguerite d'Alençon, afterwards so famous as Marguerite de Navarre, made a journey into Spain to intercede for the captive, and bring him the comfort of her affection. There was a wondrous romantic love between this brother and sister, of which there is scarcely any parallel. He was in her eyes a god rather than a man, an idol, an incarnation of all that was physically and mentally glorious in creation; this passionate worship might be understood during the days of his youth, but even during his last years, when disease and excess had disorted his form and rendered his features coarsely repulsive, he was still her demigod, glorious as ever; her eyes could see no change. When she arrived in Spain, She found her brother [says Brantôme] in so piteous a state that, if she had not come, he would have died; so much better she knew his constitution and complexion than did all his physicians, and treated him and caused him to be treated, as she understood him, so well, that she cured him. Thus the king often said that without her he would have died, and that he owed her that obligation which he would always remember, and would love her, as he did, unto his death. Marguerite was young, beautiful, learned, and talented, and all these gifts she set to work to procure his liberation. She spoke to the emperor so bravely [to again quote Brantôme] and so honestly also, upon the bad treatment he had used towards the king, her brother, that he was astonished; remonstrating with him upon the ingratitude and felony he, a vassal, used towards his lord on account of Flanders, then reproached him with the hardness of his heart, to be so little piteous to so great and good a king, and that using him in that fashion was not the way to gain a heart so noble and royal as that of the king, her brother, and so sovereign; and should he die of his rigorous treatment, his death would not remain unpunished, having children who some day would grow up and would signally avenge it. This bravery, far from angering the gloomy and austere Charles, fascinated, enamored him. He softened the rigors of his captive's imprisonment, made love, but without result, to the fair pleader, and would have married her could he have won her consent. Yet, nevertheless he became more moderate in his terms, moved thereto also by the alliance of England with France, and the growing jealousy of Europe of his power. Yet let us not rob sweet Marguerite of her meed, for she did more to effect her brother's liberation than all other causes. summary settlements of political differences has passed away, and the meeting never takes place. Nevertheless, Robertson dates the rising of duelling, which was carried to such terrible excesses during the remainder of the sixteenth and the greater portion of the seventeenth century, from the countenance which this kingly indiscretion gave to such encounters.* The sufferings he endured both in body and mind during his Spanish captivity seem to have blighted all Francis's great powers, to have extinguished his fire and energy, and, above all, that self-confidence so indispensable to success. Thereafter we find him continually violating the most solemn treaties and obligations; eternally warring against the empire, but irresolutely, shiftily, blunderingly, and quite overshadowed by the ever-expanding genius of his great rival. But let us leave these miserable wars, minute accounts of which may be found in any history, and return to that inner life of the court wherein lay all the springs of action. The queen-mother had conquered her old rival in the king's confidence, the Comtesse de Châteaubriand † - whose empire was lost from the time of his captivity-by providing another sultana for her son's pleasure, in the person of Anne de Pisseleu, one of her maids of honor. This lady, grateful to her patroness, was content to leave politics to her greater wisdom, and to rule only the pleasures of her royal lover. She loved splendor of all kinds, she loved poetry and poets, paintings and painters, she loved the society of On January 14, 1526, after nearly one year's captivity, Francis signed the treaty of Madrid, whereby he gave up the Duchy of Burgundy to Charles, renounced all claims upon Italy, promised to restore the constable to his estates and honors, marry the emperor's sister, Eleanor of Portugal, etc., etc., and his two sons were to be given up as hostages for the fulfilment of the conditions. Before putting his hand to the document, he secretly, in the presence of his councillors, made a solemn protest against it as wrung from him by tyrannous and foul means, and as such it should be considered null and void. It was but a specimen of the political conscience of the day, but nevertheless it is the barrier which divides the chivalrous king of his youth from the debauché and tyrant of his age. The sages of Europe, however, never believed he intended to observe such stipulations, after the cruel and ungenerous treatment he had received, and they were right. Now came "the holy league" of France, England, Venice, Florence, Milan and the pope who had absolved Francis from his oath - - the success of the imperialists, the sack of Rome, †The following romantic and tragic story is told by the death of the constable, the rout of the one of the old chroniclers concerning this lady. The Comte de Châteaubriand, not desiring that his wife French army before Naples, mutual ex- should be seen at court, kept her a captive in an old haustion on both sides, and the treaty of chaseau in Brittany. Francis, who had heard her Cambray, wherein Francis paid two mil-spoken of, brought her to court by a stratagem. lion crowns for the ransom of his sons, renounced all sovereign rights over Flanders and Artois, and all Italian claims, while Charles on his part ceded his pretensions to Burgundy. Once more during these events we hear the fierce voice of the Middle Ages rising from the tomb. Charles, by his ambassador, denounces the French king as a base violator of the public faith and a stranger to honor and integrity; upon which Francis by his herald, gives the emperor the lie and challenges him to single combat. Charles accepts the defiance; but the age for such It must be borne in mind that the single combats of the Middle Ages were sanctioned by law, were solemn appeals to the god of justice, and totally differed from the private duel. She in his château. No sooner did she return than he appeared at Amboise, and everybody was dazzled by Such marital executions were common occurrences mention of this, and even mentions the countess as the learned, and inclined towards the Prot- | rounded by a variety of fishes of different estants. Francis married her to Jean de species, and other sea animals. The undulaBrosse, one of the accomplices of Bour- tion of the water was properly exhibited, and bon, who by this marriage got back his likewise enamelled with its true colors. The forfeited estates and a duchy into the bar- earth I represented by a beautiful female figgain, on condition he never claimed his ure, holding a cornucopia in her hand, entirely wife and kept away from her. It is the she held a little temple, the architecture of the naked, like the male figure; in her left hand first example of those mock nuptials which Ionic order, and the workmanship very nice; the fourteenth and fifteenth Louis carried this was to put pepper in. Under this female to such perfection. Truly this Francis figure I exhibited most of the finest animals was a wonderful hand at inventions. which the earth produces, and the rocks I What a debt of gratitude succeeding kings partly enamelled and partly left in gold. I owed him! So Mademoiselle de Pisseleu then fixed the work on a base of black ebony became Duchess d'Etampes. of a proper thickness; and then I placed four intended to represent Morning, Noon, Evenfigures in more than mezzo-relievo; these were ing, and Night. There were also four other figures of the four winds, of the same size, the workmanship and enamel of which were elegant to the last degree. The old life of fêtes was by no means interrupted by the costly and desolating wars; the troops were unpaid, the treasury drained, but there was always money forthcoming for splendors and pleasures. The Chateau d'Amboise became too small to contain the ever-swelling court. In the depths of a wild forest was an ancient dwelling that had been occasionally used by the kings of France as far back as the twelfth century. This was Fontainebleau, and this was the spot chosen by Francis for his new palace. The old Gothic building was demolished, and with it an adjacent monastery and seventeen houses; and upon the ground they had covered, under the superintendence of an Italian architect, and by the hands of a host of Italian, Flemish, and French workmen, arose a gorgeous pile of the Renaissance. Italy was ransacked for painters, sculptors, and decorators of all kinds to adorn the new palace, and among them came the great Benvenuto Cellini. It was here he executed some of his most beautiful works, his great silver statues of Jupiter, Vulcan, and Mars, and that gold salt-cellar of which he has left so wonderful a description in his memoirs that it is worth transcribing to give an idea of the works executed for this court: It was of an oval figure, and in size about two-thirds of a cubit, being entirely of gold, and admirably engraved by the chisel. I had represented the sea and the earth both in a sitting posture, the legs of one placed between those of the other, as certain arms of the sea enter the land, and certain necks of the land jut into the sea. I put a trident into the right hand of the figure that represented the sea, and in the left a bark of exquisite workmanship, which was to hold the salt: under this figure were its four sea-horses, the form of which, in the breast and fore feet, resembled that of a horse, and all the hind part from the middle that of a fish; the fishes' tails were entwined with each other in a manner very pleasing to the eye, and the whole group was placed in a striking attitude. This figure was sur He also invented exquisite models for the gates and fountains, which, however, were never executed, full descriptions of which are contained in his memoirs. But the great Florentine, who was independent and somewhat rough in manner, offended the Duchess d'Etampes by not inviting her with the king to see these models, and from that time she gave all her favor to Rosso and Primataccio, rival artists. To appease her he wrought a golden cup of exquisite workmanship, and carrying it to her lodgings begged her waiting-woman to procure him an interview. Upon acquainting her lady with my arrival, and the present I had brought [to again quote Cellini's " Memoirs "] the latter answered disdainfully, "to tell him to wait." Hearing this, I armed myself with patience, and continued in suspense till she was going to dinner. Perceiving that it grew late, hunger provoked me to such a degree that, unable to resist its curse, and going directly to the Cardinal Lorcravings any longer, I gave the lady a hearty raine, made him a present of the cup, begging him to stand my friend with the king, and prevent me from being deprived of his good graces. Cellini soon became disgusted with the treatment he received and went back to Italy, leaving the ornamentation of the palace to Rosso and Primataccio, artists infinitely inferior to himself. Quand verrons-nous quelque tournoi nouveau? These fetes formed the models of those suppposed to have been invented a century afterwards by le grand monarque. In reading a description of the festivities which welcomed a visit of Charles the Fifth we find the original of those fantastic devices given in honor of La Vallière. When the emperor entered the forest of Fontainebleau there suddenly sprang forth from every bush and covert crowds of heathen gods and goddesses, fauns, satyrs, dryads, hamadryads, naiads, who danced around him to the sound of hautbois. Then there were masquerades in which the dancers appeared in the guise of wild beasts, vultures, eagles, griffins, and seamonsters. In all this we find a strange jumble of the old and the new, of the Gothic and neo-classic. So, regretfully, wrote Ronsard when all | Italian artists were in his pay. It was this magnificence had passed away. fortunate for the intellectual growth of France that she was governed at this period by such a prince, one who suffered himself to be carried forward on the crest of the great tidal wave of civilization, and did not sink beneath it; he was a worthy contemporary of Pope Leo, those two sovereigns alone,- for the brutal Tudor was too deeply sunk in sensualism, the bigot Charles in blood and fanaticism, to give any help to the great work, those two alone brought the Renaissance to perfection. Those who would study and understand this epoch, must turn to the pages of Rabelais, for there they will find its every aspect reflected as in a mirror: its grossness and licentiousness; its intellectual vigor, too frequently degenerating, however, into the verbosities and hairsplitting pedantries of the schools; its strange incongruities, the result of the great upheaval of ideas; its scepticism and superstition, the product of effete forms of religion. Spite of the desolating wars that cast a shadow upon this reign, it wears an aspect of unclouded brilliance, of Arcadian peacefulness, when contrasted with the darkness that followed, the horrors of that war of creeds that raged with unmitigated ferocity during the remainder of the century, paralyzing all intellectual growth, transforming men to worse than wolves and tigers, for God has created no brute so frightful as the bigot, be he Catholic or Protestant. Another novelty of the reign of Francis the First, which vastly influenced the society of his posterity, was the introduction of churchmen to court. Before this bishops and abbots had resided in their bishoprics and abbeys, scarcely acknowledging any other authority than that of the pope. But the concordat changed all that. Benefices were no longer confined to those in holy orders, and abbeys and priories were indiscriminately bestowed upon men of all conditions whom the king wished to reward. This brought the first public corruption into the Church. "Not that I have heard say," writes Brantôme, "nor read that before there were more good people or better livers, for in their bishoprics and abbeys they were as debauched as the military." Rabelais, who ought to have known, was decidedly of the same opinion. Jean du Bellay, Bishop of Bayonne, who had Rabelais for secretary, was one of the gayest of ecclesiastics, the favorite of princesses and all the ladies of the court; he visited England, and was one of the most assiduous gallants in the train of Anne Boleyn, one of the most skilful hunters in the forest of Windsor. In 1536, Francis confided to him the defence of Paris and the lieutenant-generalship of Champagne and Picardy, and he fulfilled his trust right well. There were several such prelates in this court. Francis was a munificent patron of art and literature, but it is possible that ostententation had as much to do as taste with this predilection. He would have gathered all the genius of the world at Fontainebleau. Leonardo da Vinci died in his arms, and some of the greatest of the Towards the close of this reign, we hear the first mutterings of the storm. Francis vacillated for some time between the two religions; he was drawn towards the reform by his sister Marguerite. But the prejudices of the nobles and the mass of the people, the ties he had formed with the Médici, the example of nearly all Europe, made up an overwhelming counterpoise in favor of the elder creed. Had the question come before him more prominently in his earlier days, he might have decided otherwise, but his once daring energy was gone, exhausted by reverses of fortune and by that horrible disease which for ten years slowly ate away body and mind. The first persecutions were brought about by the offensive zeal of certain Protestants, who affixed opprobrious reflections upon the Catholic faith against the church-doors. They courted their doom, it was a terrible one — the stake. The massacre of the Vaudois, however, was a horrible act, which casts an eternal stain upon this king's name. Nevertheless we have many instances of |