After expressing her delight and her gratitude to God for the privilege of sealing, by her death, the testimony she had so often borne in behalf of her church, she went on to speak of her past suffering. Born a queen, the daughter of a king, the cousin of the queen of England, the granddaughter of Henry VII., once queen of France, and now queen-dowager of that kingdom,--and yet what had all this availed her? She then spoke of her love for England; of the desire she had ever felt to obtain the friendship of its queen; of the ignominy and injustice with which she had, notwithstanding, been treated; imprisoned contrary to all faith and treaties; kept a captive for nineteen years; and "at last," said she, laying her hand on the New Testament, "condemned by a tribunal which had no power over me, for a crime of which I here solemnly declare I am innocent. I have neither invented, nor consented to, nor pursued, any conspiracy for the death of the queen of England." The Earl of Kent here hastily interrupted her, declaring that the Scriptures on which she had sworn were false, and the Roman Catholic version. "It is the translation which I believe," answered Mary. "Does your lordship think my oath would be better, if I swore on your translation, which I disbelieve?"
She then requested to be allowed the services of her chaplain, whom she had not for some time been permitted to see. But the request was denied; the Earl of Kent, however, an intolerant bigot, after a long theological discourse, offered her the services of his own Protestant chaplain. Mary bore this stroke of cruelty with meekness, but declined the proffered services. She inquired at what time she was to die.
"To-morrow, at eight," was the reply; and the earls then left the room. On their departure, Mary called her women, and bade them hasten supper, that she might have time to arrange her affairs. "Come, come, Jane Kennedy," said she, "cease your weeping, and be busy. Did I not warn you, my children, that it would come to this? and now, blessed be God, it has come, and fear and sorrow are at an end. Weep not, but rejoice rather that your poor mistress is so near the end of her troubles. Dry your tears, then, and let us pray together." Some time was spent in her devotions; she then supped with cheerfulness. She next distributed various articles from her wardrobe among her attendants, with a kind expression for each. She then wrote her last will, which is still extant, and consists of four pages, closely written, in a neat, firm hand. Not one person was forgotten who had any claims on her gratitude or her remembrance. She also wrote several letters; but these, it is said, are blotted with her tears. It was her custom to have her women read to her, at night, a portion of the "Lives of the Saints;" and this last night she would not omit it, but made Jane Kennedy select a portion. She chose the life entitled the "Good Thief," which treats of that beautiful and affecting example of dying faith and divine compassion. "Alas!" said Mary, "he was indeed a very great sinner, but not so great as I am. May my Savior, in memory of His passion, have mercy on me, as he had on him!"
At the hour appointed, the sheriff entered her room, and proceeding to the altar, where the queen was kneeling, informed her that all was ready. She rose, and saying simply, "Let us go," proceeded towards the door, on reaching which, her attendants were informed that they were not to accompany her. A scene of the most distressing character now took place; but they were at last torn from her, and locked up in the apartment. Mary proceeded alone down the great staircase, at the foot of which she was received by the two earls, who were struck with the perfect tranquillity and unaffected grace with which she met them. She was dressed in black satin, matronly but richly, and with more studied care than she was commonly accustomed to bestow. At the bottom of the staircase she was also met by her old servant, Sir Andrew Melvil, waiting to take his last farewell.
Flinging himself on his knees, he bitterly lamented it should have fallen to him to carry this heart-rending news to Scotland. "Weep not," said she, "but rather rejoice, my good Melvil. Carry this news with thee, that I die firm in my religion, true to Scotland, true to France. May God, who can alone judge the thoughts and actions of men, forgive those who have thirsted for my blood.
Remember me to my son; tell him I have done nothing that may prejudice his kingdom." She then earnestly entreated that her women might be permitted to be with her at her death; but the Earl of Kent refused it, saying that they might be guilty of something scandalous and superstitious, even to dipping their handkerchiefs in her blood. But Mary plighted her word they should not offend in any wise: "Surely, surely you will not deny me this last little request; my poor girls wish only to see me die." As she said this, a few tears were observed to fall, for the first time; and, after some consultation, she was permitted to have two ladies and four gentlemen beside her. Followed by these, she entered the great hall, and seated herself on the raised platform, prepared for a scaffold, with the same easy grace and dignity with which she would have occupied her throne. The death-warrant was then read; but those who were near could see, by the sweet and absent expression of her countenance, that her thoughts were afar off.
The Earl of Kent next solicited her to join with him and the Protestant chaplain in their devotions. But she declined, and, kneeling apart, repeated a part of the penitential Psalms, and afterwards continued her prayers aloud in English. By this time, the chaplain had concluded; there was a deep silence, so that every word was heard. It was impossible for any one to behold her at this moment without being deeply affected--on her knees, her hands clasped and raised to heaven, an expression of adoration and divine serenity lighting up her features, and upon her lips the words of forgiveness to her persecutors. Having finished, she cheerfully suffered herself to be undressed by her women, gently admonishing them not to distress her by their lamentations; putting her finger on her lips, and bidding them remember that she had promised for them. On seeing the executioner approach to offer his assistance, she smiled, and playfully said, "that she had neither been used to such grooms of the chamber, nor to undress before so many people." When all was ready, she kissed her women, and, giving them her last blessing, she knelt down and groped her way to the block,--for her eyes were bound,--and laid her neck upon it without the slightest mark of trembling or hesitation. Her last words were, "Into thy hands I commend my spirit, for thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth." At two strokes, her head was severed from her body, and the executioner, holding it up, called aloud, "God save the queen!" "So let all Queen Elizabeth's enemies perish!" was the prayer of the chaplain; but the spectators were dissolved in tears, and one deep voice alone answered, "Amen!" It came from the Earl of Kent. On removing the body, and the clothes and mantle which lay beside it, Mary's favorite little dog, which had followed its mistress unperceived, was found nestling under them. No entreaty could prevail on it to quit the spot; and it remained lying beside the corpse, and stained in the blood, till forcibly carried away by the attendants.
Elizabeth affected to receive the news of the death of her rival with surprise and grief; she even carried her artifice to so barbarous a length, as to render Davison, the secretary, and the innocent instrument of her cruelty and dissimulation, the victim of her perfidy. Under pretence that he had orders not to let the warrant go out of his office, he was degraded, fined, imprisoned, and utterly ruined. By this sacrifice, she hoped to appease the king of Scots, whom the death of his mother had filled with grief and resentment, which yielded, however, at length, to the necessities of his situation. Having affected to admit the excuses of Elizabeth, and to be satisfied with the sacrifice of Davison, he stifled his indignation, and continued the semblance of amity with the English court. Thus the death and sufferings of Mary remained unavenged, while Elizabeth was suffered to reap the advantages of her malignity.
ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND.
This extraordinary woman, the daughter of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn, was born in 1533. Being educated a Protestant, and having adopted the principles of the reformation, she was looked upon with suspicion and treated with harshness during the reign of her sister Mary. She devoted herself, however, to study, and is thus described at this period: "She was of admirable beauty, and well deserving a crown; of a modest gravity, excellent wit, royal soul, happy memory, and indefatigably given to the study of learning, insomuch as, before she was seventeen years of age, she understood well the Latin, French, and Italian tongues, and had an indifferent knowledge of the Greek.
Neither did she neglect music, so far as it became a princess, being able to sing sweetly, and play handsomely on the lute."
On the death of Mary, in 1558, she was immediately proclaimed queen, and was received in the metropolis with the loudest acclamations. She consigned to oblivion all the affronts she had received during the late reign, and prudently assumed the gracious demeanor of the common sovereign of all her subjects. Philip of Spain soon made her proposals of marriage; but she knew the aversion borne him by the nation too well to think of accepting him.
[Illustration: QUEEN ELIZABETH ON A TOUR THROUGH HER REALM.]
She now proceeded to the arduous task of settling the religion of the state. In comparison with the harsh and cruel measures of her predecessor, her conduct was marked with moderation. Yet the Catholics were made to feel the severest restraints upon their liberty of thought and action. It was not long before she began that interference in the affairs of Scotland which produced the most singular and painful events in her reign. These we have sufficiently detailed in the life of the unhappy Queen Mary.
The political history of Elizabeth would fill a volume. She soon acquired great reputation for vigor and sagacity, and was regarded as the head of the Protestant party in Europe. She took the part of the revolted provinces of Holland against Spain in 1585, and three years after, when threatened by what was called the "Invincible Armada," she displayed a degree of energy and personal courage which would have done credit to a sovereign of the other sex. She mingled largely in the political affairs of the continent, and, in 1601, held a conference with the celebrated Sully, with a view to the adjustment of a new balance of European power. While thus directing her attention to general politics, she did not neglect the internal affairs of her kingdom. These were indeed conducted with great sagacity and wisdom, and such was the state of prosperity among the people, that the "good old days of Queen Bess" is still a proverb in England. Although thus attentive to the concerns of government, Elizabeth devoted much time and expense to dress, of which she was excessively fond; and she even affected a love of literature and learning. The age in which she lived is remarkable for the great men it produced--Shakspere, Bacon, Sidney, Hooker, and Raleigh, whose works contributed so much to give vigor, strength, and elegance, to the English tongue. Literature owes, however, little to her; she was much more fond of displaying her own acquirements than encouraging the learned. Whatever countenance Shakspere received from royalty, he owed to his friends Essex and Southampton; and Spenser, who has sung the praises of the queen in "strains divine," died in neglect and poverty.
Elizabeth was fond of multiplying pictures of herself, and so far encouraged painting. One of her most characteristic ordinances is a proclamation forbidding all manner of persons from drawing, painting, graving, &c., her majesty's person and visage, till some perfect pattern should be prepared by a skilful limner, "for the consolation of her majesty's loving subjects, who were grieved, and took great offence, at the errors and deformities committed by sundry persons in this respect." She was so little capable of judging of works of art, that she would not allow a painter to put any shadows upon the face, "because," as she said, "shade is an accident, and not in nature."
During her whole reign, Elizabeth was subjected to the influence of favorites. The most celebrated of these are the Earls of Leicester and of Essex. The first was a most weak and worthless man, contemned and feared by the nobles, and odious to the people; yet, in spite of all his vices and incapacity, he maintained his influence for nearly thirty years. Her partiality for Essex seems to have been the dotage of a vain old woman. She could not appreciate his fine qualities; she would not make allowance for his faults; and he was too frank and spirited to cringe at her footstool. "I owe her majesty," said he upon an occasion when she had repaid some want of obsequiousness by a blow, "the duty of an earl, but I will never serve her as a villain and a slave!" Essex was too rash and unsuspecting to be a match for the cool and wily ministers, whose interest it was to have him out of their way, not only as the favorite of the present sovereign, but as likely to be all powerful with her successor; and partly by their arts, and partly by his own fiery temper, he was brought to the block in the thirty-fourth year of his age. In the exasperation of offended power and jealous self-will, the queen signed the warrant for his execution, and pined away the remainder of her life in unavailing remorse. This grief, with which she long struggled in secret, at length broke forth superior to control. The occasion was as follows:--
The Countess of Nottingham, a near relation, but no friend, of Essex, being on her death-bed, entreated to see the queen, declaring that she had something to confess to her before she could die in peace. On her majesty's arrival, the countess produced a ring, which she said the Earl of Essex had sent to her, after his condemnation, with an earnest request that she would deliver it to the queen, as a token by which he implored her mercy; but that, in obedience to her husband, she withheld it. Elizabeth at once recognized the ring as one which she had herself presented to her favorite, with the tender promise, that of whatsoever crimes his enemies might have accused him, or whatever offences he might actually have committed against her, on his returning to her that pledge, she would either pardon him, or admit him, at least, to justify himself in her presence. It was in a moment of pique at his supposed pride and obstinacy in refusing to ask her forgiveness, that she had signed the death-warrant. She now learned that he had been the victim, and herself the dupe, of the most barbarous treachery. Transported with grief and rage, she shook the dying countess in her bed; and, vehemently exclaiming, "God may forgive, but I never will," she flung herself out of the chamber.
Returning to the palace, she surrendered herself without resistance to the despair which had seized her heart on this fatal disclosure. She refused medicine, and almost the means of sustenance; days and nights she sat upon the floor, sleepless, her eyes fixed, and her finger pressed upon her mouth, the silence only broken by her sighs, groans, and ejaculations of anguish. Her sufferings were at length relieved by her death, on the 24th of March, 1603. Her last words were strongly characteristic. During her whole life, she had shown a perverse dread of naming her successor; but it was necessary that the question should be put to her in her last moments. She replied, "My seat has been the seat of kings, and I will have no rascal to succeed me." Cecil, whom the weakness of the dying lioness rendered bold, inquired what she meant by the words, "that _no rascal_ should succeed her;" to which she answered, "I will have a king to succeed me, and who should that be but the king of Scots?"
The personal character of Elizabeth presents little that excites our sympathy or respect. She was vain, jealous, and selfish, in the extreme. She was capable of the deepest hypocrisy, and often practised it. She sacrificed every thing to her despotic love of sway, her pride, and her vanity, except the interests of her kingdom. These she guarded with care, and, though a tyrannical and selfish monarch, she must be ranked as among the best sovereigns of her time.
ISABELLA OF SPAIN.
Isabella, queen of Castile, was born at Madrigal, in that kingdom, on the 22d of April, 1451. Her father, John II., after an inglorious reign of forty-eight years, died in 1454, lamenting that he had not been born the son of a mechanic, instead of king of Castile. Isabella had but a slender prospect of obtaining the crown during the early part of her life. She had two brothers, Henry and Alfonso, the former of whom acceded to the throne at the death of John. Isabella retired, with her mother, to the little town of Arevalo, where she lived many years in obscurity. Her mother, who appears to have been a woman of a strong, religious turn of mind, bestowed great care on her education, and inculcated the strictest lessons of piety upon her daughter, which did not fail to exercise an important influence upon her future career. On the birth of a daughter to her brother, Isabella was removed from her retirement to the royal palace, by Henry, who, being disliked by his subjects, feared the formation of a party adverse to his interests. At the royal court, surrounded by all the pleasures and seductions most dazzling to youth, she did not forget the early lessons imbibed in her seclusion, and the blameless purity of her conduct shone with additional lustre amid the scenes of levity and licentiousness by which she was surrounded.
Before this event, she had been solicited in marriage by various suitors, among whom was Ferdinand of Arragon, who afterward became her husband. His first application, however, was unsuccessful. She was next betrothed to his elder brother Carlos, while yet a mere child.
That prince dying before the marriage could be completed, she was promised by her brother to Alfonso, king of Portugal. Isabella was but thirteen at this time, and the disparity of their ages was such that neither threats nor entreaties could induce her to consent to the union. The selfish and unprincipled Henry, who looked upon his sister only as an object of trade, next made an attempt to dispose of her for the purpose of gaining over a powerful family in Castile, which gave him great trouble by their opposition. He offered her in marriage to Don Pedro Giron, grand master of the order of Calatrava. This man was well known to be a most detestable character. He was a fierce and turbulent leader of a faction, and his private life was stained with almost every vice. Such a person, vastly inferior in birth, was selected as the husband of the young and virtuous Isabella. The pope granted a dispensation from the vow of celibacy, which the grand master, as the companion of a religions order, had been obliged to utter, and splendid preparations were immediately made for the nuptials.
Isabella was at this time in her sixteenth year. When she understood in what manner she was now to be sacrificed to the selfish policy of her brother, and that, in case she proved reluctant, compulsory measures were to be adopted, she was filled with the liveliest grief and indignation. She confined herself in her apartment, abstaining from all food and sleep for a day and a night, imploring Heaven, in the most piteous manner, to save her from this dishonor, even at the cost of her life. As she was bewailing her hard fate to her faithful friend, Beatriz de Bobadilla, that high-spirited lady exclaimed, "God will not permit it; neither will I;" and, drawing forth a dagger from her bosom, she solemnly vowed to plunge it into the heart of the master of Calatrava as soon as he appeared. The affair, happily, did not come to so tragical a catastrophe. Her dreaded suitor was suddenly carried off by sickness in the midst of his magnificent preparations.
Troubles now began to thicken around the weak and vicious Henry. His subjects, disgusted with his administration, rose in arms against him.
Castile was afflicted with all the horrors of anarchy and civil war.
Isabella retired for shelter to a monastery at Avila. The confederated nobles, who were in arms against the king, offered her the crown of Castile, which she had the prudence and magnanimity to refuse. This led to a negotiation with the king, and the civil war was closed by a treaty between the parties, in which it was stipulated that Isabella should be immediately recognized heir to the crown of Castile and Leon. Her brother Alfonso had recently died, and Joanna, the daughter of Henry, was believed by the people to be a supposititious offspring.
Isabella's prospects of a throne, having now assumed a certain character, drew the attention of neighboring princes, who contended with each other for the honor of her hand. She gave the preference to Ferdinand of Arragon, and they were married in 1469. On the death of Henry, in 1474, they were conjointly declared king and queen of Castile. A party, however, existed in favor of Joanna, and Alfonso IV., king of Portugal, entered Castile at the head of an army, publicly espoused her, and assumed the regal title. His defeat at the battle of Toro, in 1475, was fatal to his pretensions, and, by a peace concluded in 1479, the right of Isabella and her husband was fully acknowledged. In that year Ferdinand succeeded to the crown of Arragon; and from that time the kingdoms of Castile and Arragon were inseparably united, comprising the whole of Spain not possessed by the Moors.
Isabella, who was high spirited and jealous of her authority, governed Castile as the real sovereign, and her husband had the policy to concur, with apparent cordiality, in her measures. In 1481, hostilities were commenced against the Moors of Grenada; and, after a war of ten years, that kingdom was subdued by the arms of Ferdinand and Isabella. By this event the whole of Spain was restored to the Christian dominion; and, in honor of an achievement so auspicious, the two sovereigns received the distinguishing title of "the Catholic." In this war Isabella engaged with all the ardor of religions zeal; and though Ferdinand joined in her plans with perfect harmony, yet he seems to have acted in a secondary capacity. Soon after this, the Jews were expelled from Spain--an act of bigotry and injustice certainly countenanced by Isabella, but owing chiefly to the frantic religious zeal of the inquisitor-general, Torquemada, her confessor, who, while the king and queen were deliberating on the acceptance of an offer of thirty thousand ducats made by the Jews to avert the threatened edict of expulsion, suddenly burst into their presence, and, drawing forth a crucifix from beneath his mantle, held it up, exclaiming, "Judas Iscariot sold his Master for thirty pieces of silver. Your highnesses would sell him anew for thirty thousand. Here he is; take him, and barter him away." So saying, he threw the crucifix on the table, and left the apartment. This bold stroke of priestly impudence was completely successful. The sovereigns were overawed, and the edict was signed.
A deed more glorious to the memory of Isabella was the generous patronage she bestowed upon Columbus, and which was the sole means that enabled that heroic adventurer to accomplish his great undertaking of the discovery of the western world. After he had failed in all his attempts in other quarters, he at length found a friend in the queen, who, rejecting the advice of her narrow-minded and timid counsellors, exclaimed, "I will assume the undertaking for my own crown of Castile, and am ready to pawn my jewels to defray the expenses of it, if the funds in the treasury shall be found inadequate." Under her auspices Columbus achieved his great discovery; and Isabella may be called the mother of the western world. She continued a constant friend and protector of Columbus during her life; and her death proved an overwhelming disaster to him.
During the war against the Moors, Isabella shared in most of the campaigns, animating her husband and generals by her courage and undaunted perseverance; providing for the support of the armies by her forethought and economy; comforting them under their reverses by her sweet and gracious speeches, and pious confidence in Heaven; and, by her active humanity and her benevolent sympathy, extended to friend and foe, softening, as far as possible, the miseries of war. She was the first who appointed regular military surgeons to attend the movements of the army, and be at hand on the field of battle. These surgeons were paid out of her own revenues; and she also provided six spacious tents, furnished with beds and all things requisite for the sick and wounded, which were called the "Queen's Hospital." Thus to the compassionate heart of a woman, directed by energy and judgment, the civilized world was first indebted for an expedient which has since saved so many lives, and accomplished so much towards alleviating the frightful evils of war.
Isabella's confessor, the Dominican Torquemada, had, from the beginning, earnestly labored to infuse into her young mind, to which his situation gave him such ready access, the same spirit of fanaticism that glowed in his own. Fortunately, this was in a great degree counteracted by her sound understanding and natural kindness of heart. But he is said to have extorted a promise that, "should she ever come to the throne, she would devote herself to the extirpation of heresy, for the glory of God and the extension of the Catholic faith." The fulfilment of this promise being afterwards insisted on, led to the establishment of the Inquisition in her dominions, the darkest spot that exists upon her character. It was not till she had endured the repeated importunities of the clergy, particularly of those revered persons in whom she most confided, that she consented to this measure.
It was under the auspices of Isabella that Cardinal Ximenes introduced his famous reforms into the religious orders of Spain, and began the work of correcting the horrible abuses which had crept into the government of the convents. This attempt was strongly resisted, and occasioned a general outcry of the clergy. The general of the Franciscans waited on the queen, and remonstrated in high terms against this interference with the privileges of his order; at the same time reflecting severely on Cardinal Ximenes, and his influence over her mind. Isabella listened to this turbulent friar with some impatience; but, little accustomed to be dictated to in this style, she at length rose from her seat, and desired him to remember who he was, and to whom he spoke. "Madam," replied the monk, undauntedly, "I remember that I am but ashes and dust, and that I speak to Queen Isabella, who is but dust and ashes, like myself." She immediately turned from him with a look of cool disdain. The next day he was ordered to quit the kingdom; and Ximenes, supported by the royal power, pursued his system of reformation.
Isabella was a patron of literature. The first printing press set up in Spain was established at Burgos under her auspices; and all printed books, and foreign and classical works, were imported free of duty.
Through her zeal and patronage, the University of Salamanca rose to that eminence which it assumed among the learned institutions of that period, and rivalled those of Pisa and Padua. She prepared the way for that golden age of Spanish literature which immediately succeeded her.
Her own love of study is evinced by the fact, that, after she was firmly seated on the throne, she applied herself to the task of remedying the defects of her early education, by a diligent application to books, amid all the cares of state. She mastered the Latin language in less than a year's study.
Notwithstanding that Isabella adored her husband, she would never suffer him to interfere with her authority as an independent sovereign, and she was as jealous of her prerogative as Elizabeth of England; except, indeed, where priestly intimidation was applied. Her extreme deference for the ecclesiastics around her was a misfortune for her people, but, consistently with the best points in her character, it could not have been otherwise. She was humane, just, and reasonable in all matters not influenced by the religious bigotry of the age. She declared the American Indians free, and ordered the instant return of several cargoes of them which had been sent to Spain for slaves.
After a successful and glorious reign of thirty years, Isabella the Catholic died, on the 26th of November, 1504, in the fifty-fourth year of her age. Her last years were clouded with the deepest melancholy.
The insanity and misfortunes of her daughter Joanna, and the domestic afflictions of her daughter Catherine of Arragon, lacerated her heart with sorrow. She pined away in her lonely grandeur, till the deep and long-protracted melancholy invaded her constitution, and settled into a rapid and fatal decline.
The chief traits of Isabella's character may be gathered from the preceding narrative, to which we subjoin the parallel drawn between her and Elizabeth of England, by Mr. Prescott, whose "History" so ably and satisfactorily unfolds the events of her reign.
"It is in these more amiable qualities of her sex, that Isabella's superiority becomes most apparent over her illustrious namesake, Elizabeth of England, whose history presents some features parallel to her own. Both were disciplined in early life by the teachings of that stern nurse of wisdom, adversity. Both were made to experience the deepest humiliation at the hands of their nearest relative, who should have cherished and protected them. Both succeeded in establishing themselves on the throne, after the most precarious vicissitudes. Each conducted her kingdom, through a long and triumphant reign, to a height of glory which it never before reached. Both lived to see the vanity of all earthly grandeur, and to fall the victims of an inconsolable melancholy; and both left behind an illustrious name, unrivalled in the annals of their country.
"But with these few circumstances of their history, the resemblance ceases. Their characters afford scarcely a point of contact.
Elizabeth, inheriting a large share of the bold and bluff King Harry's temperament, was haughty, arrogant, coarse, and irascible, while with these fiercer qualities she mingled deep dissimulation and strange irresolution. Isabella, on the other hand, tempered the dignity of royal station with the most bland and courteous manners. Once resolved, she was constant in her purposes; and her conduct in public and private life was characterized by candor and integrity. Both may be said to have shown that magnanimity which is implied by the accomplishment of great objects in the face of great obstacles. But Elizabeth was desperately selfish; she was incapable of forgiving, not merely a real injury, but the slightest affront to her vanity; and she was merciless in exacting retribution. Isabella, on the other hand, lived only for others; was ready at all times to sacrifice self to considerations of public duty; and, far from personal resentment, showed the greatest condescension and kindness to those who had most sensibly injured her; while her benevolent heart sought every means to mitigate the authorized severities of the law, even towards the guilty.
"Both possessed rare fortitude. Isabella, indeed, was placed in situations which demanded more frequent and higher displays of it than her rival; but no one will doubt a full measure of this quality in the daughter of Henry VIII. Elizabeth was better educated, and every way more highly accomplished, than Isabella. But the latter knew enough to maintain her station with dignity, and she encouraged learning by a munificent patronage. The masculine powers and passions of Elizabeth seemed to divorce her, in a great measure, from the peculiar attributes of her sex; at least from those which constitute its peculiar charm; for she had abundance of foibles; a coquetry and a love of admiration which age could not chill; a levity most careless, if not criminal; and a fondness for dress and tawdry magnificence of ornament which was ridiculous or disgusting, according to the different periods of life in which it was indulged. Isabella, on the other hand, distinguished through life for decorum of manners, and purity beyond the breath of calumny, was content with the legitimate affection which she could inspire within the range of her domestic circle. Far from a frivolous affectation of ornament or dress, she was most simple in her own attire, and seemed to set no value on her jewels, but as they could serve the necessities of the state; when they could be no longer useful in this way, she gave them away to her friends.
"Both were uncommonly sagacious in the selection of their ministers, though Elizabeth was drawn into some errors, in this particular, by her levity, as was Isabella by her religious feeling. It was this, combined with her excessive humility, which led to the only grave errors in the administration of the latter. Her rival fell into no such errors; and she was a stranger to the amiable qualities which led to them. Her conduct was certainly not controlled by religious principle; and, though the bulwark of the Protestant faith, it might be difficult to say whether she were at heart most a Protestant or a Catholic. She viewed religion in its connection with the state,--in other words, with herself; and she took measures for enforcing conformity to her own views, not a whit less despotic, and scarcely less sanguinary, than those countenanced for conscience' sake by her more bigoted rival.
"This feature of bigotry, which has thrown a shade over Isabella's otherwise beautiful character, might lead to a disparagement of her intellectual power, compared with that of the English queen. To estimate this aright, we must contemplate the results of their respective reigns. Elizabeth found all the materials of prosperity at hand, and availed herself of them most ably to build up a solid fabric of national grandeur. Isabella created these materials. She saw the faculties of her people locked up in a death-like lethargy, and she breathed into them the breath of life, for those great and heroic enterprises which terminated in such glorious consequences to the monarchy. It is when viewed from the depressed position of her early days, that the achievements of her reign seem scarcely leas than miraculous. The masculine genius of the English queen stands out relieved beyond its natural dimensions by its separation from the softer qualities of her sex; while her rival, like some vast and symmetrical edifice, loses, in appearance, somewhat of its actual grandeur, from the perfect harmony of its proportions.
"The circumstances of their deaths, which were somewhat similar, displayed the great dissimilarity of their characters. Both pined amidst their royal state, a prey to incurable despondency, rather than any marked bodily distemper. In Elizabeth it sprang from wounded vanity; a sullen conviction that she had outlived the admiration on which she had so long fed, and even the solace of friendship, and the attachment of her subjects. Nor did she seek consolation where alone it was to be found, in that sad hour. Isabella, on the other hand, sank under a too acute sensibility to the sufferings of others. But, amidst the gloom which gathered around her, she looked, with the eye of faith, to the brighter prospects which unfolded of the future. And, when she resigned her last breath, it was with the tears and universal lamentations of her people. It is in this undying, unabated attachment of the nation, indeed, that we see the most unequivocal testimony to the virtues of Isabella. Her own subjects extol her as 'the most brilliant exemplar of every virtue,' and mourn over the day of her death as 'the last of the prosperity and happiness of the country;'
while those who had nearer access to her person are unbounded in their admiration of those amiable qualities whose full power is revealed only in the unrestrained intimacies of domestic life."
JOAN OF ARC.
This interesting and extraordinary girl, surnamed the "Maid of Orleans," from her heroic defence of that city, was born about the year 1410, or '11, in the little hamlet of Domremy, near the Meuse, and about three leagues south of Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Champagne. Her parents were humble and honest peasants. The district was remarkable for the devout simplicity of its inhabitants, as well as for those romantic superstitions, which, in a rude age, are so often allied with religion. It appears from the copious depositions of witnesses from Domremy, examined at Joan's trial, that she was unremitting in her prayers and other religious exercises, and was strongly imbued, at a very early age, with the prevailing superstitions of her native place.