Edward detained Du Guesclin in prison longer than was consistent with the feelings of generosity, which were wont to warm the breast of a gentle knight. Yet Edward could state the reciprocal duties of conqueror and captive with accuracy; that the former ought not to exact too high a sum, and that the latter should not attempt to escape without paying his ransom. A cavalier, using the freedom of a festive hour, commented on this observation, by saying, that the world was blaming him for his severity towards one of his prisoners. Edward’s sense of honour was touched by this remark, and he summoned Du Guesclin to his presence. The hero appeared before him, dressed in his coarse prison garment; and in reply to some unknightly merriment of the Prince on the rudeness of his appearance, he said, that it remained with the pleasure of the conqueror when he should be better clothed; that for some time he had had only rats and mice for his companions, and, as he added with affecting simplicity, “even to the songs of the birds I have been a stranger.”

Edward offered him freedom on condition of his swearing not to war in favour of France or of Henry of Trastamarra, the candidate for the Spanish throne. Du Guesclin could not consistently with honour comply with these conditions; and Edward, stung by the recollection that the world had impeached his bravery and generousness, declared that, to show he dreaded no man, Du Guesclin should be restored to his liberty on paying a proper ransom. The noble Breton then required to be released on his parole, in order that he might fetch the necessary sum. Edward, touched by his spirited demeanour, resumed all his generous and chivalric feelings, and declared that Du Guesclin should name his own ransom; and instead of fixing it at ten thousand or twenty thousand livres, the captive hero proudly mentioned sixty thousand florins. The Prince was astonished at his apparent presumption, and asked him by what means he could pay so large a sum. “The Kings of France and Castile,” he replied, “are my friends, and will never fail me in a case of necessity. I know a hundred knights of Brittany who would sell their possessions for my liberation; and there is not a woman sitting at her distaff in France who would not labour with her own hands to redeem me from yours.” Du Guesclin was then liberated on his parole of honour, and people gazed with curiosity and respect upon a man who had so noble a sense of his own dignity.[151]

This liberation took place in the year 1368, and the Breton immediately entered into the service of Henry of Trastamarra. Peter had renewed his cruelties when the Black Prince seated him on the throne, and his tyranny again provoked the Castilians to rebellion. The power of Henry slowly rose, and as soon as Du Guesclin and his Gascons took the field, he once more became king. Soon afterwards our knight was recalled by Charles V. to France, and placed at the head of his chivalry by the title of Constable. He entered Paris amidst general acclamations, the people saluting him with cries which hitherto had been appropriated to kings. He went to court, where the King, in the presence of his nobles, declared, that he chose him to command his armies, and therefore gave him the sword of Constable. Du Guesclin then, with the modesty of a true knight, implored his sovereign to honour with this dignity some one who was more worthy of it than himself. But Charles declared that there was not a knight in France who did not acknowledge the superior worship of Du Guesclin, and therefore he commanded him to accept the office. Du Guesclin yielded; but fearing the courtiers of Paris more than his country’s enemies, he entreated the King not to credit any tales which might be circulated to his prejudice, without first hearing his defence.[152]

Du Guesclin now began to achieve the high emprise of re-annexing to the crown of France those provinces which the gallantry of the Black Prince had wrested from it. Charles could not give him many troops; but the noble knight sold his estates in order to raise men-at-arms, and his wife parted with the ornaments becoming her station, in order to purchase lances and harness. He was soon surrounded by four thousand soldiers. They were chiefly levied in Normandy, and their rendezvous was Caen. Du Guesclin threw an air of chivalry over his emprise, for he introduced the usage of fraternity of arms. He chose for his own brother, Olivier de Clisson, or Du Guesclin, a knight whose name is mentioned with honour in all the great battles of the time. These two Breton cavaliers signed at Pontoison the act of their fraternity, whereby they engaged to defend the estate, life, and honour of each other.[153]

Du Guesclin then fell upon the English at Pontvelain with the force of thunder: most of them were taken prisoners; and Sir Robert Knowles, their leader, fled to Brittany, and concealed his head for shame, during the rest of his life in the castle of Derval.[154] The Black Prince was then at Bourdeaux, enfeebled by sickness: he had wasted his constitution in the peninsular war; for the climate of Spain was not so favourable to the health of Englishmen in those days as it has been found in later times. Instead of being able to gird on his armour and display his chivalry, Edward had scarcely strength to follow the counsel of his leeches to return to England. He left the Duke of Lancaster to preserve the English dominion in France from total ruin.

The year 1371 was a blank in the chivalric history of Du Guesclin, but the following spring he continued his attempt to subjugate Poictou. Many cities were sacked; and the abhorrence with which the cruelties of Olivier de Clisson were regarded by his own army may warrant the conjecture that inhumanity was not general. At the close of 1372, Poictou was entirely subdued. In the next year, Du Guesclin continued his conquests, and Guienne became the subject of his victories. The Duke of Lancaster was the successor of the power, but not of the chivalry, of the Black Prince; and De Mountfort, whom Edward sent to France as the opponent of Du Guesclin, not only recovered nothing, but lost much of Brittany; and thus, by the genius and fortune of one chivalric hero, all the bright visions of glory created in the fervid imaginations of our Edwards were blighted, and France recovered her station among the high powers of Europe.

Du Guesclin continued in the service of Charles. The last years of his life it is impossible to describe, so contradictory are his biographers. Some declare that the calumnies of Parisian courtiers deprived him of the favour of Charles, and that he lost his office of Constable. However this may have been, it is certain that in the year 1380 he commanded the French troops in Auvergne, and went to lay siege to Randan, a little fortress some leagues from Mendes, in the Govandau, between the sources of the Lot and the Alleir. The place, until then so little known, immediately became famous, in French history, for the loss which France sustained before its walls of one of her prowest knights. Du Guesclin, who, according to the wont of chivalry, had vowed not to sheath his sword while an enemy’s lance was raised, pressed the siege with vigour, when he was attacked by a malady which was soon found to be mortal. He beheld the approach of death with Christian intrepidity, and he died while exhorting the knights around his bed to the duties of devotion to God, loyalty to the King, and mercy to those who were the objects of war. It was his wish to be buried at Dinan, in Brittany, but the King commanded the abbey of St. Denys to be the place[155]; and in kindness and gratitude, he was anxious that a lamp should always hang over the tomb, in order that posterity might never lose remembrance of his great deeds.[156] The epitaph, on account of its simplicity, deserves mention. “Ici gist noble homme Messire Bertrand du Guesclin, Comte de Longueville, et Connétable de France, qui trepassa au chastel neuf de Randan en Gisaudan, en la Sénéchaussée de Beauncaire, le 13 jour de Juillet, 1380. Priez Dieu pour lui.”[157]

Such was the life of a simple Breton gentleman, who with no advantage of birth, no powerful patronage, but with only his good sword to speed him, raised himself to the highest rank in the French nation, and his was one of the numerous instances in the middle ages where the personal merit of chivalry was of more avail than the hereditary right of aristocracy. In many of the essentials of knighthood, in lofty daring, sageness, and generosity, he was as preux a cavalier as the English Chandos’ and Mannys; but there was none of that gallant grace over this darling of French chivalry, which distinguished the heroes of Edward III. He was so sensible of his own personal plainness, that he never cultivated the pleasing amenities of chivalry; but his modesty did not pass unrewarded[158]: for the ladies of Brittany were so deeply read in the romances of their country, that they loved only men who were famous for martial deeds. Du Guesclin was twice married: of the first of his wives nothing is on record; the other is said to have been a woman of beauty, fortune and wit. She was an heiress in Brittany, and Charles of Blois promoted the union, hoping to attach him to his court. Her reputation as a prophetess was extensive, and her prediction of his success in a particular battle being verified, her vanity became interested in his fate. She had her days of good and of evil fortune, and if historians have written his annals faithfully, Bertrand often repented, both as a soldier and a husband, when he did not regard her councils.[159]

The history of France after these circumstances was the struggle between the ruling powers and the people regarding the right of taxation. The civil wars that devastated France and Flanders, in consequence of this dispute, bore none of the character of chivalry; for monarchical and aristocratical haughtiness disdained to consider as their companions in arms those whom they called the raskal-rout, the base-born rabble. It was only wars of ambition that were graced and softened by chivalric generosity; and therefore all was blood, and horror, and confusion, when the houses of Orleans and Burgundy distracted France with their feuds. The pages of Monstrelet, the chronicler of the events to which I have alluded, form a gloomy contrast to the splendid scenes of Froissart. The field, indeed, continues to gleam with lances, and banners and pennons wave in the wind, but the spirit of honour and courtesy no longer hung over them,—and the prostrate soldier sued for mercy in vain. Knights were created before and after battles: tournaments, jousts, and other splendid shows were held; and as the essence of chivalry decayed its splendour seemed to brighten. An affair in Liege, in the year 1408, will show the manner of warfare when chivalry was on the wane. John Duke of Burgundy, John of Bavaria, the lords of Hainault and Orange, and other princes, appeared in arms to succour the Bishop of Liege, brother-in-law of the Duke of Bavaria, whom the Liegeois had expelled from the city. Instead of following the counsel of the new bishop and his father the Lord de Pier-vves, of remaining within the walls, and wearing out the enemy by a defensive war, the Liegeois, when the bells of the city announced break of day, left their fortifications, resolved to give battle to the well-appointed lines of Burgundy. Their numbers were fifty thousand; but except some pieces of artillery, five or six hundred men armed like cavalry, and a few score of stipendiary English archers, they were the disorderly population of the city. Their confidence of success was exalted to madness; and when the hour of battle arrived, they would not suffer their nominal leader, the Lord Pier-vves, to take any means of prudence. It is curious to mark the difference of character in the two parties. There was a wild frantic kind of courage in the Liegeois, inspired by the consideration, that they were fighting for their lives and liberties. Their foemen had no such deep-seated enthusiasm: they moved to battle as sportively as to a joust; while their commanders were gaily exhorting their men-at-arms to behave themselves gallantly against the enemy, a rude and ignorant people who had rebelled against their lord, and who confidently trusted in their superior numbers for success. “If the warriors of Burgundy,” (concluded the martial orators) “will dash into career with knight-like courage victory will be theirs, and they will gain everlasting honour.”

The cannon of the Liegeois did not check the advance of the chivalry; and though the burghers endured well and courageously the close encounter, yet the prudence of their General was verified, that they could oppose no effectual resistance to the nobles and gentlemen trained to war, and armed in proof. After an hour’s struggle, the line of the Liegeois being charged in rear by a detachment of horse, six thousand of them quitted the ranks, and fled towards a village distant half a league from the field of battle. The cavalry charged them several times, beating down and slaying them without mercy. The main body of the Liegeois was yet unsubdued; and for half an hour the noise of the war-cries was dreadful; the Burgundians and Hainaulters shouting, under their banners, “Our Lady for Burgundy!” “Our Lady for Hainault!” and the Liegeois ringing the air with the cry, “St. Lambert for Pier-vves!” The detachment of horse returned, and fell upon the rear of the Liegeois, and pierced it through: a great slaughter was made, for none were admitted to ransom. Near the banner of the Duke of Burgundy, where the conflict raged with most fierceness, the Lord of Pierre-vves and his two sons (one was the new bishop) fell, and no consideration for their chivalry or religious profession saved them from death. The coolness of the Duke of Burgundy excites the praise of the historian; and no apology is thought necessary for his conduct, when on being asked, after the defeat, if they should cease from slaying the Liegeois he replied, “Let them all die together; let no prisoners be made; let none be admitted to ransom.”[160]

Such was the spirit in which war was conducted where the humanising influence of chivalry was unfelt; and I shall not attempt to detail the more horrid crimes of the sacking of towns.

In the short war between France and England in the reign of our Henry V., nothing peculiarly chivalric can be marked in the conduct of the French. The great second series of our wars with France, though not characterised by knightly splendour, is not without knightly interest. France could seldom boast of braver cavaliers than Dunois, Lahire, and the chevalier Poton de Saintrailles. During the memorable siege of Orleans at the request of the English the festivities of Christmas suspended the horrors of war, and the nativity of the Saviour was commemorated by the sound of martial music. Talbot, Suffolk, and other ornaments of English chivalry, made presents of fruits to the accomplished Dunois, who vied with their courtesy by presenting to Suffolk some black plush he wished for as a lining for his dress in the then winter season. The high-spirited knights of one side challenged the prowest knights of the other, as their predecessors in chivalry had done. It is observable, however, that these jousts were not held in honour of the ladies, but the challenge always declared, that if there were in the other host a knight so generous and loving of his country as to be willing to combat in her defence, he was invited to present himself.

History has preserved to us one circumstance, which is interesting, because it marks the change of manners in the attendants on the cavaliers. We have seen that in early times each knight had his squire, who gave arms to his lord, and frequently mingled in the battle himself. The knight, now, had only his page, who buckled on his armour, and rendered similar acts of personal service; and, instead of generous emulation of the enterprises of cavaliers, a mock combat was held between the striplings of the two armies. Each party had its leader, and its standard. Their shields were made of osier twigs, and their javelins were blunted. On the first day the advantage was with the French, but on the second, the English youths bore away the standard of their antagonists, and the reputation of victory was theirs.[161]

After this national contest chivalry continued to decline in France. The civil wars had left that country one universal scene of vice and misrule, and the people looked to the King for some measure of protection. So exhausted were the nobility by their wars with England, that they declared their want of power to lead into the field the customary number of knights; and they therefore prayed a remission of military duty. Charles willingly granted this petition; and no opposition was made to his establishing a force which he might either use against the barons themselves or the nation’s enemies. The importance of mercenaries had been extending itself ever since the reign of Philip Augustus, when they were first introduced; for the old levies of feudatories and vassals had in France as in England been found insufficient for the great purposes of war. But the new bands of stipendiary adventurers were never a very important branch of the French military force, for the kings could not pay for many; and these hired soldiers were commonly infantry or lightly armed horse, who could not contend in the battle-field with mail-clad knights and squires. National feelings favoured the constitutional levy; and the kings endeavoured to render the country’s chivalry of sufficient service by enlarging the time of their attendance. St. Louis increased the period of military duty from forty days to two months, and Philip the Fair doubled the time determined by St. Louis.

Such was the state of affairs in France, when, in the year 1444, Charles established fifteen companies of cavalry. Each company consisted of one hundred lances, and each of these men-at-arms had his archers, a coutiller or soldier, whose weapon of offence resembled a knife rather than a sword, and his personal attendant the page. Every one of these followers served on horseback, and the whole force amounted to nine thousand cavalry. This was intended to be a permanent establishment; and it was understood that the soldiers should be paid out of the state finances, and should not like the mercenaries of former times subsist by plunder. These companies of ordonnance have ever been regarded as the foundation of the French standing army. Here, then, closes the public military history of chivalry in France. The new soldiers were stipendiaries, not cavaliers: they were not educated for chivalry: they had not passed through the ranks of page and squire; and not being necessarily gentlemen by name or arms, their deeds could not be similar to those which sprang from the oath of the cavalier. This new military force caused the feudatories of the crown no longer to bring their vassals with them to war, except in certain extreme cases, where the arriere ban was summoned, and then the appearance was but a faint picture of the ancient chivalry. Thus the usage of banners and pennons ceased, and with them the great distinctions of bannerets and knights, because those titles no longer conferred honour and command.[162] The title of knight lost its military character; and, instead of being bestowed with religious solemnities, after a long and painful education, it was often given to very young men without any martial training whatever, when they first stepped from their father’s castles into the busy scenes of life. There was another circumstance which sullied the glory of knighthood;—I mean the bestowing of its title upon persons who were not of the military class. The exact time when this innovation upon chivalry took place it is impossible to ascertain, and I wish not to weary my readers with profitless antiquarian researches. Knights of the law, as distinguished from those of arms, were known in the thirteenth century; and when once the clergy, who exercised the judicial functions, began to assume military titles, (which they did from their spirit of engrossing every thing that was honourable,) the matter soon grew into a custom: the lawyers claimed the privilege of wearing gold, and in every point asserted the equality of the law, with the chivalry of a country.[163] By degrees the title of knighthood began to be applied to men distinguished for their learning or talents, or who for less honourable causes were favoured by the King. This application of chivalric honours to persons who were not within the order of chivalry was viewed with a jealous and malignant eye by the military knights, who were not satisfied with the consideration in which they were held when other classes of society copied their titles, and shone by the reflection of martial glory. Their fierce minds felt no respectful sympathy for the literary and intellectual awarders of justice, and they wished that the lance of the knight-errant should continue to be the only refuge of the injured. In effect the title of knight became of little estimation, and in the history of France, through the fifteenth century, we seldom read of the conferring of the order of chivalry upon soldiers in the field of battle.

Chivalry thus decayed in France, before gunpowder became the chief instrument of death. Though artillery had been known so early as the battle of Cressy, it did not immediately come into general use. During the last half of the fourteenth century, the French used it in sieges, and sometimes in the field. But still, when Charles VII. established the companies of ordonnance already mentioned, the strength of the army was cavalry. Soon afterwards the French armies began to consist of infantry; for the soldiers of France were mercenaries, and they were drawn from Switzerland, a country which from its poverty and mountain-form could not boast of many knights and plumed steeds.

While chivalry was losing its martial vigour in the French monarchy, some of the nobility of France preserved it in their castles in all its stateliness and grace. But the records of those times are so faint and imperfect, that any thing beyond the mere circumstance of their general chivalry cannot be learned.

The annals of Burgundy are somewhat more satisfactory. The Dukes of Burgundy became sovereigns of Flanders, and impressed on that country a character of chivalry and romance. Tournaments, jousts, and other knightly shows, graced the wealth of the Flemish cities, at the time when the commercial cities of Italy were distinguished for classic elegance and taste. The court of the Dukes of Burgundy was so high in fame for the lofty daring and gallant grace of chivalric emprise, that when Constantinople fell under the Moslem yoke, the hearts of the noble Burgundian knights glowed with the bold and pious desire of recovering the metropolis of eastern Christendom. The desire perished, for it was not supported by the other powers of Europe; and Burgundy, deprived of its hope of leading the lances of the West, in a cause so well worthy of them, is only interesting in the history of chivalry for its gracefulness and splendour. To present the reader with detailed statements of all its martial games would be tedious and unprofitable; but one of them possesses considerable interest, as displaying a very singular state of manners, and proving that the romances, and tales of chivalry, were often realised.

In the year 1468, the sister of Edward IV. of England married Charles Duke of Burgundy. The banquets and balls which testified the general joy were varied by a martial exercise, called the Passage of the Tree of Gold. It was held in the market-place at Bruges, which, on that occasion, exchanged its wonted appearance for one of chivalric gaiety. The ground was unpaved, and sanded like a royal tilt-yard; and galleries were erected around for the reception of the nobles and dames of Burgundy and the wealthy merchants of Flanders. A door, at one end of the lists, painted with a tree of gold, was defended by the Bastard of Burgundy, who jousted with such cavaliers as, by the permission of the ladies, were allowed to deliver the knight of the Tree of Gold of his emprise. According to the humour of the times, many knights appeared in fantastic disguises. One knight, though, lusty and young, approached the lists in a litter, and presented every mark of feebleness and age. He requested leave to joust for that once only, and declared that he would then retire to some peaceful cell, and forget, in devotion and penitence, the vain delights of war.

At another time, the dames and damsels were informed that a noble knight, who wished to joust, was without the lists; but that he would not present himself to the ladies of Burgundy until they perfectly knew his tale. All his life he had loved a lady of Sclavonia; and although she had not altogether accepted him as her servant, yet she had encouraged him to hope. His mental sufferings for her love deserved compassion; but she, forgetting that feminine virtue, and continuing her pride, had not treated his devotion as it merited; and he, therefore, for the nine months which preceded his appearance at Bruges, had lived among rocks and mountains, a prey to melancholy. When, however, the lady heard of this unquestionable proof of his passion, she repented of her ingratitude, and had sent to him a damsel-errant, who was now his guide. She had beguiled the tedious way to Bruges by telling him that the pleasures of love could only be reached by labours, desires, and sufferings; that pain gave a zest to enjoyment, and that the greatest offence against love was despair. The lady had bade him hope; the damsel-errant had counselled him to go upon some chivalric quest, in order to dissipate his melancholy; and she had promised to accompany him, in order to deliver the tale of his adventures to his lady-mistress.

The dames and maidens of Burgundy accorded permission to this zealous servant of love to attempt the emprise of the Passage of the Tree of Gold. He was preceded into the lists by three men, dressed like Moors, and a lady followed, mounted on a white palfrey, and dressed, as the people thought, like a damsel-errant. She led the knight, who bestrode a cheval de lance, and afterwards came four nobles, clad in the habits of Sclavonia, with the words “Le Chevalier Esclave” worked on their robes. He jousted with a knight who supplied the place of the Bastard of Burgundy, but with what degree of gallantry history is silent.[164]

I now return to France, whose chivalry, even in the last days of its existence, is interesting; for if ever the bright glory of one man could have changed the manners of his age, the knight without fear and without reproach would have revived the chivalric fame of his country. Pierre Terrail, or Du Terrail, known under the name of Bayard, was born in the year 1476, at the chateau of Bayard, in Dauphiny. His family was of ancient and noble race, and boasted that their ancestors had fought at the battles of Cressy and Poictiers. His own father had been so severely wounded in the service of his country, that he quitted the army before the usual time for retiring. He passed the evening of his life in Dauphiny, occupied in the education of his children, of whom Peter was the only one that aspired to military glory. His wishes were grateful to his father; and his uncle, the Bishop of Grenoble, promised to introduce him to the Duke of Savoy. In his paternal home Peter Bayard had learned some of the duties of the page of early chivalric times: like him he ministered to his father and his guests at table; and he had acquired admirable skill in horsemanship. The Bishop took the youth to Chambery, the then residence of the Duke, and by the grace of manner with which he attended his uncle at the dinner-table, and by a fine display of horsemanship, the Duke regarded him with kindness, and placed him in his service. Bayard was then about thirteen years old. Not many months afterwards he became an attendant of the King of France; for the Duke of Savoy, preferring Bayard’s interests to his own, wished to advance his fortunes. Charles VIII. put him into the household of the Signeur de Ligny, where he remained till he was seventeen years old, when he was called into the class of the gentlemen of the royal court. Besides acquiring the military exercises of his time, he graced his imagination with fairy and romantic tales: he was a knight in spirit and purpose, and he now aspired to gain the favour of the ladies by the prowess of his chivalry. A very few days after he had quitted his office of page, he broke a lance in a joust with one of the most distinguished cavaliers of the day, and his fame was bruited over all France. He remained all his life, in the service of the French kings. The theatre of his exertions was Italy; but, as a very able pen has lately traced the revolutions of that interesting country[165], I need not follow him through all his chevisance.

Such matters as display the points of his personal character, and show the remaining chivalric features of the time, come, however, within my province. In 1501, he alone sustained on a narrow bridge the efforts of two hundred cavaliers, who attacked him. It was then that he obtained from the King a device having for its emblem a porcupine, with the words “Vires agminis unus habet.” At the taking of Brescia, he received a dangerous wound, and he remained awhile in a private house. When he was about to depart, his hostess wished to present him with two thousand pistoles for the gratitude she felt at his having preserved her honour and her fortune; and he accepted the money only for the purpose of giving it to her daughters, as their marriage-portions. So highly was he esteemed, that Chabannes, a marshal of France, and Humbercourt, and D’Aubigny, general officers, all of higher rank and older service than Bayard, fought under his orders. Yet he never rose to high commands. His greatest dignity was that of lieutenant-general of Dauphiny.

But the most amusingly characteristic story of Bayard regards his gallantry. When he was page to the Duke of Savoy, he loved one of the attendants of the Duchess; but the passion either was not mutual, or was not graced with any character of romance, for a few years afterwards the damsel married the Seigneur de Fleuxas. Bayard met her at the house of the widow of his first master, the Duke of Savoy. During supper, the lady of Fleuxas praised the chivalry in tournaments of her early admirer in such high terms, that he blushed for very modesty; and she added, that as he was now residing with a family who had been the first to cherish him, it would be great blame in him, if he did not prove himself as gallant a knight as he had done before. The answer of Bayard was that of a polite cavalier; for he requested her to tell him what he could do that would please the good and honourable assembly, his Lady of Savoy, and, above all the rest, her fair self. She advised him to hold a tournament. “Truly,” replied Bayard, “it shall be done as you wish. You are the first lady whose beauty and grace attracted my heart. I know that my salutations of you can only be those of courtesy, for I should lose my labour were I to solicit your love, and I would rather die than accomplish your dishonour.” He then prayed her to give him one of her sleeves, for he said that he should have need of it in the approaching tournament. The lady accordingly took it from her dress, and he attached it to his.[166]

The martial pastime was held, and after the supper which succeeded, it was enquired to whom should the prizes (the sleeve and a ruby) be given. The knights, the ladies, and even those who had tourneyed with him, accorded it to Bayard. But he declared that the honour was not his; but that if he had done any thing well, Madame de Fleuxas was the cause, for she had given him her sleeve. He, therefore, prayed that she might be permitted to act according to her judgment and prudence. The Seigneur de Fleuxas knew too well the noble character of Bayard to feel any jealousy at this compliment to his wife, but with the other judges of the tournament he immediately went to her and related the matter. She was delighted at Bayard’s gallantry, and declared that as he had done her the honour to avow that her sleeve had made him gain the prize, she would preserve it all her life for the sake of his love. The ruby she gave to the cavalier, who had next distinguished himself to Bayard.

And thus lived the knight without fear and without reproach, till the retreat of the French out of Italy in 1524, when he was fatally wounded by a stone discharged from an harquebouze. He fell from his horse, crying, “Jesus, my Saviour, I am dead.” He kissed the cross-handle of his sword; and there being no chaplain present, he confessed himself to his esquire, who then, by the knight’s command, placed him against a tree, with his face turned towards the enemy; “because,” said Bayard, “as I have never yet turned my back to the foe, I will not begin to do so in my last moments.” He charged his esquire to tell the King that the only regret he felt at quitting life was the being deprived of the power of serving him any further. The Constable of Bourbon, as he was pursuing the French, found him in this state, and assured him that he pitied his lot. But Bayard replied, “It is not I who stand in need of pity, but you who are carrying arms against your King, your country, and your oath.” The news that he was mortally wounded quickly spread, and excited the deepest grief in the minds of both armies, for he was a valiant soldier and a generous foe. After a while he was removed to a tent and placed on a bed. He was shriven by a priest, and soon afterwards died, as, with true Christian piety, he was imploring his God and his Saviour to pardon his sins, and to show him mercy rather than justice.[167] He was buried at a convent of Minims, half a league from Grenoble, the principal town of his native country.

During some of the last years of his life, his fine and chivalric spirit found a kindred soul in Francis I., who, it is remarkable, was the only French sovereign graced with any share of the character of chivalry. For, while the Plantagenets of England had shone as brilliantly by chivalric as by regal splendour, the Capetian princes of France could not present a king that displayed any powers beyond the ordinary qualities of royalty. The valiancy, the liberality, the fine, open, and manly countenance, and the lofty form of the King, were altogether those of one of Charlemagne’s paladins. His imagination was coloured with the gay and lively tints of romance, and so fondly did he dwell upon the fabulous glories of old, that in many a sportive moment he arrayed himself in the guise of the antique cavalier. But here our panegyric must cease; for no preux knight would, like Francis, have pledged his solemn word to observe a treaty, and immediately afterwards have violated it. However unkingly and unknightly Charles V. might have deported himself in treating Francis in prison with severity, and although the terms of the treaty of Madrid were such as no noble victor would have imposed, still the obligation of the pledge of Francis’s word should have been felt as sacred. A noble cavalier, a Chandos or Du Guesclin, would have disdained to obtain his liberty by signing a treaty which he intended to break as soon as he should leave his prison. “All is lost, Madam, except our honour,” as the French King wrote to his mother after the battle of Pavia: a generous, chivalric expression; and scarcely could it have been expected that he was the man who would have thrown away that honour.

The last faint gleam, however, of the sun of military chivalry in France fell upon Bayard and his sovereign, Francis; for after the battle of Marignan, in 1515, when they fought together against the Swiss, the King was, at his own request, knighted by the cavalier without fear and without reproach. After giving the accolade, Bayard addressed his sword, “Certainly, my good sword, you shall hereafter be honoured as a most precious relic, and never shall be drawn except against Turks, Moors, and Saracens.” He then twice leaped up for joy, and plunged his trusty weapon into its sheath.[168]

Soon after the days of Francis I. the title of knighthood became an empty name: it was preserved as the decoration of nobility and lawyers; and, from respect to the ancient glories of their nation, kings received it at their baptism.[169] Montluc, that man of blood, was the last French soldier who received it in the field of battle. The accolade was given to him by the Duke d’Anguien, after the engagement of Cérisolles, in 1544.

The amusements of chivalry were soon abolished. The accidental death of Henry II. in a tournament[170], in the year 1559, did much to indispose the minds of the people from chivalric sports; and when in the following year Prince Henry de Bourbon Montpensier was killed, in consequence of his horse falling under him, while careering round the lists, tournaments ceased for ever; and with their abolition, as Voltaire says, the ancient spirit of chivalry expired in France; for that country, after the death of Henry II., was plunged in fanaticism, and desolated by the wars of religion. The spirit did not survive the forms of chivalry; for the intercourse with Italy introduced into France new opinions and feelings. Machiavelian politics banished the open, manly demeanour of chivalry; and the most disgusting profligacy equally distinguished the ladies. It is amusing to observe that, long after the extinction of chivalry in France, the apparent homage and devotion of chivalric love still continued, although it was no longer sustained by virtue. Love, sublimed into idolatry, breathes in every page of the heroic romances which succeeded the romances of chivalry, and reflect the feelings of the nation; and so late as the reign of Louis XIV. a ruffled and well-powdered French General, whose soul was not illumined by a single gleam of the character of a preux chevalier, would fancy himself the very pink of sentiment, and sigh at the feet of his mistress,

“Pour meriter ton cœur, pour plaire a vos beaux yeux,
J’ai fait la guerre aux rois, je l’aurois fait aux dieux.”

CHAP. V.