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Presented  to  the 

LIBRARY  of  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 

by 
WOlardG.Oxtoby 


t 


BY  THE   SAME   AUTHOR 


Historic  Boys. — Comprising  :  Marcus  of  Rome, 
The  Boy  Magistrate  ;  Brian  of  Munster,  The  Boy  Chief- 
tain ;  Olaf  of  Norway,  The  Boy  Viking  ;  William  of 
Normandy,  The  Boy  Knight ;  Baldwin  of  Jerusalem, 
The  Boy  Crusader  ;  Frederick  of  Hohenstaufen,  The 
Boy  Emperor  ;  Harry  of  Monmouth,  The  Boy  General ; 
Giovanni  of  Florence,  The  Boy  Cardinal ;  Ixtlil  of 
Tezcuco,  The  Boy  Cacique  ;  Louis  of  Bourbon,  The 
Boy  King ;  Charles  of  Sweden,  The  Boy  Conqueror  ; 
Van  Rensselaer  of  Rensselaer,  The  Boy  Patroon. 
By  E.  S.  Brooks.  Octavo,  illustrated  .  $2  oo 

"  The  character  of  the  work  is  wholly  praiseworthy.  It  is  enter- 
taining, nay  more ;  it  is  fascinating  in  its  brilliant  style,  and  im- 
pressive in  the  vivid  realism  surrounding  the  different  persons 
who  are  written  about." — Boston  Post. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


HISTORIC   GIRLS 


STORIES    OF    GIRLS    WHO    HAVE     INFLUENCED     THE 
HISTORY    OF    THEIR   TIMES 


BY 


E.  S.  BROOKS 

AUTHOR   OF   "  CHIVALRIC   DAYS,"  "  HISTORIC   BOYS,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

G.   P.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 

<?bc   iiuidurbotlur  |)rrss 
1887 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


Press  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
New  York 


PREFACE. 


IN  these  progressive  days,  when  so  much  energy 
and  discussion  are  devoted  to  what  is  termed 
equality  and  the  rights  of  woman,  it  is  well  to 
remember  that  there  have  been  in  the  distant  past 
women,  and  girls  even,  who  by  their  actions  and  en- 
deavors proved  themselves  the  equals  of  the  men  of 
their  time  in  valor,  shrewdness,  and  ability 

This  volume  seeks  to  tell  for  the  girls  and  boys 
of  to-day  the  stories  of  some  of  their  sisters  of  the 
long-ago, — girls  who  by  eminent  position  or  valiant 
deeds  became  historic  even  before  they  had  passed 
the  charming  seasojfc*G&gMhjgw3<}. 

Their  stori$$^fe  fHtrf^  some 

of  these  historic  girls  were  wilful  as  Mjell  as  courage- 
ous, and  mischievous  as:..w<jll  as  tender-hearted. 

But  from  all  the  lessons  and  from  all  the  morals, 
one  truth  stands. out  most. clearly— the  fact  that  age 
and  country,  time  and  surroundings,  make  but  little 
change  in  the  real  girl-nature,  that  has  ever  been  im- 
pulsive, trusting,  tender,  and  true,  alike  in  the  days 
of  the  Syrian  Zenobia  and  in  those  of  the  modern 
American  school-girl. 


IV 


PREFACE. 


After  all,  whatever  the  opportunity,  whatever  the 
limitation,  whatever  the  possibilities  of  this  same 
never-changing  girl-nature,  no  better  precept  can  be 
laid  down  for  our  own  bright  young  maidens,  as 
none  better  can  be  deduced  from  the  stories  here- 
with presented,  than  that  phrased  in  Kingsley's  no- 
ble yet  simple  verse  :  , 

"  Be  good,  sweet  maid,  and  let  who  will  be  clever  ; 
Do  noble  things,  not  dream  them,  all  day  long  ; 
And  so  make  life,  death,  and  the  vast  forever 
One  grand,  sweet  song." 

Grateful  acknowledgment  is  made  by  the  au- 
thor for  the  numerous  expressions  of  interest  that 
came  to  him  from  his  girl-readers  as  the  papers  now 
gathered  into  book-form  appeared  from  time  to  time 
in  the  pages  of  St.  Nicholas.  The  approval  of  those 
for  whom  one  studies  and  labors  is  the  pleasantest 
and  most  enduring  return. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ZENOBIA    OF    PALMYRA  :      THE    GIRL    OF    THE    SYRIAN 

DESERT i 

HELENA  OF  BRITAIN  :  THE  GIRL  OF  THE  ESSEX  FELLS  .     22 

PULCHERIA  OF  CONSTANTINOPLE  :    THE    GlRL  OF    THE 

GOLDEN  HORN 45 

CLOTILDA  OF  BURGUNDY  :   THE  GIRL  OF  THE  FRENCH 

VINEYARDS 61 

Woo  OF  HWANG-HO  :  THE  GIRL  OF  THE  YELLOW  RIVER,     79 

EDITH  OF  SCOTLAND  :    THE  GIRL   OF   THE   NORTHERN 

ABBEY 98 

JACQUELINE  OF  HOLLAND  :  THE  GIRL  OF  THE  LAND  OF 

FOGS 114 

CATARINA  OF  VENICE  :  THE  GIRL  OF  THE  GRAND  CANAL,   134 
THERESA  OF  AVILA  :  THE  GIRL  OF  THE  SPANISH  SIERRAS,   151 

ELIZABETH  OF  TUDOR  :    THE  GIRL  OF  THE  HERTFORD 

MANOR       ....  ....   174 

CHRISTINA  OF  SWEDEN  :  THE  GIRL  OF  THE  NORTHERN 

FIORDS 192 

MA-TA-OKA  OF  POW-HA-TAN  :    THE  GIRL  OF  THE  VIR- 
GINIA FORESTS 208 

v 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 


RUINS  OF  PALMYRA  .  3 

ZENOBIA'S  DEFIANCE  OF  THE  ROMAN  TRIBUNE  IN  THE 

STREET  OF  THE  THOUSAND  COLUMNS  .  .  .11 
"  LEAVE  THIS  TO  ME,  MY  FATHER,"  SAID  HELENA  .  .  41 
"  IT  SHALL  BE  WAR  BETWEEN  You  AND  Us  FOREVER  !  "  .  51 
PULCHERIA  AUGUSTA,  REGENT  OF  THE  EAST  .  .  -57 

CLOTILDA  AND  THE  PILGRIM 71 

PRINCESS  CLOTILDA'S  JOURNEY 77 

AGILE  LITTLE  Woo  WAS  QUICKER  THAN  THE  TARTAR 

HORSEMAN 83 

"  I  AM  THE  EMPEROR  !  " 93 

THE  GOLDEN  HORN 95 

"  'T  is  A  FALSE  AND  LYING  CHARGE  !  "  .  .  .  .  107 
AJAX  SLOWLY  ROSE  AND  LOOKED  UP  INTO  THE  GIRL'S 

CALM  FACE 125 

THE  BUCENTAUR,  OR  STATE  BARGE  OF  VENICE  .  .  147 
THE  BUCENTAUR  BEARING  THE  QUEEN  CATARINA  AND 

THE  BRIDAL  TRAIN 149 

"  So,  RUNAWAYS,  WE  HAVE  FOUND  You,"  CRIED 

BROTHER  JAGO 155 


Vlll 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"  WITHOUT  YOUR  HELP,  MY  LORDS  !  WITHOUT  YOUR 

HELP  !  " 179 

DOWN  THE  BROAD  STAIRS  TROOPED  THE  MOTLEY  TRAIN 

OF  THE  LORD  OF  MISRULE  .  .  .  .  .183 

"  I  AM  THE  KING  OF  SWEDEN  !  "  SAID  CHRISTINA      .         .   199 

MINUS  HAT  AND  WIG  THE  POOR  ENVOY  DASHED  UP  THE 

MAELAR  HIGHWAY 205 


Due  credit  should  be  given  to  The  Century  Co.  and  the  D.  Lothrop  Co.  for 
the  use  of  important  cuts,  and  to  the  editors  of  St.  Nicholas  for  courtesy  in 
the  privilege  of  an  early  use  of  the  final  papers. 


ZENOBIA  OF  PALMYRA 

THE     GIRL     OF     THE     SYRIAN      DESERT. 


[Afterward  known  as  "  Zenobia  Augusta,  Queen  of  the  2<'. 
A.D.   250. 

MANY  and  many  miles  and  many  days'  journey 
toward  the  rising  sun,  over  seas  and  moun- 
tains and  deserts,  —  farther  to  the  east  than 
Rome,  or  Constantinople,  or  even  Jerusalem  and 
old  Damascus,  —  stand  the  ruins  of  a  once  mighty 
city,  scattered  over  a  mountain-walled  oasis  of  the 
great  Syrian  desert,  thirteen  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  just  across  the  northern  border  of 
Arabia.  Look  for  it  in  your  geographies.  It  is 
known  as  Palmyra.  To-day  the  jackal  prowls 
through  its  deserted  streets  and  the  lizard  suns 
himself  on  its  fallen  columns,  while  thirty  or  forty 
miserable  Arabian  huts  huddle  together  in  a  small 
corner  of  what  was  once  the  great  court-yard  of  the 
magnificent  Temple  of  the  Sun. 

And  yet,  sixteen  centuries  ago,  Palmyra,  or  Tad- 


2  HISTORIC  GIRLS, 

mor  as  it  was  originally  called,  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  cities  in  the  world.  Nature  and  art  com- 
bined to  make  it  glorious.  Like  a  glittering  mirage 
out  of  the  sand-swept  desert  arose  its  palaces  and 
temples  and  grandly  sculptured  archways.  With 
aqueducts  and  monuments  and  gleaming  porticos  ; 
with  countless  groves  of  palm-trees  and  gardens  full 
of  verdure ;  with  wells  and  fountains,  market  and 
circus ;  with  broad  streets  stretching  away  to  the 
city  gates  and  lined  on  either  side  with  magnificent 
colonnades  of  rose-colored  marble — such  was  Pal- 
myra in  the  year  of  our  Lord  250,  when,  in  the  soft 
Syrian  month  of  Nisan,  or  April,  in  an  open  portico 
in  the  great  colonnade  and  screened  from  the  sun 
by  gayly  colored  awnings,  two  young  people — a 
boy  of  sixteen  and  a  girl  of  twelve — looked  down 
upon  the  beautiful  Street  of  the  Thousand  Col- 
umns, as  lined  with  bazaars  and  thronged  with 
merchants  it  stretched  from  the  wonderful  Temple 
of  the  Sun  to  the  triple  Gate-way  of  the  Sepulchre, 
nearly  a  mile  away. 

Both  were  handsome  and  healthy — true  children 
of  old  Tadmor,  that  glittering,  fairy-like  city  which, 
Arabian  legends  say,  was  built  by  the  genii  for  the 
great  King  Solomon  ages  and  ages  ago.  Midway 
between  the  Mediterranean  and  the  Euphrates, 
it  was  the  meeting-place  for  the  caravans  from  the 
east  and  the  wagon  trains  from  the  west,  and  it  had 


1 

r~: — A-, 


RUINS   OF   PALMYRA. 


4  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

thus  become  a  city  of  merchant  princes,  a  wealthy 
commercial  republic,  like  Florence  and  Venice  in 
the  middle  ages — the  common  toll-gate  for  both 
the  East  and  West. 

But,  though  a  tributary  colony  of  Rome,  it  was 
so  remote  a  dependency  of  that  mighty  mistress  of 
the  world  that  the  yoke  of  vassalage  was  but  care- 
lessly worn  and  lightly  felt.  The  great  merchants 
and  chiefs  of  caravans  who  composed  its  senate  and 
directed  its  affairs,  and  whose  glittering  statues  lined 
the  sculptured  cornice  of  its  marble  colonnades,  had 
more  power  and  influence  than  the  far-off  Emperor 
at  Rome,  and  but  small  heed  was  paid  to  the  slen- 
der garrison  that  acted  as  guard  of  honor  to  the 
strategi  or  special  officers  who  held  the  colony  for 
Rome  and  received  its  yearly  tribute.  And  yet  so 
strong  a  force  was  Rome  in  the  world  that  even  this 
free  -  tempered  desert  city  had  gradually  become 
Romanized  in  manners  as  in  name,  so  that  Tadmor 
had  become  first  Adrianapolis  and  then  Palmyra. 
And  this  influence  had  touched  even  these  children 
in  the  portico.  For  their  common  ancestor  —  a 
wealthy  merchant  of  a  century  before — had  secured 
honor  and  rank  from  the  Emperor  Septimus  Severus 
— the  man  who  "  walled  in  "  England,  and  of  whom 
it  was  said  that  "  he  never  performed  an  act  of 
humanity  or  forgave  a  fault."  Becoming,  by  the 
Emperor's  grace,  a  Roman  citizen,  this  merchant  of 


'/.EXOHIA    OF  PALMYRA.  5 

Palmyra,  according  to  a  custom  of  the  time,  took 
the  name  of  his  royal  patron  as  that  of  his  own 
" fahdh"  or  family,  and  the  father  of  young 
Odhainat  in  the  portico,  as  was  Odhainat  himself, 
was  known  as  Septimus  Odaenathus,  while  the  young 
girl  found  her  Arabic  name  of  Bath  Zabbai,  Latin- 
ized into  that  of  Septima  Zenobia. 

But  as,  thinking  nothing  of  all  this,  they  looked 
lazily  on  the  throng  below,  a  sudden  exclamation 
from  the  lad  caused  his  companion  to  raise  her 
flashing  black  eyes  inquiringly  to  his  face. 

"  What  troubles  you,  my  Odhainat  ?"  she  asked. 

"There,  there;  look  there,  Bath  Zabbai!"  re- 
plied the  boy  excitedly  ;  "  coming  through  the 
Damascus  arch,  and  we  thought  him  to  be  in 
Emesa." 

The  girl's  glance  followed  his  guiding  finger,  but 
even  as  she  looked  a  clear  trumpet  peal  rose  above 
the  din  of  the  city,  while  from  beneath  a  sculptured 
archway  that  spanned  a  colonnaded  cross-street  the 
bright  April  sun  gleamed  down  upon  the  standard 
of  Rome  with  its  eagle  crest  and  its  S.  P.  Q0  R. 
design  beneath.  There  is  a  second  trumpet  peal, 
and  swinging  into  the  great  Street  of  the  Thousand 
Columns,  at  the  head  of  his  light-armed  legionaries^ 
rides  the  centurion  Rufinus,  lately  advanced  to  the 
rank  of  tribune  of  one  of  the  chief  Roman  cohorts 
in  Syria.  His  coming,  as  Odhainat  and  even  the 


6  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

young  Bath  Zabbai  knew,  meant  a  stricter  super- 
vision of  the  city,  a  re-enforcement  of  its  garrison, 
and  the  assertion  of  the  mastership  of  Rome  over 
this  far  eastern  province  on  the  Persian  frontier. 

"  But  why  should  the  coming  of  the  Roman  so 
trouble  you,  my  Odhainat?"  she  asked.  ''We 
are  neither  Jew  nor  Christian  that  we  should  fear 
his  wrath,  but  free  Palmyreans  who  bend  the  knee 
neither  to  Roman  nor  Persian  masters." 

"  Who  2^///bend  the  knee  no  longer,  be  it  never 
so  little,  my  cousin,"  exclaimed  the  lad  hotly,  "  as 
this  very  day  would  have  shown  had  not  this  crafty 
Rufinus — may  great  Solomon's  genii  dash  him  in 
the  sea  ! — come  with  his  cohort  to  mar  our  meas- 
ures !  Yet  see — who  cometh  now  ?  "  he  cried  ; 
and  at  once  the  attention  of  the  young  people  was 
turned  in  the  opposite  direction  as  they  saw,  stream- 
ing out  of  the  great  fortress-like  court-yard  of  the 
Temple  of  the  Sun,  another  hurrying  throng. 

Then  young  Odhainat  gave  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  See,  Bath  Zabbai  ;  they  come,  they  come  "  ! 
he  cried.  "It  is  my  father,  Odhainat  the  esarkos* 
with  all  the  leaders  and  all  the  bowmen  and  spear- 
men of  our  fahdh  armed  and  in  readiness.  This 
day  will  we  fling  off  the  Roman  yoke  and  become 
the  true  and  unconquered  lords  of  Palmyra.  And 
I,  too,  must  join  them,"  he  added. 

*  The  "  head  man,"  or  chief  of  the  "fahdh,'"  or  family. 


ZENOBIA    OF  PALMYRA.  J 

But  the  young-  girl  detained  him.  4t  Wait,  cousin," 
she  said  ;  "  watch  and  wait.  Our  fa/idk  will  scarce 
attempt  so  brave  a  deed  to-day,  with  these  new 
Roman  soldiers  in  our  gates.  That  were  scarcely 
wise." 

But  the  boy  broke  out  again.  "  So  ;  they  have  seen 
each  other,"  he  said  ;  "  both  sides  are  pressing  on  !  " 

"  True  ;  and  they  will  meet  under  this  very  por- 
tico," said  Bath  Zabbai,  and  moved  both  by  interest 
and  desire  this  dark-eyed  Syrian  girl,  to  whom  fear 
was  never  known,  standing  by  her  cousin's  side, 
looked  down  upon  the  tossing  sea  of  spears  and 
lances  and  glittering  shields  and  helmets  that  swayed 
and  surged  in  the  street  below. 

"  So,  Odaenathus  ! "  said  Rufinus,  the  tribune, 
reining  in  his  horse  and  speaking  in  harsh  and  com- 
manding tones,  "what  meaneth  this  array  of  armed 
followers?" 

44  Are  the  movements  of  Septimus  Odaenathus, 
the  head-man,  of  such  importance  to  the  noble 
tribune  that  he  must  needs  question  a  free  mer- 
chant of  Palmyra  as  to  the  number  and  manner  of 
his  servants  ?  "  asked  Odsenathus  haughtily. 

'4  Dog  of  a  Palmyrean  ;  slave  of  a  camel-driver  !" 
said  the  Roman  angrily,  "  trifle  not  with  me.  Were 
you  ten  times  the  free  merchant  you  claim,  you 
should  not  thus  reply.  Free,  forsooth  !  None  are 
free  but  Romans." 


8  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

"  Have  a  care,  O  Rufinus,"  said  the  Palmyrean 
boldly,  "  choose  wiser  words  if  you  would  have 
peaceful  ways.  Palmyra  brooks  no  such  slander  of 
her  foremost  men." 

"  And  Rome  brooks  no  such  men  as  you,  traitor," 
said  Rufinus.  "  Ay,  traitor,  I  say  !  "  he  repeated, 
as  Odaenathus  started  at  the  word.  "  Think  not  to 
hide  your  plots  to  overthrow  the  Roman  power  in 
your  city  and  hand  the  rule  to  the  base  Sapor  of 
Persia.  Every  thing  is  known  to  our  great  father 
the  Emperor,  and  thus  doth  he  reckon  with  traitors. 
Macrinus,  strike  ! "  and  at  his  word  the  short  Gallic 
sword  in  the  ready  hand  of  the  big  German  foot- 
soldier  went  straight  to  its  mark  and  Odaenathus, 
the  "  head-man  "  of  Palmyra,  lay  dead  in  the  Street 
of  the  Thousand  Columns. 

So  sudden  and  so  unexpected  was  the  blow  that 
the  Palmyreans  stood  as  if  stunned,  unable  to  com- 
prehend what  had  happened.  But  the  Roman  was 
swift  to  act. 

"  Sound,  trumpets  !  Down,  pikes  !  "  he  cried, 
and  as  the  trumpet  peal  rose  loud  and  clear,  fresh 
legionaries  came  hurrying  through  the  Damascus 
arch,  and  the///?/;;/  *  and  spat  ha  of  Rome  bore  back 
the  shields  and  lances  of  Palmyra. 

But,  before  the  lowered  pikes  could  fully  disperse 

*  The/z7«w  was  the  Roman  pike,  and  the  spatha  the  short  single-edged 
Roman  sword. 


ZEN  OB  I  A    OF  PALMYRA.  9 

the  crowd,  the  throng-  parted  and  through  the  sway- 
ing mob  there  burst  a  lithe  and  flying  figure — a 
brown-skinned  maid  of  twelve  with  streaming  hair, 
loose  robe,  and  angry,  flashing  eyes.  Right  under 
the  lowered  pikes  she  darted  and,  all  flushed  and 
panting,  defiantly  faced  the  astonished  Rufinus. 
Close  behind  her  came  an  equally  excited  lad  who, 
when  he  saw  the  stricken  body  of  his  father  on  the 
marble  street,  flung  himself  weeping  upon  it.  But 
Bath  Zabbai's  eyes  flashed  still  more  angrily  : 

"  Assassin,  murderer!"  she  cried;  "you  have 
slain  my  kinsman  and  Odhainat's  father.  How 
dare  you  ;  how  dare  you  ! "  she  repeated  vehe- 
mently, and  then,  flushing  with  deeper  scorn,  she 
added  :  "  Roman,  I  hate  you  !  Would  that  I  were  a 
man.  Then  should  all  Palmyra  know  how— 

"  Scourge    these    children    home,"   broke   in   the 

o 

stern  Rufinus,  "  or  fetch  them  by  the  ears  to  their 
nurses  and  their  toys.  Let  the  boys  and  girls  of 
Palmyra  beware  how  they  mingle  in  the  matters  of 
their  elders,  or  in  the  plots  of  their  fathers.  Men 
of  Palmyra,  you  who  to-day  have  dared  to  think  of 
rebellion,  look  on  your  leader  here  and  know  how 
Rome  deals  with  traitors.  But,  because  the  mer- 
chant Odaenathus  bore  a  Roman  name,  and  was  of 
Roman  rank — ho,  soldiers  !  bear  him  to  his  house, 
and  let  Palmyra  pay  such  honor  as  befits  his  name 
and  station." 


10  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

The  struggling  children  were  half  led,  half  carried 
into  the  sculptured  atrium  *  of  the  palace  of  Odae- 
nathus  which,  embowered  in  palms  and  vines  and 
wonderful  Eastern  plants,  stood  back  from  the  mar- 
ble colonnade  on  the  Street  of  the  Thousand  Col- 
umns. And  when  in  that  same  atrium  the  body  of 
the  dead  merchant  lay  embalmed  and  draped  for  its 
"  long  home,"  f  there,  kneeling  by  the  stricken  form 
of  the  murdered  father  and  kinsman,  and  with  up- 
lifted hand,  after  the  vindictive  manner  of  these 
fierce  old  days  of  blood,  Odaenathus  and  Zenobia 
swore  eternal  hatred  to  Rome. 

Hatred,  boys  and  girls,  is  a  very  ugly  as  it  is  a 
very  headstrong  fault ;  but  as  there  is  a  good  side 
even  to  a  bad  habit,  so  there  is  a  hatred  which  may 
rise  to  the  heighth  of  a  virtue.  Hatred  of  vice  is 
virtue ;  hatred  of  tyranny  is  patriotism.  It  is  this 
which  has  led  the  world  from  slavery  to  freedom, 
from  ignorance  to  enlightenment,  and  inspired  the 
words  that  have  found  immortality  alike  above  the 
ashes  of  Bradshaw  the  regicide  and  of  Jefferson  the 
American  :  "  Rebellion  to  tyrants  is  obedience  to 
God." 

But  how  could  a  fatherless  boy  and  girl,  away  off 

*  The  large  central  "  living-room  "  of  a  Roman  palace. 

f  The  Palmyreans  built  great  tower-tombs,  beautiful  in  architecture  and 
adornment,  the  ruins  of  which  still  stand  on  the  hill  slopes  overlooking  the 
old  city.  These  they  called  their  "  long  homes,"  and  you  will  find  the 
word  used  in  the  same  sense  in  Ecclesiastes  xii.,  5. 


12  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

on  the  edge  of  an  Arabian  desert,  hope  to  resist 
successfully  the  mighty  power  of  Imperial  Rome  ? 
The  story  of  their  lives  will  tell. 

If  there  are  some  people  who  are  patriots,  there 
are  others  who  are  poltroons,  and  such  a  one  was 
Hairan,  the  elder  brother  of  young  Odhainat,  when, 
succeeding  to  his  dead  father's  wealth  and  power, 
he  thought  less  of  Roman  tyranny  than  of  Roman 
gold. 

"  Revenge  ourselves  on  their  purses,  my  brother, 
and  not  on  their  pikes,"  he  said.  "  'T  is  easier  and 
more  profitable  to  sap  the  Roman's  gold  than  to 
shed  the  Roman's  blood." 

But  this  submission  to  Rome  only  angered  Od- 
hainat, and  to  such  a  conflict  of  opinion  did  it  lead 
that  at  last  Hairan  drove  his  younger  brother  from 
the  home  of  his  fathers,  and  the  lad,  "  an  Esau 
among  the  Jacobs  of  Tadmor,"  so  the  record  tells 
us,  spent  his  youth  amid  the  roving  Bedaween  of 
the  Arabian  deserts  and  the  mountaineers  of  the 
Armenian  hills,  waiting  his  time. 

But,  though  a  homeless  exile,  the  dark-eyed  Bath 
Zabbai  did  not  forget  him.  In  the  palace  of  another 
kinsman,  Septimus  Worod,  the  "  lord  of  the  mar- 
kets," she  gave  herself  up  to  careful  study,  and  hoped 
for  the  day  of  Palmyra's  freedom.  As  rich  in  pow- 
ers of  mind  as  in  the  graces  of  form  and  face,  she 
soon  became  a  wonderful  scholar  for  those  distant 


ZEN  OB  I  A    OF  PALMYKA.  13 

days— mistress  of  four  languages  :  Coptic,  Syriac, 
Latin,  and  Greek,  while  the  fiery  temper  of  the  girl 
grew  into  the  nobler  ambitions  of  the  maiden.  But 
above  all  things,  as  became  her  mingled  Arabic  and 
Egyptian  blood — for  she  could  trace  her  ancestry 
back  to  the  free  chiefs  of  the  Arabian  desert,  and  to 
the  dauntless  Cleopatra  of  Egypt, — she  loved  the 
excitement  of  the  chase,  and  in  the  plains  and 
mountains  beyond  the  city  she  learned  to  ride  and 
hunt  with  all  the  skill  and  daring  of  a  young  Diana. 
And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  when  the  Emperor 
Valerian  sent  an  embassy  from  Rome  to  Ctesiphon, 
bearing  a  message  to  the  Great  King,  as  Sapor,  the 
Persian  monarch,  was  called,  the  embassy  halted  in 
Palmyra,  and  Septimus  Hairan,  now  the  head-man 
of  the  city,  ordered,  "  in  the  name  of  the  senate  and 
people  of  Palmyra,"  a  grand  venatio,  or  wild  beast 
hunt,  in  the  circus  near  the  Street  of  the  Thousand 
Columns,  in  honor  of  his  Roman  guests.  And  he 
despatched  his  kinsman  Septimus  Zabbai,  the  sol- 
dier, to  the  Armenian  hills  to  superintend  the  cap- 
ture and  delivery  of  the  wild  game  needed  for  the 
hunt.  With  a  great  following  of  slaves  and  hunts- 
men, Zabbai  the  soldier  departed,  and  with  him 
went  his  niece,  Bath  Zabbai,  or  Zenobia,  now  a 
fearless  young  huntress  of  fifteen.  Space  will  not 
permit  to  tell  of  the  wonders  and  excitement  of  that 
wild-beast  hunt — a  hunt  in  which  none  must  be 


14  HISTORIC  GTRLS. 

killed  but  all  must  be  captured  without  mar  or 
wound.  Such  a  trapping  of  wolves  and  bears  and 
buffaloes  was  there,  such  a  setting  of  nets  and  pit- 
falls for  the  mountain  lion  and  the  Syrian  leopard, 
while  the  Arab  hunters  beat,  and  drove,  and  shouted, 
or  lay  in  wait  with  net  and  blunted  lance,  that  it  was 
rare  sport  to  the  fearless  Zenobia,  who  rode  her 
fleet  Arabian  horse  at  the  very  head  of  the  chase, 
and,  with  quick  eye  and  practised  hand,  helped 
largely  to  swell  the  trophies  of  the  hunt.  What 
girl  of  to-day,  whom  even  the  pretty  little  jumping- 
mouse  of  Syria  would  scare  out  of  her  wits,  could 
be  tempted  to  witness  such  a  scene  ?  And  yet  this 
young  Palmyrean  girl  loved  nothing  better  than  the 
chase,  and  the  records  tell  us  that  she  was  a  "  pas- 
sionate hunter,"  and  that  "  she  pursued  with  ardor 
the  wild  beasts  of  the  desert "  and  thought  nothing 
of  fatigue  or  peril. 

So,  through  dense  Armenian  forests  and  along 
rugged  mountain  paths,  down  rock-strewn  hill-slopes 
and  in  green,  low-lying  valleys,  the  chase  swept  on  : 
and  one  day,  in  one  of  the  pleasant  glades  which, 
half-sun  and  half-shadow,  stretch  away  to  the  Leba- 
non hills,  young  Bath  Zabbai  suddenly  reined  in  her 
horse  in  full  view  of  one  of  the  typical  hunting 
scenes  of  those  old  days.  A  young  Arabian  hunter 
had  enticed  a  big  mountain  lion  into  one  of  the 
strong-meshed  nets  of  stout  palm  fibres,  then  used 


ZENOBIA    OF  PALMYRA.  1$ 

for  such  purposes.  His  trained  leopard  or  cheetah 
had  drawn  the  beast  from  his  lair,  and  by  cunning 
devices  had  led  him  on  until  the  unfortunate  lion 
was  half-entrapped.  Just  then,  with  a  sudden 
swoop,  a  great  golden  eagle  dashed  down  upon  the 
preoccupied  cheetah,  and  buried  his  talons  in  the 
leopard's  head.  But  the  weight  of  his  victim  was 
more  than  he  had  bargained  for ;  the  cheetah  with  a 
quick  upward  dash  dislodged  one  of  the  great  bird's 
talons,  and,  turning  as  quickly,  caught  the  disen- 
gaged leg  in  his  sharp  teeth.  At  that  instant  the 
lion,  springing  at  the  struggling  pair,  started  the 
fastenings  of  the  net,  which,  falling  upon  the  group, 
held  all  three  prisoners.  The  eagle  and  the  lion  thus 
ensnared  sought  to  release  themselves,  but  only 
ensnared  themselves  the  more,  while  the  cunning 
cheetah,  versed  in  the  knowledge  of  the  hunter's 
net,  crept  out  from  beneath  the  meshes  as  his  mas- 
ter raised  them  slightly,  and  with  bleeding  head 
crawled  to  him  for  praise  and  relief. 

Then  the  girl,  flushed  with  delight  at  this  double 
capture,  galloped  to  the  spot,  and  in  that  instant 
she  recognized  in  the  successful  hunter  her  cousin 
the  exile. 

"  Well  snared,  my  Odhainat,"  she  said,  as,  the 
first  exclamation  of  surprise  over,  she  stood  beside 
the  brown-faced  and  sturdy  young  hunter.  "The 
Palmyrean  leopard  hath  bravely  trapped  both  the 


1 6  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Roman  eagle  and  the  Persian  lion.  See,  is  it  not 
an  omen  from  the  gods  ?  Face  valor  with  valor 
and  craft  with  craft,  O  Odhainat  !  Have  you  for- 
gotten the  vow  in  your  father's  palace  full  three 
years  ago  ? ' ' 

Forgotten  it  ?  Not  he.  And  then  he  told  Bath 
Zabbai  how  in  all  his  wanderings  he  had  kept  their 
vow  in  mind,  and  with  that,  too,  her  other  words  of 
counsel,  "Watch  and  Wait."  He  told  her  that,  far 
and  wide,  he  was  known  to  all  the  Arabs  of  the  des- 
ert and  the  Armenians  of  the  hills,  and  how,  from 
sheikh  to  camel-boy,  the  tribes  were  ready  to  join 
with  Palmyra  against  both  Rome  and  Persia. 

"Your  time  will  indeed  come,  my  Odhainat,'' 
said  the  fearless  girl,  with  proud  looks  and  ringing 
voice.  "  See,  even  thus  our  omen  gives  the  proof," 
and  she  pointed  to  the  net,  beneath  whose  meshes 
both  eagle  and  lion,  fluttering  and  panting,  lay 
wearied  with  their  struggles,  while  the  cheetah  kept 
watch  above  them.  "  Now  make  your  peace  with 
Hairan,  your  brother  ;  return  to  Palmyra  once  again, 
and  still  let  us  watch  and  wait." 

Three  more  years  passed.  Valerian,  Emperor  of 
Rome,  leading  his  legions  to  war  with  Sapor,  whom 
men  called  the  "  Great  King,"  had  fallen  a  victim 
to  the  treachery  and  traps  of  the  Persian  monarch, 
and  was  held  a  miserable  prisoner  in  the  Persian 


ZEN  OB  I  A    OF  PALMYRA.  \J 

capital,  where,  richly  robed  in  the  purple  of  the 
Roman  emperors  and  loaded  with  chains,  he  was 
used  by  the  savage  Persian  tyrant  as  a  living  horse- 
block for  the  sport  of  an  equally  savage  court.  In 
Palmyra,  Hairan  was  dead,  and  young  Odhainat, 
his  brother,  was  now  Septimus  Odsenathus — "head- 
man "  of  the  city  and  to  all  appearances  the  firm 
friend  of  Rome. 

There  were  great  rejoicings  in  Palmyra  when  the 
wise  Zenobia — still  scarce  more  than  a  girl — and  the 
fearless  young  "  head-man  "  of  the  desert  republic 
were  married  in  the  marble  city  of  the  palm-trees, 
and  her  shrewd  counsels  brought  still  greater 
triumphs  to  Odaenathus  and  to  Palmyra, 

In  the  great  market-place  or  forum,  Odaenathus 
and  Zenobia  awaited  the  return  of  their  messengers 
to  Sapor.  For  the  "  Great  King,"  having  killed 
and  stuffed  the  captive  Roman  Emperor,  now 
turned  his  arms  against  the  Roman  power  in  the 
east  and,  destroying  both  Antioch  and  Emesa, 
looked  with  an  evil  eye  toward  Palmyra.  Zenobia, 
remembering  the  omen  of  the  eagle  and  the  lion, 
repeated  her  counsel  of  facing  craft  with  craft,  and 
letters  and  gifts  had  been  sent  to  Sapor,  asking  for 
peace  and  friendship.  There  is  a  hurried  entrance 
through  the  eastern  gate  of  the  city,  and  the  mes- 
sengers from  the  Palmyrean  senate  rush  into  the 
market-place. 


1 8  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

"Your  presents  to  the  Great  King  have  been 
thrown  into  the  river,  O  Odsenathus,"  they  re- 
ported, "  and  thus  sayeth  Sapor  of  Persia  :  '  Who 
is  this  Odaenathus,  that  he  should  thus  presume  to 
write  to  his  lord  ?  If  he  would  obtain  mitigation 
of  the  punishment  that  awaits  him,  let  him  fall 
prostrate  before  the  foot  of  our  throne,  with  his 
hands  bound  behind  his  back.  Unless  he  doeth 
this,  he,  his  family,  and  his  country  shall  surely 
perish  ! ' 

Swift  to  wrath  and  swifter  still  to  act,  Zenobia 
sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Face  force  with  force, 
Odaenathus.  Be  strong  and  sure,  and  Palmyra 
shall  yet  humble  the  Persian  !  " 

Her  advice  was  taken.  Quickly  collecting  the 
troops  of  Palmyra  and  the  Arabs  and  Armenians 
who  were  his  allies,  the  fearless  "  head-man"  fell 
upon  the  army  of  the  haughty  Persian  king,  de- 
feated and  despoiled  it,  and  drove  it  back  to 
Persia.  As  Gibbon,  the  historian  says:  "The 
majesty  of  Rome,  oppressed  by  a  Persian,  was 
protected  by  an  Arab  of  Palmyra." 

For  this  he  was  covered  with  favors  by  Rome  ;. 
made  supreme  commander  in  fhe  East,  and,  with 
Zenobia  as  his  adviser  and  helper,  each  year  made 
Palmyra  stronger  and  more  powerful. 

Here,  rightly,  the  story  of  the  girl  Zenobia  ends. 
A  woman  now,  her  life  fills  one  of  the  most  bril- 


ZENOBIA    OF  PALMYXA.  19 

liant  pages  of  history.  While  her  husband  con- 
quered for  Rome  in  the  north,  she,  in  his  absence, 
governed  so  wisely  in  the  south  as  to  insure  the 
praise  of  all.  And  when  the  time  was  ripe,  and 
Rome,  ruled  by  weak  emperors  and  harassed  by 
wild  barbarians,  was  in  dire  stress,  the  childish 
vow  of  the  boy  and  girl  made  years  before  found 
fulfilment.  Palmyra  was  suddenly  declared  free 
from  the  dominion  of  Rome,  and  Odaenathus  was 
acknowledged  by  senate  and  people  as  "  Emperor 
and  King  of  kings." 

But  the  hand  of  an  assassin  struck  down  the  son 
as  it  had  stricken  the  father.  Zenobia,  ascending 
the  throne  of  Palmyra,  declared  herself  "  Zenobia 
Augusta,  the  Empress  of  the  East,"  and,  after  the 
manner  of  her  time,  extended  her  empire  in  every 
direction  until,  as  the  record  says  :  "  A  small  terri- 
tory in  the  desert,  under  the  government  of  a 
woman,  extended  its  conquests  over  many  rich 
countries  and  several  states.  Zenobia,  lately  con- 
fined to  the  barren  plains  about  Palmyra,  now  held 
sway  from  Egypt  in  the  south,  to  the  Bosphorus 
and  the  Black  Sea  in  the  north." 

But  a  new  emperor  ruled  in  Rome :  Aurelian, 
soldier  and  statesman.  "Rome,"  he  said,  "shall 
never  lose  a  province."  And  then  the  struggle  for 
dominion  in  the  East  began.  The  strength  and 
power  of  Rome,  directed  by  the  Emperor  himself, 


20  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

at  last  triumphed.  Palmyra  fell,  and  Zenobia, 
after  a  most  heroic  defence  of  her  kingdom,  was 
led  a  prisoner  to  Rome.  Clad  in  magnificent 
robes,  loaded  with  jewels  and  with  heavy  chains  of 
gold,  she  walked,  regal  and  undaunted  still,  in  the 
great  triumphal  procession  of  her  conqueror,  and, 
disdaining  to  kill  herself  as  did  Cleopatra  and 
Dido,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  nobler  work  of 
the  education  and  culture  of  her  children,  and  led 
for  many  years,  in  her  villa  at  Tibur,  the  life  of  a 
noble  Roman  matron. 

Such,  in  brief,  is  the  story  of  Zenobia.  You 
must  read  for  yourselves  the  record  of  her  later 
years,  as  it  stands  in  history,  if  you  would  know 
more  of  her  grandeur  in  her  days  of  power,  and  her 
moral  grandeur  in  her  days  of  defeat. 

And  with  Zenobia  fell  Palmyra.  Centuries  of 
ruin  and  neglect  have  passed  over  the  once  fairy- 
like  city  of  the  Syrian  oasis.  Her  temples  and 
colonnades,  her  monuments  and  archways  and 
wonderful  buildings  are  prostrate  and  decayed,  and 
the  site  even  of  the  glorious  city  has  been  known 
to  the  modern  world  only  within  the  last  century. 
But  while  time  lasts  and  the  record  of  heroic  deeds 
survives,  neither  fallen  column  nor  ruined  arch  nor 
all  the  destruction  and  neglect  of  modern  barbar- 
ism can  blot  out  the  story  of  the  life  and  worth  of 


ZENOBIA    OF  PALMYRA. 


21 


Bath  Zabbai,  the  brave  girl  of  the  Syrian  desert, 
whom  all  the  world  honors  as  the  noblest  woman 
of  antiquity — Zenobia  of  Palmyra,  the  dauntless 
"Queen  of  the  East." 


HELENA  OF  BRITAIN 

THE    GIRL    OF    THE    ESSEX    FELLS. 

\Aftenvard  known  as  "  St.  Helena"  the  mother  of  Constantine .] 
A.D.  255. 

EVER  since  that  far-off  day  in  the  infancy  of 
the  world,  when   lands   began   to   form  and 
rivers  to  flow  seaward,  the  little  river  Colne 
has  wound  its  crooked  way  through  the  fertile  fields 
of  Essex  eastward  to  the  broad  North  Sea. 

Through  hill-land  and  through  moor-land,  past 
Moyns  and  Great  Yeldham,  past  Halstead  and 
Chappel  and  the  walls  of  Colchester,  turning  now 
this  way  and  now  that  until  it  comes  to  Mersea 
Island  and  the  sea,  the  little  river  flows  to-day  even 
as  it  sped  along  one  pleasant  summer  morning 
sixteen  hundred  and  forty  years  ago,  when  a  little 
British  princess,  only  fairly  in  her  teens,  reclined 
in  comfortable  contentment  in  her  gilded  barge 
and  floated  down  the  river  from  her  father's  palace 
at  Colchester  to  the  strand  at  Wivanloe. 


HELENA    OF  BRITAIN.  23 

For  this  little  girl  of  fourteen,  Helena,  the  prin- 
cess, was  a  king's  daughter,  and,  according  to  all 
accounts,  a  very  bright  and  charming  girl  besides — 
which  all  princesses  have  not  been.  Her  father 
was  Coel,  second  prince  of  Britain  and  king  of  that 
part  of  ancient  England,  which  includes  the  present 
shires  of  Essex  and  of  Suffolk,  about  the  river  Colne. 

Not  a  very  large  kingdom  this,  but  even  as  small 
as  it  was,  King  Coel  did  not  hold  it  in  undisputed 
sway.  For  he  was  one  of  the  tributary  princes  of 
Britain,  in  the  days  when  Roman  arms,  and  Roman 
law  and  Roman  dress,  and  Roman  manners,  had 
place  and  power  throughout  England,  from  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  to  the  Northern  highlands,  behind 
whose  forest-crowned  hills  those  savage  natives 
known  as  the  Picts — "  the  tattooed  folk  " — held  pos- 
session of  ancient  Scotland,  and  defied  the  eagles  of 
Rome. 

The  monotonous  song  of  the  rowers,  keeping 
time  with  each  dip  of  the  broad-bladed  oars,  rose 
and  fell  in  answer  to  the  beats  of  the  master's  silver 
baton,  and  Helena  too  followed  the  measure  with 
the  tap,  tap,  of  her  sandaled  foot. 

Suddenly  there  shot  out  around  one  of  the  fre- 
quent turns  in  the  river,  the  gleam  of  other  oars,  the 
high  prow  of  a  larger  galley,  and  across  the  water 
came  the  oar-song  of  a  larger  company  of  rowers. 
Helena  started  to  her  feet. 


24  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

"  Look,  Cleon,"  she  cried,  pointing  eagerly 
towards  the  approaching  boat,  "  't  is  my  father's 
own  trireme.  Why  this  haste  to  return,  think'st 
thou  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,  little  mistress,"  replied  the  freed- 
man  Cleon,  her  galley-master ;  "  the  king  thy 
father  must  have  urgent  tidings,  to  make  him 
return  thus  quickly  to  Camalodunum." 

Both  the  girl  and  the  galley-master  spoke  in 
Latin,  for  the  language  of  the  Empire  was  the 
language  of  those  in  authority  or  in  official  life 
even  in  its  remotest  provinces,  and  the  galley-mas- 
ter did  but  use  the  name  which  the  Roman  lords 
of  Britain  had  given  to  the  prosperous  city  on  the 
Colne,  in  which  the  native  prince,  King  Coel,  had 
his  court — the  city  which  to-day  is  known  under 
its  later  Saxon  name  of  Colchester. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  curious  state  of  affairs  in  Eng- 
land. I  doubt  if  many  of  my  girl  and  boy  readers, 
no  matter  how  well  they  may  stand  in  their  history 
classes,  have  ever  thought  of  the  England  of  Here- 
ward  and  Ivanhoe,  of  Paul  Dombey  and  Tom 
Brown,  as  a  Roman  land. 

And  yet  at  the  time  when  this  little  Flavia 
Julia  Helena  was  sailing  down  the  river  Colne,  the 
island  of  Britain,  in  its  southern  section  at  least,  was 
almost  as  Roman  in  manner,  custom,  and  speech 
as  was  Rome  itself. 


HE  LEX  A    OF  BRITAIN.  35 

For  nearly  five  hundred  years,  from  the  days  of 
Caesar  the  conqueror,  to  those  of  Honorius  the 
unfortunate,  was  England,  or  Britain  as  it  was 
called,  a  Roman  province,  broken  only  in  its  al- 
legiance by  the  early  revolts  of  the  conquered 
people  or  by  the  later  usurpations  of  ambitious 
and  unpincipled  governors. 

And,  at  the  date  of  our  story,  in  the  year  255 
A.D.,  the  beautiful  island  had  so  far  grown  out  of 
the  barbarisms  of  ancient  Britain  as  to  have  long 
since  forgotten  the  gloomy  rites  and  open-air  altars 
of  the  Druids,  and  all  the  half-savage  surroundings 
of  those  stern  old  priests. 

Everywhere  Roman  temples  testified  to  the  ac- 
ceptance by  the  people  of  the  gods  of  Rome,  and 
little  Helena  herself  each  morning  hung  the  altar 
of  the  emperor-god  Claudius  with  garlands  in  the 
stately  temple  which  had  been  built  in  his  honor  in 
her  father's  palace  town,  asked  the  protection  of 
Cybele,  "  the  Heavenly  Virgin,"  and  performed 
the  rites  that  the  Empire  demanded  for  "  the  thou- 
sand gods  of  Rome." 

Throughout  the  land,  south  of  the  massive  wall 
which  the  great  Emperor  Hadrian  had  stretched 
across  the  island  from  the  mouth  of  the  Solway  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Tyne,  the  people  themselves  who 
had  gathered  into  or  about  the  thirty  growing 
Roman  cities  which  the  conquerors  had  founded 


26  PI  IS  TOR  1C  GIRLS. 

and  beautified,  had  become  Roman  in  language,  re- 
ligion, dress,  and  ways,  while  the  educational  influ- 
ences of  Rome,  always  following  the  course  of  her 
conquering  eagles,  had  planted  schools  and  colleges 
throughout  the  land,  and  laid  the  foundation  for 
that  native  learning  which  in  later  years  was  to 
make  the  English  nation  so  great  and  powerful. 

And  what  a  mighty  empire  must  have  been  that 
of  Rome  that,  in  those  far-off  days,  when  rapid 
transit  was  unknown,  and  steam  and  electricity 
both  lay  dormant,  could  have  entered  into  the  lives 
of  two  bright  young  maidens  so  many  leagues  re- 
moved from  one  another — Zenobia,  the  dusky  Pal- 
myrean  of  the  East,  and  Helena,  the  fresh-faced 
English  girl  of  the  West. 

But  to  such  distant  and  widely  separated  confines 
had  this  power  of  the  vast  Empire  extended  ;  and 
to  this  thoughtful  young  princess,  drifting  down 
the  winding  English  river,  the  sense  of  Roman 
supremacy  and  power  would  come  again  and  again. 

For  this  charming  young  girl — said,  later,  to 
have  been  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  time  in 
England  —  though  reared  to  Roman  ways  and 
Roman  speech,  had  too  well  furnished  a  mind  not 
to  think  for  herself.  "  She  spake,"  so  says  the 
record,  "  many  tongues  and  was  replete  with  piety." 
The  only  child  of  King  Coel,  her  doting  old  father 
had  eiven  her  the  finest  education  that  Rome  could 


H F.LENA    OF  BRITAIN.  2/ 

offer.  She  was,  even  before  she  grew  to  woman- 
hood, so  we  are  told,  a  fine  musician,  a  marvellous 
worker  in  tapestry,  in  hammered  brass  and  pottery, 
and  was  altogether  as  wise  and  wonderful  a  young 
woman  as  even  these  later  centuries  can  show. 

But,  for  all  this  grand  education,  she  loved  to 
hear  the  legends  and  stories  of  her  people  that  in 
various  ways  would  come  to  her  ears,  either  as  the 
simple  tales  of  her  British  nurse,  or  in  the  wild 
songs  of  the  wandering  bards,  or  singers. 

As  she  listened  to  these  she  thought  less  of  those 
•crude  and  barbaric  ways  of  her  ancestors  that  Rome 
had  so  vastly  bettered  than  of  their  national  inde- 
pendence and  freedom  from  the  galling  yoke  of 
Rome,  and,  as  was  natural,  she  cherished  the  mem- 
ory of  Boadicea,  the  warrior  queen,  and  made  a 
hero  of  the  fiery  young  Caractacus. 

It  is  always  so,  you  know.  Every  bright  young 
imagination  is  apt  to  find  greater  glories  in  the 
misty  past,  or  grander  possibilities  in  a  still  more 
misty  future  than  in  the  too  practical  and  prosaic 
present  in  which  both  duty  and  destiny  lie.  And 
so  Helena  the  princess,  leaning  against  the  soft 
cushions  of  her  gilded  barge,  had  sighed  for  the 
days  of  the  old-time  British  valor  and  freedom,  and, 
even  as  she  looked  off  toward  the  approaching 
triareme,  she  was  wondering  how  she  could  awake 
to  thoughts  of  British  glory  her  rather  heavy-witted 


28  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

father,  Coel  the  King — an  hereditary  prince  of  that 
ancient  Britain  in  which  he  was  now,  alas,  but  a 
tributary  prince  of  the  all  too  powerful  Rome. 

Now,  "  old  King  Cole,"  as  Mother  Goose  tells 
us — for  young  Helena's  father  was  none  other 
than  the  veritable  "  old  King  Cole  "  of  our  nursery 
jingle — was  a  "  jolly  old  soul,  "  and  a  jolly  old  soul 
is  very  rarely  an  independent  or  ambitious  one.  So 
long  as  he  could  have  "  his  pipe  and  his  bowl  " 
not,  of  course,  his  long  pipe  of  tobacco  that  all  the 
Mother  Goose  artists  insist  upon  giving  him — but 
the  reed  pipe  upon  which  his  musicians  played — so 
long,  in  other  words,  as  he  could  live  in  ease  and 
comfort,  undisturbed  in  his  enjoyment  of  the  good 
things  of  life  by  his  Roman  over-lords,  he  cared  for 
no  change.  Rome  took  the  responsibility  and  he 
took  things  easily.  But  this  very  day,  while  his 
daughter  Helena  was  floating  down  the  river  to 
meet  him  on  the  strand  at  Wivanloe,  he  was  re- 
turning from  an  unsuccessful  boar-hunt  in  the 
Essex  woods,  very  much  out  of  sorts — cross  because 
he  had  not  captured  the  big  boar  he  had  hoped  to 
kill,  cross  because  his  favorite  musicians  had  been 
"  confiscated"  by  the  Roman  governor  or  proprae- 
tor at  Londinium  (as  London  was  then  called), 
and  still  more  cross  because  he  had  that  day 
received  dispatches  from  Rome  demanding  a 
special  and  unexpected  tax  levy,  or  tribute,  to- 


Jl 'ELENA    OF  BRITAIN.  29 

meet  the  necessary  expenses  of  the  new  Emperor 
Diocletian. 

Something  else  had  happened  to  increase  his  ill 
temper.  His  "jolly  old  soul,"  vexed  by  the  num- 
erous crosses  of  the  day,  was  thrown  into  still 
greater  perplexity  by  the  arrival,  just  as  he  stood 
fretful  and  chafing  on  the  shore  at  Wivanloe,  of 
one  who  even  now  was  with  him  on  the  trireme, 
bearing  him  company  back  to  his  palace  at  Camo- 
lodunum — Carausius  the  admiral. 

This  Carausius,  the  admiral,  was  an  especially 
vigorous,  valorous,  and  fiery  young  fellow  of  twen- 
ty-one. He  was  cousin  to  the  Princess  Helena 
and  a  prince  of  the  blood  royal  of  ancient  Britain. 
Educated  under  the  strict  military  system  of  Rome, 
he  had  risen  to  distinction  in  the  naval  force  of  the 
Empire,  and  was  now  the  commanding  officer  in 
the  northern  fleet  that  had  its  central  station  at 
Gessoriacum,  now  Boulogne,  on  the  northern 
coast  of  France.  He  had  chased  and  scattered 
the  German  pirates  who  had  so  long  ravaged  the 
northern  seas,  had  been  named  by  the  Emperor 
admiral  of  the  north,  and  was  the  especial  pride,  as 
he  was  the  dashing  young  leader,  of  the  Roman 
sailors  along  the  English  Channel  and  the  German 
shores. 

The  light  barge  of  the  princess  approached  the 
heavier  boat  of  the  king,  her  father.  At  her  sig- 


-30  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

nal  the  oarsmen  drew  up  alongside,  and,  scarce 
waiting  for  either  boat  to  more  than  slacken  speed, 
the  nimble-footed  girl  sprang  lightly  to  the  deck  of 
her  father's  galley.  Then  bidding  the  obedient 
Cleon  take  her  own  barge  back  to  the  palace,  she 
hurried  at  once,  and  without  question,  like  the 
petted  only  child  she  was,  into  the  high-raised 
cabin  at  the  stern,  where  beneath  the  Roman 
standards  sat  her  father  the  king. 

Helena  entered  the  apartment  at  a  most  exciting 
moment.  For  there,  facing  her  portly  old  father, 
whose  clouded  face  bespoke  his  troubled  mind, 
stood  her  trimly-built  young  cousin  Carausius  the 
admiral,  bronzed  with  his  long  exposure  to  the 
sea-blasts,  a  handsome  young  viking,  and,  in  the 
€yes  of  the  hero-loving  Helen,  very  much  of  a 
hero  because  of  his  acknowledged  daring  and  his 
valorous  deeds. 

Neither  man  seemed  to  have  noticed  the  sudden 
entrance  of  the  girl,  so  deep  were  they  in  talk. 

"  I  tell  thee,  uncle,"  the  hot-headed  admiral  was 
saying,  "it  is  beyond  longer  bearing.  This  new 
emperor — this  Diocletian — who  is  he  to  dare  to 
dictate  to  a  prince  of  Britain  ?  A  foot-soldier  of 
Illyria,  the  son  of  slaves,  and  the  client  of  three 
coward  emperors  ;  an  assassin,  so  it  hath  been 
said,  who  from  chief  of  the  domestics,  hath  be- 
come by  his  own  cunning  Emperor  of  Rome. 


HELENA    OF  BRITAIN.  31 

And  now  hath  he  clarecl  to  accuse  me — me,  a  free 
Briton  and  a  Roman  citizen  as  well,  a  prince  and 
the  son  of  princes,  with  having  taken  bribes  from 
these  German  pirates  whom  I  have  vanquished. 
He  hath  openly  said  that  I,  Carausius  the  admiral, 
have  filled  mine  own  coffers  while  neglecting  the 
revenues  of  the  state.  I  will  not  bear  it.  I  am  a 
better  king  than  he,  did  I  but  have  my  own  just 
rights,  and  even  though  he  be  Diocletian  the 
Emperor,  he  needeth  to  think  twice  before  he  dare 
accuse  a  prince  of  Britain  with  bribe-taking  and 
perjury." 

"  True  enough,  good  nephew,"  said  King  Coel.  as 
the  admiral  strode  up  and  down  before  him,  angrily 
playing  with  the  hilt  of  his  short  Roman  sword, 
"  true  enough,  and  I  too  have  little  cause  to  love 
this  low-born  emperor.  He  hath  taken  from  me 
both  my  players  and  my  gold,  when  I  can  illy  spare 
either  from  my  comfort  or  my  necessities.  'T  is  a 
sad  pass  for  Britain.  But  Rome  is  mistress  now. 
What  may  we  hope  to  do  ?  " 

The  Princess  Helena  sprang  to  her  father's  side, 
her  young  face  flushed,  her  small  hand  raised  in 
emphasis.  "  Do  !  "  cried  she,  and  the  look  of  de- 
fiance flamed  on  her  fair  young  face.  "  Do  !  Is 
it  thou,  my  father,  thou,  my  cousin,  princes  of 
Britain  both,  that  ask  so  weak  a  question  ?  O  that 
I  were  a  man  !  What  did  that  brave  enemy  of  our 


32  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

house,  Cassivellaunus,  do  ?  what  Caractacus  ?  what 
the  brave  queen  Boadicea  ?  When  the  Roman 
drove  them  to  despair  they  raised  the  standard  of 
revolt,  sounded  their  battle  cries,  and  showed  the 
Roman  that  British  freemen  could  fight  to  the 
death  for  their  country  and  their  home.  And  thus 
should  we  do,  without  fear  or  question,  and  see 
here  again  in  Britain  a  victorious  kingdom  ruled 
once  more  by  British  kings." 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  daughter,"  said  cautious  King 
Coel,  "  your  words  are  those  of  an  unthinking  girl. 
The  power  of  Rome  — 

But  the  Prince  Carausius,  as  the  girl's  brave 
words  rang  out,  gave  her  an  admiring  glance,  and, 
crossing  to  where  she  stood,  laid  his  hand  approv- 
ingly upon  her  shoulder. 

"  The  girl  is  right,  uncle,"  he  said,  breaking  in 
upon  the  king's  cautious  speech.  "  Too  long  have 
we  bowed  the  neck  to  Roman  tyranny.  We,  free 
princes  of  Britain  that  we  are,  have  it  even  now  in 
our  power  to  stand  once  again  as  altogether  free. 
The  fleet  is  mine,  the  people  are  yours,  if  you  will 
but  amuse  them.  Our  brothers  are  groaning  under 
the  load  of  Roman  tribute,  and  are  ripe  to  strike. 
Raise  the  cry  at  Camalodunum,  my  uncle  ;  cry  : 
'  Havoc  and  death  to  Rome  ! '  My  fleet  shall  pour 
its  victorious  sailors  upon  the  coast ;  the  legions, 
even  now  full  of  British  fighters,  shall  flock  to  our 


HELENA    OF  BRITAIN.  33 

united  standands,  and  we  shall  rule — Emperors  in 
the  North,  even  as  do  the  Roman  conquerors  rule 
Emperors  in  the  South." 

Young  blood  often  sways  and  leads  in  council 
and  in  action,  especially  when  older  minds  are 
over-cautious  or  sluggish  in  decision.  The  words 
of  Carausius  and  Helena  carried  the  day  with  Coel 
the  king,  already  smarting  under  a  sense  of  ill- 
treatment  by  his  Roman  over-lords. 

The  standard  of  revolt  was  raised  in  Camalo- 
dunum.  The  young  admiral  hurried  back  to  France 
to  make  ready  his  fleet,  while  Coel  the  king, 
spurred  on  to  action  by  the  patriotic  Helena,  who 
saw  herself  another  Boadicea— though,  in  truth,  a 
younger  and  much  fairer  one — gathered  a  hasty 
following,  won  over  to  his  cause  the  British-filled 
legion  in  his  palace-town,  and,  descending  upon  the 
nearest  Roman  camps  and  stations,  surprised,  cap- 
tured, scattered,  or  brought  over  their  soldiers,  and 
proclaimed  himself  free  from  the  yoke  of  Rome 
and  supreme  prince  of  Britain. 

Ambition  is  always  selfish.  Even  when  striving 
for  the  general  good  there  lies,  too  often,  beneath 
this  noble  motive  the  still  deeper  one  of  selfishness. 
Carausius  the  admiral,  though  determined  upon 
kingly  power,  had  no  desire  for  a  divided  suprem- 
acy. He  was  determined  to  be  sole  emperor,  or 
none.  Crafty  and  unscrupulous,  although  brave  and 


34  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

high-spirited,  he  deemed  it  wisest  to  delay  his  part 
of  the  compact  until  he  should  see  how  it  fared 
with  his  uncle,  the  king,  and  then,  upon  his  defeat, 
to  climb  to  certain  victory. 

He  therefore  sent  to  his  uncle  promises  instead 
of  men,  and  when  summoned  by  the  Roman  gov- 
ernor to  assist  in  putting  down  the  revolt,  he  re- 
turned loyal  answers,  but  sent  his  aid  to  neither 
party. 

King  Coel  after  his  first  successes  knew  that, 
unaided,  he  could  not  hope  to  withstand  the  Roman 
force  that  must  finally  be  brought  against  him. 
Though  urged  to  constant  action  by  his  wise  young 
daughter,  he  preferred  to  do  nothing  ;  and,  satis- 
fied with  the  acknowledgment  of  his  power  in  and 
about  his  little  kingdom  on  the  Colne,  he  spent 
his  time  in  his  palace  with  the  musicians  that  he 
loved  so  well,  and  the  big  bowl  of  liquor  that  he 
loved,  it  is  to  be  feared,  quite  as  dearly. 

The  musicians — the  pipers  and  the  harpers — 
sang  his  praises,  and  told  of  his  mighty  deeds,  and, 
no  doubt,  their  refrain  was  very  much  the  same  as 
the  one  that  has  been  preserved  for  us  in  the  jingle 
of  Mother  Goose  : 

"  O,  none  so  rare  as  can  compare 

With  King  Cole  and  his  fiddlers  three." 

But  if  the  pleasure-loving  old  king  was  list- 
less, young  Helena  was  not.  The  misty  records 


HELENA    OF  BRITAIN.  35 

speak  of  her  determined  efforts,  and  though  it  is 
hard  to  understand  how  a  girl  of  fifteen  can  do 
any  thing  toward  successful  generalship,  much  can 
be  granted  to  a  young  lady  who,  if  the  records 
speak  truth,  was,  even  while  a  girl,  "a  Minerva  in 
wisdom,  and  not  deficient  in  statecraft." 

So,  while  she  advised  with  her  father's  boldest 
captains  and  strengthened  so  wisely  the  walls  of 
ancient  Colchester,  or  Camalodunum,  that  traces  of 
her  work  still  remain  as  proof  of  her  untiring  zeal, 
she  still  cherished  the  hope  of  British  freedom  and 
release  from  Rome.  And  the  loving  old  king, 
deep  in  his  pleasures,  still  recognized  the  will  and 
wisdom  of  his  valiant  daughter,  and  bade  his  artists 
make  in  her  honor  a  memorial  that  should  ever 
speak  of  her  valor.  And  this  memorial,  lately  un- 
earthed, and  known  as  the  Colchester  Sphinx,  per- 
petuates the  lion-like  qualities  of  a  girl  in  her  teens, 
who  dared  withstand  the  power  of  Imperial  Rome. 

And  still  no  help  came  from  her  cousin,  the 
admiral.  But  one  day  a  galley  speeding  up  the 
Colne  brought  this  unsigned  message  to  King 
Coel: 

"  To  Coel,  King  in  Camalodunum,  Greeting: 

"Save  thyself.  Constantius  the  sallow-faced,  pre- 
fect of  the  Western  praetorians,  is  even  now  on  his 
way  from  Spain  to  crush  thy  revolt.  Save  thyself. 
I  wait.  Justice  will  come." 


36  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

"  Thou  seest,  O  daughter,"  said  King  Coel  as 
Helena  read  the  craven  missive,  "the  end  com- 
eth  as  !  knew  it  would.  Well,  man  can  but  die." 
And  with  this  philosophic  reflection  the  "  jolly  old 
soul  "  only  dipped  his  red  nose  still  deeper  into  his 
big  bowl,  and  bade  his  musicians  play  their  loudest 
and  merriest. 

But  Helena,  "  not  deficient  in  statecraft," 
thought  for  both.  She  would  save  her  father,  her 
country,  and  herself,  and  shame  her  disloyal  cousin. 
Discretion  is  the  better  part  of  valor.  Let  us  see 
how  discreet  a  little  lady  was  this  fair  young  Prin- 
cess Helena. 

The  legions  came  to  Camalodunum.  Across 
Gaul  and  over  the  choppy  channel  they  came, 
borne  by  the  very  galleys  that  were  to  have  suc- 
cored the  British  king.  Up  through  the  mouth  of 
Thames  they  sailed,  and  landing  at  Londinium, 
marched  in  close  array  along  the  broad  Roman 
road  that  led  straight  up  to  the  gates  of  Camalo- 
dunum. Before  the  walls  of  Camalodunum  was 
pitched  the  Roman  camp,  and  the  British  king  was 
besieged  in  his  own  palace-town. 

The  Roman  trumpets  sounded  before  the  gate 
of  the  beleaguered  city,  and  the  herald  of  the  pre- 
fect, standing  out  from  his  circle  of  guards,  cried 
•the  summons  to  surrender  : 

"  Coel  of  Britain,  traitor  to  the   Roman   people 


HELE2\rA    Of-'  BRITAIN.  37 

and  to  thy  lord  the  Emperor,  hear  thou  !  In  the 
name  of  the  Senate  and  People  of  Rome,  I,  Con- 
stantius  the  prefect,  charge  thee  to  deliver  up  to 
them  ere  this  day's  sun  shall  set,  this,  their  City  of 
Camalodunum,  arid  thine  own  rebel  body  as  well. 
Which  done  they  will  in  mercy  pardon  the  crime 
of  treason  to  the  city,  and  will  work  their  will  and 
punishment  only  upon  thee — the  chief  rebel.  And 
if  this  be  not  done  within  the  appointed  time,  then 
will  the  walls  of  this  their  town  of  Camalodunum 
be  overthrown,  and  thou  and  all  thy  people  be 
given  the  certain  death  of  traitors." 

King  Coel  heard  the  summons,  and  some  spark 
of  that  very  patriotism  that  had  inspired  and  in- 
cited his  valiant  little  daughter  flamed  in  his  heart. 
He  would  have  returned  an  answer  of  defiance. 
"  I  can  at  least  die  with  my  people,"  he  said,  but 
young  Helena  interposed. 

"  Leave  this  to  me,  my  father,"  she  said.  "As 
I  have  been  the  cause,  so  let  me  be  the  end  of 
trouble.  Say  to  the  prefect  that  in  three  hours' 
time  the  British  envoy  will  come  to  his  camp  with 
the  king's  answer  to  his  summons." 

The  old  king  would  have  replied  otherwise,  but 
his  daughter's  entreaties  and  the  counsels  of  his 
captains  who  knew  the  hopelessness  of  resistance, 
forced  him  to  assent,  and  his  herald  made  answer 
accordingly. 


38  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Constantius  the  prefect — a  manly,  pleasant- 
looking  young  commander,  called  Chlorus  or  "the 
sallow,"  from  his  pale  face, — sat  in  his  tent  within 
the  Roman  camp.  The  three  hours'  grace  allowed 
had  scarcely  expired  when  his  sentry  announced 
the  arrival  of  the  envoy  of  Coel  of  Britain. 

"  Bid  him  enter,"  said  the  prefect.  Then,  as  the 
curtains  of  his  tent  were  drawn  aside,  the  prefect 
started  in  surprise,  for  there  before  him  stood,  not 
the  rugged  form  of  a  British  fighting  man,  but 
a  fair  young  girl,  who  bent  her  graceful  head  in 
reverent  obeisance  to  the  youthful  representative 
of  the  Imperial  Caesars. 

"  What  would'st  thou  with  me,  maiden?"  asked 
the  prefect. 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Coel  of  Britain,"  said  the 
girl,  "and  I  am  come  to  sue  for  pardon  and  for 
peace." 

"  The  Roman  people  have  no  quarrel  with  the 
girls  of  Britain,"  said  the  prefect.  "  Hath  then 
King  Coel  fallen  so  low  in  state  that  a  maiden 
must  plead  for  him  ?  " 

"  He  hath  not  fallen  at  all,  O  Prefect,"  replied 
the  girl  proudly  ;  "  the  king,  my  father,  would 
withstand  thy  force  but  that  I,  his  daughter,  know 
the  cause  of  this  unequal  strife,  and  seek  to  make 
terms  with  the  victors." 

The  girl's   fearlessness  pleased   the  prefect,   for 


HKl.F.XA    OF  BRITAIN.  39 

Constantius  Chlorus  was  a  humane  and  gentle 
man,  fierce  enough  in  fight,  but  seeking  never 
to  needlessly  wound  an  enemy  or  lose  a  friend. 

4<  And  what  are  thy  terms,  fair  envoy  of  Brit- 
ain ? "  he  demanded. 

"  These,  O  Prefect,"  replied  Helena,  "If  but 
thou  wilt  remove  thy  cohorts  to  Londinium,  I 
pledge  my  father's  faith  and  mine,  that  he  will, 
within  five  days,  deliver  to  thee  as  hostage  for  his 
fealty,  myself  and  twenty  children  of  his  council- 
lors and  captains.  And  further,  I,  Helena  the 
princess,  will  bind  myself  to  deliver  up  to  thee, 
with  the  hostages,  the  chief  rebel  in  this  revolt, 
and  the  one  to  whose  counselling  this  strife  with 
Rome  is  due." 

Both  the  matter  and  the  manner  of  the  offered 
terms  still  further  pleased  the  prefect,  and  he  said  : 
"  Be  it  so,  Princess."  Then  summoning  his  lieu- 
tenant, he  said  :  "  Conduct  the  envoy  of  Coel 
of  Britain  with  all  courtesy  to  the  gates  of  the 
the  city,"  and  with  a  herald's  escort  the  girl 
returned  to  her  father. 

Again  the  old  king  rebelled  at  the  terms  his 
daughter  had  made. 

"  I  know  the  ways  of  Rome,"  he  said.  "  I  know 
what  their  mercy  meaneth.  Thou  shalt  never  go 
as  hostage  for  my  faith,  O  daughter,  nor  carry  out 
this  hazardous  plan." 


40  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

"  I  have  pledged  my  word  and  thine,  O  King,'* 
said  Helena.  "  Surely  a  Briton's  pledge  should 
be  as  binding  as  a  Roman's." 

So  she  carried  her  point,  and,  in  five  days'  time, 
she,  with  twenty  of  the  boys  and  girls  of  Camalo- 
dunum,  went  as  hostages  to  the  Roman  camp  in 
London. 

"  Here  be  thy  hostages,  fair  Princess,"  said  Con- 
stantius  the  prefect  as  he  received  the  children  ; 
"  and  this  is  well.  But  remember  the  rest  of  thy 
compact.  Deliver  to  me  now,  according  to  thy 
promise,  the  chief  rebel  against  Rome." 

"  She  is  here,  O  Prefect,  "said  the  intrepid  girl. 
41 1  am  that  rebel — Helena  of  Britain  !  " 

The  smile  upon  the  prefect's  face  changed  to 
sudden  sternness. 

"Trifle  not  with  Roman  justice,  girl,"  he  said, 
"  I  demand  the  keeping  of  thy  word." 

"  It  is  kept,"  replied  the  princess.  "  Helena  of 
Britain  is  the  cause  and  motive  of  this  revolt 
against  Rome.  If  it  be  rebellion  for  a  free  prince 
to  claim  his  own,  if  it  be  rebellion  for  a  prince  to 
withstand  for  the  sake  of  his  people  the  unjust 
demands  of  the  conqueror,  if  it  be  rebellion  for  one 
who  loveth  her  father  to  urge  that  father  to  valiant 
deeds  in  defence  of  the  liberties  of  the  land  over 
which  he  ruleth  as  king,  then  am  I  a  rebel,  for  I 
have  done  all  these,  and  only  because  of  my  words 


LEAVE  THIS  TO  ME,   MY  FATHER,"    SAID  HELENA. 


42  HISTORIC  GIRLS 

did  the  king,  my  father,  take  up  arms  against  the 
might  and  power  of  Rome.  I  am  the  chief  rebel. 
Do  with  me  as  thou  wilt." 

And  now  the  prefect  saw  that  the  girl  spoke  the 
truth,  and  that  she  had  indeed  kept  her  pledge. 

"  Thy  father  and  his  city  are  pardoned,"  he  an- 
nounced after  a  few  moments  of  deliberation.  "  Re- 
main thou  here,  thou  and  thy  companions,  as 
hostages  for  Britain,  until  such  time  as  I  shall 
determine  upon  the  punishment  due  to  one  who 
is  so  fierce  a  rebel  against  the  power  of  Rome." 

So  the  siege  of  Camalodunum  was  raised,  and 
the  bloodless  rebellion  ended.  Constantius  the 
prefect  took  up  his  residence  for  a  while  within 
King  Coel's  city,  and  at  last  returned  to  his  com- 
mand in  Gaul  and  Spain,  well  pleased  with  the 
spirit  of  the  little  maiden  whom,  so  he  claimed,  he 
still  held  in  his  power  as  the  prisoner  of  Rome. 

Constantius  the  prefect  came  again  to  Britain, 
and  with  a  greater  following,  fully  ten  years  after 
King  Coel's  revolt,  for  now,  again,  rebellion  was 
afoot  in  the  island  province. 

Carausius  the  admiral,  biding  his  time,  sought  at 
last  to  carry  out  his  scheme  of  sole  supremacy. 
Sailing  with  his  entire  war-fleet  to  Britain,  he  won 
the  legions  to  his  side,  proclaimed  himself  Emperor 
of  Britain,  and  defied  the  power  of  Rome. 

So  daring  and  successful  was  his  move  that  Rome 


HE  LEX  A    OF  BK  ITALY.  43 

for  a  time  was  powerless.  Carausius  was  recognized 
as  "  associate  "  emperor  by  Rome,  until  such  time 
as  she  should  be  ready  to  punish  his  rebellion,  and 
for  seven  years  he  reigned  as  emperor  of  Britain. 

But  ere  this  came  to  pass,  Helena  the  princess 
had  gone  over  to  Gaul,  and  had  become  the  wife  of 
Constantius  the  prefect, — "  Since  only  thus,"  said 
he,  "  may  I  keep  in  safe  custody  this  prisoner  of 
Rome." 

The  imperial  power  of  Carausius  was  but  short- 
lived. Crafty  himself,  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  craft 
of  others,  and  the  sword  of  Allectus,  his  chief  min- 
ister and  most  trusted  confidant,  ended  his  life 
when  once  again  the  power  of  Rome  seemed 
closing  about  the  little  kingdom  of  Britain. 

Constantius  became  governor  of  Britain,  and 
finally  caesar  and  emperor.  But,  long  before  that 
day  arrived,  the  Princess  Helena  had  grown  into  a 
loyal  Roman  wife  and  mother,  dearly  loving  her 
little  son  Constantine,  who,  in  after  years,  became 
the  first  and  greatest  Christian  emperor  of  Rome. 

She  bestowed  much  loving  care  upon  her  native 
province  of  Britain.  She  became  a  Christian  even 
before  her  renowned  son  had  his  historic  vision  of 
the  flaming  cross.  When  more  than  eighty  years 
old  she  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land. 
There  she  did  many  good  and  kindly  deeds,  erected 
temples  above  the  Sepulchre  of  the  Saviour,  at 


44 


HISTORIC  GIRLS. 


his  birthplace  at  Bethlehem,  and  on  the  Mount  of 
Olives.  She  is  said,  also,  to  have  discovered  upon 
Calvary  the  cross  upon  which  had  suffered  and  died 
the  Saviour  she  had  learned  to  worship. 

Beloved  throughout  her  long  and  useful  life  she 
was  canonized  after  her  death,  and  is  now  recog- 
nized one  of  the  saints  of  the  Romish  church. 

To-day  in  the  city  of  London  you  may  see  the 
memorial  church  reared  to  her  memory  -  -  the 
Church  of  Great  St.  Helena,  in  Bishopgate.  A 
loving,  noble,  wonderful,  and  zealous  woman,  she 
is  a  type  of  the  brave  young  girlhood  of  the  long 
ago,  and,  however  much  of  fiction  there  may  be 
mingled  with  the  fact  of  her  life-story,  she  was,  we 
may  feel  assured,  all  that  the  chroniclers  have 
claimed  for  her — "  one  of  the  grandest  women  of 
the  earlier  centuries." 


[Afterward  known  as  "'f-ulcheria  A  ugusta,  Empress  of  the  East  "\ 
A.D.  413. 

HERE  was  trouble  and  confusion  in  the  im- 
perial palace  of  Theodosius  the  Little, 
Emperor  of  the  East.  Now,  this  Theo- 
£.  dosius  was  called  "  the  Little "  because, 
though  he  bore  the  name  of  his  mighty 
grandfather,  Theodosius  the  Great,  emperor  of 
both  the  East  and  West,  he  had  as  yet  done  noth- 
ing worthy  any  other  title  than  that  of  "  the  Little," 
or  "  the  Child."  For  Theodosius  emperor  though 
he  was  called,  was  only  a  boy  of  twelve,  and  not  a 
very  bright  boy  at  that. 

His  father,  Arcadius  the  emperor,  and  his 
mother,  Eudoxia  the  empress,  were  dead  ;  and  in 
the  great  palace  at  Constantinople,  in  this  year  of 
grace,  413,  Theodosius,  the  boy  emperor,  and  his 

45 


46  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

three  sisters,  Pulcheria,  Marina,  and  Arcadia,  alone 
were  left  to  uphold  the  tottering  dignity  and  the 
empty  name  of  the  once  mighty  Empire  of  the 
East,  which  their  great  ancestors,  Constantine  and 
Theodosius,  had  established  and  strengthened. 

And  now  there  was  confusion  in  the  imperial 
palace  ;  for  word  came  in  haste  from  the  Dacian 
border  that  Ruas,  king  of  the  Huns,  sweeping- 
down  from  the  east,  was  ravaging  the  lands  along 
the  Upper  Danube,  and  with  his  host  of  barbarous 
warriors  was  defeating  the  legions  and  devastating 
the  lands  of  the  empire. 

The  wise  Anthemius,  prefect  of  the  east,  and 
governor  or  guardian  of  the  young  emperor,  was 
greatly  disturbed  by  the  tidings  of  this  new  inva- 
sion. Already  he  had  repelled  at  great  cost  the 
first  advance  of  these  terrible  Huns,  and  had 
quelled  into  a  sort  of  half  submission  the  less 
ferocious  followers  of  Ulpin  the  Thracian  ;  but 
now  he  knew  that  his  armies  along  the  Danube 
were  in  no  condition  to  withstand  the  hordes  of 
Huns,  that,  pouring  in  from  distant  Siberia,  were 
following  the  lead  of  Ruas,  their  king,  for  plunder 
and  booty,  and  were  even  now  encamped  scarce 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  the  seven  gates 
and  the  triple  walls  of  splendid  Constantinople. 

Turbaned  Turks,  mosques  and  minarets,  muftis 
and  cadis,  veiled  eastern  ladies,  Mohammedans 


PULCHERIA    OF  CONSTANTINOPLE,  47 

and  muezzins,  Arabian  Nights  and  attar  of  roses, 
bazars,  dogs,  and  donkeys — these,  I  suppose,  are 
what  Constantinople  suggests  whenever  its  name 
is  mentioned  to  any  girl  or  boy  of  to-day, — the 
capital  of  modern  Turkey,  the  city  of  the  Sublime 
Porte.  But  the  greatest  glory  of  Constantinople 
was  away  back  in  the  early  days  before  the  time  of 
Mohammed,  or  of  the  Crusaders,  when  it  was  the 
centre  of  the  Christian  religion,  the  chief  and  gor- 
geous capital  of  a  Christian  empire,  and  the  resi- 
dence of  Christian  emperors, — from  the  days  of 
Constantine  the  conqueror  to  those  of  Justinian  the 
law-giver  and  of  Irene  the  empress.  It  was  the 
metropolis  of  the  eastern  half  of  the  great  Roman 
Empire,  and  during  this  period  of  over  five  hun- 
dred years  all  the  wealth  and  treasure  of  the  east 
poured  into  Constantinople,  while  all  the  glories  of 
the  empire,  even  the  treasures  of  old  Rome  itself, 
were  drawn  upon  to  adorn  and  beautify  this  rival 
city  by  the  Golden  Horn.  And  so  in  the  days  of 
Theodosius  the  Little,  the  court  of  Constantinople, 
although  troubled  with  fear  of  a  barbarian  invasion 
and  attack,  glittered  with  all  the  gorgeousness  and 
display  of  the  most  magnificent  empire  in  the  world. 
In  the  great  daphne,  or  central  space  of  the  im- 
perial palace,  the  prefect  Anthemius,  with  the  young 
emperor,  the  three  princesses,  and  their  gorgeously 
arrayed  nobles  and  attendants,  awaited,  one  day, 


48  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

the  envoys  of  Ruas  the  Hun,  who  sought  lands  and 
power  within  the  limits  of  the  empire. 

They  came,  at  last, — great,  fierce-looking  fellows, 
not  at  all  pleasant  to  contemplate — big-boned, 
broad-shouldered,  flat-nosed,  swarthy,  and  small- 
eyed,  with  war-cloaks  of  shaggy  skins,  leathern  ar- 
mor, wolf-crowned  helmets,  and  barbaric  decora- 
tions, and  the  royal  children  shrunk  from  them  in 
terror,  even  as  they  watched  them  with  wondering 
curiosity.  Imperial  guards,  gleaming  in  golden 
armor,  accompanied  them,  while  with  the  envoys 
came  also  as  escort  a  small  retinue  of  Hunnish  spear- 
men. And  in  the  company  of  these,  the  Princess 
Pulcheria  noted  a  lad  of  ten  or  twelve  years — short, 
swarthy,  big-headed,  and  flat-nosed,  like  his  brother 
barbarians,  but  with  an  air  of  open  and  hostile 
superiority  that  would  not  be  moved  even  by  all  the 
glow  and  glitter  of  an  imperial  court. 

Then  Eslaw,  the  chief  of  the  envoys  of  King 
Ruas  the  Hun,  made  known  his  master's  demands  : 
So  much  land,  so  much  treasure,  so  much  in  the 
way  of  concession  and  power  over  the  lands  along 
the  Danube,  or  Ruas  the  king  would  sweep  down 
with  his  warriors,  and  lay  waste  the  cities  and  lands 
of  the  empire. 

"  These  be  bold  words,"  said  Anthemius  the 
prefect.  "  And  what  if  our  lord  the  emperor  shall 
say  thee  nay  ?  " 


PULCHERIA    OF  CONSTANTINOPLE.  49 

But  ere  the  chief  of  the  envoys  could  reply,  the 
lad  whose  presence  in  the  escort  the  Princess  Pul- 
cheria  had  noted,  sprang  into  the  circle  before  the 
throne,  brandishing  his  long  spear  in  hot  de- 
fiance. 

"  Dogs  and  children  of  dogs,  ye  dare  not  say  us 
nay  ! "  he  cried  harshly.  "  Except  we  be  made  the 
friends  and  allies  of  the  emperor,  and  are  given 
full  store  of  southern  gold  and  treasure,  Ruas  the 
king  shall  overturn  these  your  palaces,  and  make 
you  all  captives  and  slaves.  It  shall  be  war  be- 
tween you  and  us  forever.  Thus  saith  my  spear  ! " 

And  as  he  spoke  he  dashed  his  long  spear  upon 
the  floor,  until  the  mosaic  pavement  rang  again. 

Boy  emperor  and  princesses,  prefect  and  nobles 
and  imperial  guards,  sprang  to  their  feet  as  the 
spear  clashed  on  the  pavement,  and  even  the  bar- 
barian envoys,  while  they  smiled  grimly  at  their 
young  comrade's  energy,  pulled  him  hastily  back. 

But  ere  the  prefect  Anthemius  could  sufficiently 
master  his  astonishment  to  reply,  the  young  Prin- 
cess Pulcheria  faced  the  savage  envoys,  and  point- 
ing to  the  cause  of  the  disturbance,  asked  calmly  : 

"  Who  is  this  brawling  boy,  and  what  doth  he 
here  in  the  palace  of  the  emperor  ?  " 

And  the  boy  made  instant  and  defiant  answer  : 

"  I  am  Attila,  the  son  of  Mundzuk,  kinsman  to 
Ruas  the  king,  and  deadly  foe  to  Rome." 


50  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

"  Good  Anthemius,"  said  the  clear,  calm  voice  of 
the  unterrified  girl,  "were  it  not  wise  to  tell  this 
wild  young  prince  from  the  northern  forest  that  the 
great  emperor  hath  gold  for  his  friends,  but  only 
iron  for  his  foes  ?  'T  is  ever  better  to  be  friend  than 
foe.  Bid,  I  pray,  that  the  arras  of  the  Hippodrome 
be  parted,  and  let  our  guests  see  the  might  and 
power  of  our  arms." 

With  a  look  of  pleased  surprise  at  this  bold 
stroke  of  the  Princess,  the  prefect  clapped  his 
hands  in  command,  and  the  heavily  brocaded  cur- 
tain that  screened  the  gilded  columns  parted  as  if 
by  unseen  hands,  and  the  Hunnish  envoys,  with  a 
gaze  of  stolid  wonder,  looked  down  upon  the  great 
Hippodrome  of  Constantinople. 

It  was  a  vast  enclosure,  spacious  enough  for 
the  marshalling  of  an  army.  Around  its  sides  ran 
tiers  of  marble  seats,  and  all  about  it  rose  gleaming 
statues  of  marble,  of  bronze,  of  silver,  and  of  gold- 
Augustus  and  the  emperors,  gods .  and  goddesses 
of  the  old  pagan  days,  heroes  of  the  eastern  and 
western  empires.  The  bright  oriental  sun  streamed 
down  upon  it,  and  as  the  trumpets  sounded  from 
beneath  the  imperial  balcony,  there  filed  into  the 
arena  the  glittering  troops  of  the  empire,  gorgeous 
in  color  and  appointments,  with  lofty  crests  and 
gleaming  armor,  with  shimmering  spear-tips,  pran- 
cing horses,  towering  elephants,  and  mighty  engines 


5" 


52  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

of  war  and  siege,  with  archers  and  spearmen,  with 
sounding  trumpets  and  swaying  standards  and,  high 
over  all,  the  purple  labarum,  woven  in  gold  and 
jewels, — the  sacred  banner  of  Constantine.  March- 
ing and  counter-marching,  around  and  around,  and 
in  and  out,  until  it  seemed  wellnigh  endless,  the 
martial  procession  passed  before  the  eyes  of  the 
northern  barbarians,  watchful  of  every  movement, 
eager  as  children  to  witness  this  royal  review. 

"  These  are  but  as  a  handful  of  dust  amid  the 
sands  of  the  sea  to  the  troops  of  the  empire,"  said 
the  prefect  Anthemius,  when  the  glittering  rear- 
guard had  passed  from  the  Hippodrome.  And  the 
Princess  Pulcheria  added,  "  And  these,  O  men  from 
the  north,  are  to  help  and  succor  the  friends  of  the 
great  emperor,  even  as  they  are  for  the  terror  and 
destruction  of  his  foes.  Bid  the  messengers  from 
Ruas  the  king  consider,  good  Anthemius,  whether 
it  were  not  wiser  for  their  master  to  be  the  friend 
rather  than  the  foe  of  the  emperor.  Ask  him  whether 
it  would  not  be  in  keeping  with  his  valor  and  his 
might  to  be  made  one  of  the  great  captains  of  the 
empire,  with  a  yearly  stipend  of  many  pounds  of 
gold,  as  the  recompense  of  the  emperor  for  his 
services  and  his  love." 

Again  the  prefect  looked  with  pleasure  and  sur- 
prise upon  this  wise  young  girl  of  fifteen,  who  had 
seen  so  shrewdly  and  so  well  the  way  to  the  hearts 


P I V,  CHERIA    OF   CONS  TA N  TINOPLE. 


53 


of  these  northern  barbarians,  to  whom  gold  and 
warlike  display  were  as  meat  and  drink. 

"  You  hear  the  words  of  this  wise  young  maid," 
he  said.  "  Would  it  not  please  Ruas  the  king  to 
be  the  friend  of  the  emperor,  a  general  of  the  em- 
pire, and  the  acceptor,  on  each  recurring  season  of 
the  Circensian  games,  of  full  two  hundred  pounds 
of  gold  as  recompense  for  service  and  friendship  ?" 

"  Say,  rather,  three  hundred  pounds,"  said  Eslaw, 
the  chief  of  the  envoys,  "  and  our  master  may,  per- 
chance, esteem  it  wise  and  fair." 

"  Nay,  it  is  not  for  the  great  emperor  to  chaffer 
with  his  friends,"  said  Pulcheria,  the  princess. 
"  Bid  that  the  stipend  be  fixed  at  three  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  of  gold,  good  Anthemius,  and  let 
our  guests  bear  to  Ruas  the  king  pledges  and 
tokens  of  the  emperor's  friendship." 

"  And  bid,  too,  that  they  do  leave  yon  barbarian 
boy  at  our  court  as  hostage  of  their  faith,"  de- 
manded young  Theodosius  the  emperor,  now 
speaking  for  the  first  time  and  making  a  most 
stupid  blunder  at  a  critical  moment. 

For,  with  a  sudden  start  of  revengeful  indigna- 
tion, young  Attila  the  Hun  turned  to  the  boy  em- 
peror :  "  I  will  be  no  man's  hostage,"  he  cried. 
"  Freely  I  came,  freely  will  I  go  !  Come  down 
from  thy  bauble  of  a  chair  and  thou  and  I  will  try, 
even  in  your  circus  yonder,  which  is  the  better  boy, 


54  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

and  which  should  rightly  be  hostage  for  faith  and 
promise  given  !  " 

"  How  now  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy  emperor,  alto- 
gether unused  to  such  uncourtier-like  language  ; 
"  this  to  me  !"  And  the  hasty  young  Hun  continued: 

"  Ay,  this  and  more  !  I  tell  thee,  boy,  that  were 
I  Ruas  the  king,  the  grass  should  never  grow  where 
the  hoofs  of  my  war-horse  trod  ;  Scythia  should  be 
mine;  Persia  should  be  mine;  Rome  should  be  mine. 
And  look  you,  sir  emperor,  the  time  shall  surely 
come  when  the  king  of  the  Huns  shall  be  content 
not  with  paltry  tribute  and  needless  office,  but  with 
naught  but  Roman  treasure  and  Roman  slaves  !  " 

But  into  this  torrent  of  words  came  Pulcheria's 
calm  voice  again.  "  Nay,  good  Attila,  and  nay, 
my  brother  and  my  lord,"  she  said.  "  T  were  not 
between  friends  and  allies  to  talk  of  tribute,  nor  of 
slaves,  nor  yet  of  hostage.  Freely  did'st  thou  come 
and  as  freely  shalt  thou  go  ;  and  let  this  pledge  tell 
of  friendship  between  Theodosius  the  emperor  and 
Ruas  the  king."  And,  with  a  step  forward,  she  flung 
her  own  broad  chain  of  gold  around  the  stout  and 
swarthy  neck  of  the  defiant  young  Attila. 

So,  through  a  girl's  ready  tact  and  quiet  speech, 
was  the  terror  of  ba  barian  invasion  averted.  Ruas 
the  Hun  rested  content  for  years  with  his  annual 
salary  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  gold,  or 
over  seventy  thousand  dollars,  and  his  title  of  Gen 


PULCIIERIA    OF  CONSTANTINOPLE.  55 

eral  of  the  Empire  ;  while  not  for  twenty  years  did 
the  hot-headed  young  Attila  make  good  his  threat 
against  the  Roman  power. 

Anthemius  the  prefect,  like  the  wise  man  he  was, 
recognized  the  worth  of  the  young  Princess  Pulche- 
ria ;  he  saw  how  great  was  her  influence  over  her 
brother  the  emperor,  and  noted  with  astonishment 
and  pleasure  her  words  of  wisdom  and  her  rare 
common-sense. 

"  Rule  thou  in  my  place,  O  Princess  ! "  he  said, 
soon  after  this  interview  with  the  barbarian  envoys. 
"  Thou  alone,  of  all  in  this  broad  empire,  art  best 
fitted  to  take  lead  and  direction  in  the  duties  of  its 
governing." 

Pulcheria,  though  a  wise  young  girl,  was  prudent 
and  conscientious. 

"  Such  high  authority  is  not  for  a  girl  like  me, 
good  Anthemius,"  she  replied.  "  Rather  let  me 
shape  the  ways  and  the  growth  of  the  emperor  my 
brother,  and  teach  him  how  best  to  maintain  him- 
self in  a  deportment  befitting  his  high  estate,  so 
that  he  may  become  a  wise  and  just  ruler ;  but  do 
thou  bear  sway  for  him  until  such  time  as  he  may 
take  the  guidance  on  himself." 

"  Nay,  not  so,  Princess,"  the  old  prefect  said. 
"  She  who  can  shape  the  ways  of  a  boy  may  guide 
the  will  of  an  empire.  Be  thou,  then,  Regent  and 
Augusta,  and  rule  this  empire  as  becometh  the 


56  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

daughter  of  Arcadius  and  the  granddaughter  of  the 
great  Theodosius." 

And  as  he  desired,  so  it  was  decided.  The  Sen- 
ate of  the  East  decreed  it  and,  in  long  procession, 
over  flower-strewn  pavements  and  through  gorgeous- 
ly decorated  streets,  with  the  trumpets  sounding 
their  loudest,  with  swaying  standards,  and  rank 
upon  rank  of  imperial  troops,  with  great  officers  of 
the  government  and  throngs  of  palace  attendants, 
this  young  girl  of  sixteen,  on  the  fourth  day  of  July, 
in  the  year  414,  proceeded  to  the  Church  of  the 
Holy  Apostles,  and  was  there  publicly  proclaimed 
Pulcheria  Augusta,  Regent  of  the  East,  solemnly 
accepting  the  trust  as  a  sacred  and  patriotic  duty. 

And,  not  many  days  after,  before  the  high  altar 
of  this  same  Church  of  the  Holy  Apostles,  Pulche- 
ria the  princess  stood  with  her  younger  sisters, 
Arcadia  and  Marina,  and  with  all  the  impressive 
ceremonial  of  the  Eastern  Church,  made  a  solemn 
vow  to  devote  their  lives  to  the  keeping  of  their 
father's  heritage  and  the  assistance  of  their  only 
brother  ;  to  forswear  the  world  and  all  its  allure- 
ments ;  never  to  marry  ;  and  to  be  in  all  things 
faithful  and  constant  to  each  other  in  this  their 
promise  and  their  pledge. 

And  they  were  faithful  and  constant.  The  story 
of  those  three  determined  young  maidens,  yet 
scarcely  "  in  their  teens,''  reads  almost  like  a  page 


PULCHERIA  AUGUSTA,    REGENT   OF   THE   EAST. 


57 


58  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

from  Tennyson's  beautiful  poem,  "  The  Princess," 
with  which  many  of  my  girl  readers  are  doubtless 
familiar.  The  young  regent  and  her  sisters,  with 
their  train  of  attendant  maidens,  renounced  the 
vanity  of  dress — wearing  only  plain  and  simple 
robes  ;  they  spent  their  time  in  making  garments 
for  the  poor,  and  embroidered  work  for  church 
decorations  ;  and  with  song  and  prayer  and  frugal 
meals,  interspersed  with  frequent  fasts,  they  kept 
their  vow  to  "  forswear  the  world  and  its  allure- 
ments," in  an  altogether  strict  and  monotonous 
manner.  Of  course  this  style  of  living  is  no  more 
to  be  recommended  to  healthy,  hearty,  fun-loving 
girls  of  fifteen  than  is  its  extreme  of  gayety  and  in- 
dulgence, but  it  had  its  effect  in  those  bad  old  days 
of  dissipation  and  excess,  and  the  simplicity  and 
soberness  of  this  wise  young  girl's  life  in  the  very 
midst  of  so  much  power  and  luxury,  made  even  the 
worst  elements  in  the  empire  respect  and  honor 
her. 

It  would  be  interesting,  did  space  permit,  to  sketch 
at  length  some  of  the  devisings  and  doings  of  this 
girl  regent  of  sixteen.  "  She  superintended  with 
extraordinary  wisdom,"  says  the  old  chronicler 
Sozemon,  "  the  transactions  of  the  Roman  gov- 
ernment," and  "  afforded  the  spectacle,"  says  Oz- 
anarn,  a  later  historian,  "  of  a  girlish  princess  of 
sixteen,  granddaughter  and  sole  inheritor  of  the 


PULCIIEKIA    OF  CONSTANTINOPLE.  59 

genius  and  courage  of  Theodosius  the  Great,  gov- 
erning the  empires  of  the  east  and  west,  and  being 
proclaimed  on  the  death  of  her  brother,  Augusta, 
Impcratrix,  and  mistress  of  the  world  !  " 

This  last  event — the  death  of  Theodosius  the 
Younger — occurred  in  the  year  449,  and  Pulcheria 
ascended  the  golden  throne  of  Constantinople — the 
first  woman  that  ever  ruled  as  sole  empress  of  the 
Roman  world. 

She  died  July  18,  453.  That  same  year  saw  the 
death  of  her  youthful  acquaintance,  Attila  the  Hun, 
that  fierce  barbarian  whom  men  had  called  the 
"Scourge  of  God."  His  mighty  empire  stretched 
from  the  great  wall  of  China  to  the  Western  Alps  ; 
but,  though  he  ravaged  the  lands  of  both  eastern 
and  western  Rome,  he  seems  to  have  been  so  man- 
aged or  controlled  by  the  wise  and  peaceful  meas- 
ures of  the  girl  regent,  that  his  destroying  hordes 
never  troubled  the  splendid  city  by  the  Golden 
Horn  which  offered  so  rare  and  tempting  a  booty. 

It  is  not  given  to  the  girls  of  to-day  to  have  any 
thing  like  the  magnificent  opportunities  of  the 
young  Pulcheria.  But  duty  in  many  a  form  faces 
them  again  and  again,  while  not  unfrequently  the 
occasion  comes  for  sacrifice  of  comfort  or  for  devo- 
tion to  a  trust.  To  all  such  the  example  of  this 
fair  young  princess  of  old  Constantinople,  who,  fif- 
teen centuries  ago,  saw  her  duty  plainly  and  under- 


6o 


HISTORIC  GIRLS. 


took  it  simply  and  without  hesitation,  comes  to 
strengthen  and  incite  ;  and  the  girl  who  feels 
herself  overwhelmed  by  responsibility,  or  who  is 
fearful  of  her  own  untried  powers,  may  gather 
strength,  courage,  wisdom,  and  will  from  the 
story  of  this  historic  girl  of  the  long  ago — the 
wise  young  Regent  of  the  East,  Pulcheria  of 
Constantinople. 


(Clotilda  of  Burgundy 

The  Girt  of  the  French  Vineysrak 


[Afterward  known  as  ".SV.  Clotilda"  th?  first  Queen  of  France.} 
A.I).  485. 

was  little  more  than  fourteen 
hundred  years  ago,  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  485,  that  a  little 
girl  crouched  trembling  and 
terrified,  at  the  feet  of  a  pity- 
ing priest  in  the  palace  of  the 
kings  of  Burgundy.  There  has 
been  many  a  sad  little  maid  of  ten,  before  and  since 
the  days  of  the  fair-haired  Princess  Clotilda,  but 
surely  none  had  greater  cause  for  terror  and  tears 
than  she.  For  her  cruel  uncle,  Gundebald,  waging 
war  against  his  brother  Chilperic,  the  rightful  king  of 
Burgundy,  had  with  a  band  of  savage  followers  burst 
into  his  brother's  palace  and,  after  the  fierce  and  re- 
lentless fashion  of  those  cruel  days,  had  murdered 

61 


62  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

King  Chilperic,  the  father  of  little  Clotilda,  the 
queen,  her  mother,  and  the  young  princes,  her 
brothers  ;  and  was  now  searching  for  her  and  her 
sister  Sedelenda,  to  kill  them  also. 

Poor  Sedelenda  had  hidden  away  in  some  other 
far-off  corner  ;  but  even  as  Clotilda  hung  for  pro- 
tection to  the  robe  of  the  good  stranger-priest  Ugo 
of  Rheims  (whom  the  king,  her  father,  had  lodged 
in  the  palace,  on  his  homeward  journey  from  Jeru- 
salem), the  clash  of  steel  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 
Through  the  corridor  came  the  rush  of  feet,  the 
arras  in  the  doorway  was  rudely  flung  aside,  and 
the  poor  child's  fierce  pursuers,  with  her  cruel 
uncle  at  their  head,  rushed  into  the  room. 

"  Hollo  !  Here  hides  the  game  !  "  he  cried  in 
savage  exultation.  "  Thrust  her  away,  Sir  Priest, 
or  thou  diest  in  her  stead.  Not  one  of  the  tyrant's 
brood  shall  live.  I  say  it  !  " 

"  And  who  art  thou  to  judge  of  life  or  death  ? " 
demanded  the  priest  sternly,  as  he  still  shielded  the 
trembling  child. 

"  I  am  Gundebald,  King  of  Burgundy  by  the 
grace  of  mine  own  good  sword  and  the  right  of 
succession,"  was  the  reply.  "  Trifle  not  with  me, 
Sir  Priest,  but  thrust  away  the  child.  She  is  my 
lawful  prize  to  do  with  as  I  will.  Ho,  Sigebert, 
drag  her  forth  ! " 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  brave  priest  stepped  before 


CLOTILDA    OI-'  1WKGUNDY.  63 

the  cowering  child,  and,  with  one  hand  still  resting 
protectingly  on  the  girl's  fair  hair,  he  raised  the 
other  in  stern  and  fearless  protest,  and  boldly  faced 
the  murderous  throng. 

"  Back,  men  of  blood  !  "  he  cried.  "  Back  !  Nor 
dare  to  lay  hand  on  this  young  maid  who  hath  here 
sought  sanctuary  ! "  * 

Fierce  and  savage  men  always  respect  bravery 
in  others.  There  was  something  so  courageous 
and  heroic  in  the  act  of  that  single  priest  in  thus 
facing  a  ferocious  and  determined  band,  in  defence 
of  a  little  girl, — for  girls  were  but  slightingly 
regarded  in  those  far-off  days, — that  it  caught  the 
savage  fancy  of  the  cruel  king.  And  this,  joined 
with  his  respect  for  the  Church's  right  of  sanctuary, 
and  with  the  lessening  of  his  thirst  for  blood,  now 
that  he  had  satisfied  his  first  desire  for  revenge,  led 
him  to  desist. 

"  So  be  it  then,"  he  said,  lowering  his  threatening 
sword.  "  I  yield  her  to  thee,  Sir  Priest.  Look  to 
her  welfare  and  thine  own.  Surely  a  girl  can  do 
no  harm." 

But  King  Gundebald  and  his  house  lived  to  learn 
how  far  wrong  was  that  unguarded  statement. 
For  the  very  lowering  of  the  murderous  sword  that 
thus  brought  life  to  the  little  Princess  Clotilda 

*  Under  the  Goths  and  Franks  the  protection  of  churches  and  priests, 
when  extended  to  persons  in  peril,  was  called  the  "  right  of  sanctuary,"  and 
was  respected  even  by  the  fiercest  of  pursuers. 


64  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

meant  the  downfall  of  the  kingdom  of  Burgundy 
and  the  rise  of  the  great  and  victorious  nation  of 
France.  The  memories  of  even  a  little  maid  of  ten 
are  not  easily  blotted  out. 

Her  sister,  Sedelenda,  had  found  refuge  and 
safety  in  the  convent  of  Ainay,  near  at  hand,  and 
there,  too,  Clotilda  would  have  gone,  but  her  uncle, 
the  new  king,  said  :  "  No,  the  maidens  must  be 
forever  separated."  He  expressed  a  willingness, 
however,  to  have  the  Princess  Clotilda  brought  up 
in  his  palace,  which  had  been  her  father's,  and  re- 
quested the  priest  Ugo  of  Rheims  to  remain  awhile, 
and  look  after  the  girl's  education.  In  those  days 
a  king's  request  was  a  command,  and  the  good 
Ugo,  though  stern  and  brave  in  the  face  of  real 
danger,  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  it  was 
best  for  him  to  yield  to  the  king's  wishes.  So  he 
continued  in  the  palace  of  the  king,  looking  after 
the  welfare  of  his  little  charge,  until  suddenly  the 
girl  took  matters  into  her  own  hands,  and  decided 
his  future  and  her  own. 

The  kingdom  of  Burgundy,  in  the  days  of  the 
Princess  Clotilda,  was  a  large  tract  of  country  now 
embraced  by  Southern  France  and  Western  Switzer- 
land. It  had  been  given  over  by  the  Romans  to 
the  Goths,  who  had  invaded  it  in  the  year  413.  It 
was  a  land  of  forest  and  vineyards,  of  fair  valleys 
and  sheltered  hill-sides,  and  of  busy  cities  that  the 


CLOTILDA    OF  BURGUNDY.  65 

fostering  hand  of  Rome  had  beautified ;  while 
through  its  broad  domain  the  Rhone,  pure  and 
sparkling,  swept  with  a  rapid  current  from  Swiss 
lake  and  glacier,  southward  to  the  broad  and  beau- 
tiful Mediterranean.  Lyons  was  its  capital,  and  on 
the  hill  of  Fourviere,  overlooking  the  city  below  it, 
rose  the  marble  palace  of  the  Burgundian  kings, 
near  to  the  spot  where,  to-day,  the  ruined  forum  of 
the  old  Roman  days  is  still  shown  to  tourists. 

It  had  been  a  palace  for  centuries.  Roman 
governors  of  "  Imperial  Gaul "  had  made  it  their 
head-quarters  and  their  home  ;  three  Roman  em- 
perors had  cooed  and  cried  as  babies  within  its 
walls  ;  and  it  had  witnessed  also  many  a  feast  and 
foray,  and  the  changing  fortunes  of  Roman,  Gallic, 
and  Burgundian  conquerors  and  over-lords.  But 
it  was  no  longer  "  home  "  to  the  little  Princess  Clo- 
tilda. She  thought  of  her  father  and  mother,  and 
of  her  brothers,  the  little  princes  with  whom  she 
had  played  in  this  very  palace,  as  it  now  seemed  to 
her,  so  many  years  ago.  And  the  more  she  feared 
her  cruel  uncle,  the  more  did  she  desire  to  go  far, 
far  away  from  his  presence.  So,  after  thinking  the 
whole  matter  over,  as  little  girls  of  ten  can  some- 
times think,  she  told  her  good  friend  Ugo,  the 
priest,  of  her  father's  youngest  brother  Godegesil, 
who  ruled  the  dependent  principality  of  Geneva, 
far  up  the  valley  of  the  Rhone. 


66  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

"  Yes,  child,  I  know  the  place,"  said  Ugo.  "  A 
fair  city  indeed,  on  the  blue  and  beautiful  Lake 
Lemanus,  walled  in  by  mountains,  and  rich  in  corn 
and  vineyards." 

"  Then  let  us  fly  thither,"  said  the  girl.  "  My 
uncle  Godegesil  I  know  will  succor  us,  and  I  shall 
be  freed  from  my  fears  of  King  Gundebald." 

Though  it  seemed  at  first  to  the  good  priest  only 
a  child's  desire,  he  learned  to  think  better  of  it  when 
he  saw  how  unhappy  the  poor  girl  was  in  the  hated 
palace,  and  how  slight  were  her  chances  for  im- 
provement. And  so,  one  fair  spring  morning  in 
the  year  486,  the  two  slipped  quietly  out  of  the 
palace  ;  and  by  slow  and  cautious  stages,  with  help 
from  friendly  priests  and  nuns,  and  frequent  rides 
in  the  heavy  ox-wagons  that  were  the  only  means 
of  transport  other  than  horseback,  they  finally 
reached  the  old  city  of  Geneva. 

And  on  the  journey,  the  good  Ugo  had  made  the 
road  seem  less  weary,  and  the  lumbering  ox-wagons 
less  jolty  and  painful,  by  telling  his  bright  young 
charge  of  all  the  wonders  and  relics  he  had  seen  in 
his  journeyings  in  the  East ;  but  especially  did  the  girl 
love  to  hear  him  tell  of  the  boy  king  of  the  Franks, 
Hlodo-wig,  or  Clovis,  who  lived  in  the  priest's  own 
boyhood  home  of  Tournay,  in  far-off  Belgium,  and 
who,  though  so  brave  and  daring,  was  still  a  pagan, 
when  all  the  world  was  fast  becoming  Christian. 


CLOTILDA    OF  BURGUNDY.  67 

And  as  Clotilda  listened,  she  wished  that  she  could 
turn  this  brave  young  chief  away  from  his  heathen 
deities,  Thor  and  Odin,  to  the  worship  of  the 
Christians'  God  ;  and,  revolving  strange  fancies  in 
her  mind,  she  determined  what  she  would  do  when 
she  "grew  up," — as  many  a  girl  since  her  day  has 
determined.  But  even  as  they  reached  the  fair  city 
of  Geneva — then  half  Roman,  half  Gallic,  in  its 
buildings  and  its  life — the  wonderful  news  met  them 
how  this  boy-king  Clovis,  sending  a  challenge  to 
combat  to  the  prefect  Syagrius,  the  last  of  the 
Roman  governors,  had  defeated  him  in  a  battle  at 
Soissons,  and  broken  forever  the  power  of  Rome 
in  Gaul. 

War,  which  is  never  any  thing  but  terrible,  was 
doubly  so  in  those  savage  days,  and  the  plunder  of 
the  captured  cities  and  homesteads  was  the  chief 
return  for  which  the  barbarian  soldiers  followed 
their  leaders.  But  when  the  Princess  Clotilda 
heard  how,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  burning  and 
plundering,  the  young  Prankish  chief  spared  some 
of  the  fairest  Christian  churches,  he  became  still 
more  her  hero  ;  and  again  the  desire  to  convert 
him  from  paganism  and  to  revenge  her  father's 
murder  took  shape  in  her  mind.  For,  devout  and 
good  though  she  was,  this  excellent  little  maiden 
of  the  year  485  was  by  no  means  the  gentle-hearted 
girl  of  1888,  and,  like  most  of  the  world  about  her, 


68  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

had  but  two  desires  :  to  become  a  good  church- 
helper,  and  to  be  revenged  on  her  enemies.  Cer- 
tainly, fourteen  centuries  of  progress  and  educa- 
tion have  made  us  more  loving  and  less  vindictive. 

But  now  that  the  good  priest  Ugo  of  Rheims 
saw  that  his  own  home  land  was  in  trouble,  he  felt 
that  there  lay  his  duty.  And  Godegesil,  the  un- 
der-king  of  Geneva,  feeling  uneasy  alike  from  the 
nearness  of  this  boy  conqueror  and  the  possible 
displeasure  of  his  brother  and  over-lord,  King 
Gundebald,  declined  longer  to  shelter  his  niece  in 
his  palace  at  Geneva. 

"  And  why  may  I  not  go  with  you  ?  "  the  girl 
asked  of  Ugo  ;  but  the  old  priest  knew  that  a 
conquered  and  plundered  land  was  no  place  to 
which  to  convey  a  young  maid  for  safety,  and  the 
princess,  therefore,  found  refuge  among  the  sisters 
of  the  church  of  St.  Peter  in  Geneva.  And  here 
she  passed  her  girlhood,  as  the  record  says,  "  in 
works  of  piety  and  charity." 

So  four  more  years  went  by.  In  the  north,  the 
boy  chieftain,  reaching  manhood,  had  been  raised 
aloft  on  the  shields  of  his  fair-haired  and  long- 
limbed  followers,  and  with  many  a  "  hae'l  !  "  and 
shout  had  been  proclaimed  "  King  of  the  Franks." 
In  the  south,  the  young  Princess  Clotilda,  now 
nearly  sixteen,  had  washed  the  feet  of  pilgrims, 
ministered  to  the  poor,  and,  after  the  manner  of 


CL 0  Til. DA    OF  BURG UND  ) '.  69 

her  day,  had  proved  herself  a  zealous  church- 
worker  in  that  low-roofed  convent  near  the  old 
church  of  St.  Peter,  high  on  that  same  hill  in  Ge- 
neva where  to-day,  hemmed  in  by  narrow  streets  and 
tall  houses,  the  cathedral  of  St.  Peter,  twice  re- 
builded  since  Clotilda's  time,  overlooks  the  quaint 
city,  the  beautiful  lake  of  Geneva,  and  the  rushing 
Rhone,  and  sees  across  the  valley  of  the  Arve  the 
gray  and  barren  rocks  of  the  Petit  Seleve  and  the 
distant  snows  of  Mont  Blanc. 

One  bright  summer  day,  as  the  young  princess 
passed  into  the  hospitium,  or  guest-room  for  poor 
pilgrims,  attached  to  the  convent,  she  saw  there  a 
stranger,  dressed  in  rags.  He  had  the  wallet  and 
staff  of  a  mendicant,  or  begging  pilgrim,  and, 
coming  toward  her,  he  asked  for  "  charity  in  the 
name  of  the  blessed  St.  Peter,  whose  church  thou 


servest." 


The  young  girl  brought  the  pilgrim  food,  and 
then,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  day,  kneeling 
on  the  earthen  floor,  she  began  to  bathe  his  feet. 
But  as  she  did  so,  the  pilgrim,  bending  forward, 
said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Lady,  I  have  great  matters  to  announce  to 
thee,  if  thou  deign  to  permit  me  to  reveal  them." 

Pilgrims  in  those  days  were  frequently  made  the 
bearers  of  special  messages  between  distant  friends  ; 
but  this  poor  young  orphan  princess  could  think  of 


70  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

no  one  from  whom  a  message  to  her  might  come. 
Nevertheless,  she  simply  said  :  "  Say  on." 

In  the  same  low  tone  the  beggar  continued  : 
"  Clovis,  King  of  the  Franks,  sends  thee  greeting." 

The  girl  looked  up  now,  thoroughly  surprised. 
This  beggar  must  be  a  madman,  she  thought. 
But  the  eyes  of  the  pilgrim  looked  at  her  reassur- 
ingly, and  he  said  :  "  In  token  whereof,  he  sendeth 
thee  this  ring  by  me,  his  confidant  and  comitatus* 
Aurelian  of  Soissons." 

The  Princess  Clotilda  took,  as  if  in  a  dream,  the 
ring  of  transparent  jacinth  set  in  solid  gold,  and 
asked  quietly  : 

"  What  would  the  king  of  the  Franks  with 
me?" 

"  The  king,  my  master,  hath  heard  from  the  holy 
Bishop  Remi  and  the  good  priest  Ugo  of  thy 
beauty  and  discreetness,"  replied  Aurelian  ;  "  and 
likewise  of  the  sad  condition  of  one  who  is  the 
daughter  of  a  royal  line.  He  bade  me  use  all  my 
wit  to  come  nigh  to  thee,  and  to  say  that,  if  it  be 
the  will  of  the  gods,  he  would  fain  raise  thee  to  his 
rank  by  marriage." 

Those  were  days  of  swift  and  sudden  surprises, 
when  kings  made  up  their  minds  in  royal  haste, 
and  princesses  were  not  expected  to  be  surprised  at 

*  One   of  the  king's  special  body-guard,  from  which  comes  the  title  comp,. 
or  count. 


CLOTILDA    AND   THE   PILGRIM. 


72  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

whatever  they  might  hear.  And  so  we  must  not 
feel  surprised  to  learn  that  all  the  dreams  of  her 
younger  days  came  into  the  girl's  mind,  and  that, 
as  the  record  states,  "  she  accepted  the  ring  with 
great  joy." 

"  Return  promptly  to  thy  lord,"  she  said  to  the 
messenger,  "  and  bid  him,  if  he  would  fain  unite 
me  to  him  in  marriage,  to  send  messengers  without 
delay  to  demand  me  of  my  uncle,  King  Gunde- 
bald,  and  let  those  same  messengers  take  me  away 
in  haste,  so  soon  as  they  shall  have  obtained  per- 
mission." 

For  this  wise  young  princess  knew  that  her  uncle's 
word  was  not  to  be  long  depended  upon,  and  she 
feared,  too,  that  certain  advisers  at  her  uncle's  court 
might  counsel  him  to  do  her  harm  before  the  mes- 
sengers of  King  Clovis  could  have  conducted  her 
beyond  the  borders  of  Burgundy. 

Aurelian,  still  in  his  pilgrim's  disguise,  for  he 
feared  discovery  in  a  hostile  country,  hastened 
back  to  King  Clovis,  who,  the  record  says,  was 
"  pleased  with  his  success  and  with  Clotilda's  no- 
tion, and  at  once  sent  a  deputation  to  Gundebald 
to  demand  his  niece  in  marriage." 

As  Clotilda  foresaw,  her  uncle  stood  in  too  much 
dread  of  this  fierce  young  conqueror  of  the  north 
to  say  him  nay.  And  soon  in  the  palace  at  Lyons, 
so  full  of  terrible  memories  to  this  orphan  girl,  the 


CLOTILDA    OF  BURGUNDY.  73 

courteous  Aurelian,  now  no  longer  in  beggar's  rags, 
but  gorgeous  in  white  silk  and  a  flowing  sagum,  or 
mantle  of  vermilion,  publicly  engaged  himself,  as 
the  representative  of  King  Clovis,  to  the  Princess 
Clotilda  ;  and,  according  to  the  curious  custom  of 
the  time,  cemented  the  engagement  by  giving  to 
the  young  girl  a  sou  and  a  denier* 

"  Now  deliver  the  princess  into  our  hand,  O 
king,"  said  the  messenger,  "  that  we  may  take 
her  to  King  Clovis,  who  waiteth  for  us  even  now 
at  Chalons  to  conclude  these  nuptials." 

So,  almost  before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing, 
King  Gundebald  had  bidden  his  niece  farewell  ; 
and  the  princess,  with  her  escort  of  Prankish 
spears,  was  rumbling  away  in  a  clumsy  basterne, 
or  covered  ox-wagon,  toward  the  frontier  of  Bur- 
gundy. 

But  the  slow-moving  ox-wagon  by  no  means 
suited  the  impatience  of  this  shrewd  young  prin- 
cess. She  knew  her  uncle,  the  king  of  Burgundy, 
too  well.  When  once  he  was  roused  to  action,  he 
was  fierce  and  furious. 

"  Good  Aurelian,"  she  said  at  length  to  the 
king's  ambassador,  who  rode  by  her  side  :  "  if 
that  thou  wouldst  take  me  into  the  presence  of 
thy  lord,  the  king  of  the  Franks,  let  me  descend 

*  Two  pieces  of  old  French  coin,   equalling  about  a  cent  and  a  mill  in 

. \int-ric-an  monev. 


74  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

from  this  carriage,  mount  me  on  horseback,  and  let 
us  speed  hence  as  fast  as  we  may,  for  never  in  this 
carriage  shall  I  reach  the  presence  of  my  lord,  the 
king." 

And  none  too  soon  was  her  advice  acted  upon  ; 
for  the  counsellors  of  King  Gundebald,  noticing 
Clotilda's  anxiety  to  be  gone,  concluded  that,  after 
all,  they  had  made  a  mistake  in  betrothing  her  to 
King  Clovis. 

"  Thou  shouldst  have  remembered,  my  lord," 
they  said,  "  that  thou  didst  slay  Clotilda's  father, 
her  mother,  and  the  young  princes,  her  brothers. 
If  Clotilda  become  powerful,  be  sure  she  will 
avenge  the  wrong  thou  hast  wrought  her." 

And  forthwith  the  king  sent  off  an  armed  band, 
with  orders  to  bring  back  both  the  princess  and 
the  treasure  he  had  sent  with  her  as  her  marriage 
portion.  But  already  the  princess  and  her  escort 
were  safely  across  the  Seine,  where,  in  the  Cam- 
pania, or  plain  -  country,  —  later  known  as  the 
province  of  Champagne  —  she  met  the  king  of 
the  Franks. 

I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  confess  that  the  first 
recorded  desire  of  this  beautiful,  brave,  and  de- 
vout young  maiden,  when  she  found  herself  safely 
among  the  fierce  followers  of  King  Clovis,  was  a 
request  for  vengeance.  But  we  must  remember, 
girls  and  boys,  that  this  is  a  story  of  half-savage 


CLOTILDA    OF  BURGUNDY.  75 

days  when,  as  I  have  already  said,  the  desire  for 
revenge  on  one's  enemies  was  common  to  all. 

From  the  midst  of  his  skin-clad  and  green-robed 
guards  and  nobles,  young  Clovis — in  a  dress  of 
"  crimson  and  gold,  and  milk-white  silk,"  and  with 
his  yellow  hair  coiled  in  a  great  top-knot  on  his 
uncovered  head — advanced  to  meet  his  bride. 

"  My  lord  king,"  said  Clotilda,  "  the  bands  of 
the  king  of  Burgundy  follow  hard  upon  us  to  bear 
me  off.  Command,  I  pray  thee,  that  these,  my  es- 
cort, scatter  themselves  right  and  left  for  twoscore 
miles,  and  plunder  and  burn  the  lands  of  the  king 
of  Burgundy." 

Probably  in  no  other  way  could  this  wise  young 
girl  of  seventeen  have  so  thoroughly  pleased  the 
fierce  and  warlike  young  king.  He  gladly  ordered 
her  wishes  to  be  carried  out,  and  the  plunderers 
forthwith  departed  to  carry  out  the  royal  command. 

So  her  troubles  were  ended,  and  this  prince 
and  princess, — Hlodo-wig,  or  Clovis  (meaning  the 
"  warrior  youth"),  and  Hloclo-hilde,  or  Clotilda 
(meaning  the  "  brilliant  and  noble  maid  "), — in 
spite  of  the  wicked  uncle  Gundebald,  were  married 
at  Soissons,  in  the  year  493,  and,  as  the  fairv  stories 
say,  "  lived  happily  together  ever  after." 

The  record  of  their  later  years  has  no  place  in 
this  sketch  of  the  girlhood  of  Clotilda  ;  but  it  is  one 
of  the  most  interesting  and  dramatic  of  the  old- 


76  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

time  historic  stories.  The  dream  of  that  sad  little 
princess  in  the  old  convent  at  Geneva,  "  to  make 
her  boy-hero  a  Christian,  and  to  be  revenged  on 
the  murderer  of  her  parents,"  was  in  time  fulfilled. 
For  on  Christmas-day,  in  the  year  493,  the  young 
king  and  three  thousand  of  his  followers  were  bap- 
tized amid  gorgeous  ceremonial  in  the  great  church 
of  St.  Martin  at  Rheims. 

The  story  of  the  young  queen's  revenge  is  not  to 
be  told  in  these  pages.  But,  though  terrible,  it  is 
only  one  among  the  many  tales  of  vengeance  that 
show  us  what  fierce  and  cruel  folk  our  ancestors 
were,  in  the  days  when  passion  instead  of  love 
ruled  the  hearts  of  men  and  women,  and  of  boys 
and  girls  as  well ;  and  how  favored  are  we  of 
this  nineteenth  century,  in  all  the  peace  and  pros- 
perity and  home  happiness  that  surround  us. 

But  from  this  conversion,  as  also  from  this  re- 
venge, came  the  great  power  of  Clovis  and  Clo- 
tilda ;  for,  ere  his  death,  in  the  year  511,  he  brought 
all  the  land  under  his  sway  from  the  Rhine  to  the 
Rhone,  the  ocean  and  the  Pyrenees  ;  he  was  hailed 
by  his  people  with  the  old  Roman  titles  of  Consul 
and  Augustus,  and  reigned  victorious  as  the  first 
king  of  France.  Clotilda,  after  years  of  wise 
counsel  and  charitable  works,  upon  which  her 
determination  for  revenge  seems  to  be  the  only 
stain,  died  long  after  her  husband,  in  the  year 


PRINCESS  CLOTILDA'S  JOURNEY. 


77 


78  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

545,  and  to-day,  in  the  city  of  Paris,  which  was 
even  then  the  capital  of  new  France,  the  church 
of  St.  Clotilda  stands  as  her  memorial,  while  her 
marble  statue  may  be  seen  by  the  traveller  in  the 
great  palace  of  the  Luxembourg. 

A  typical  girl  of  those  harsh  old  days  of  the  long 
ago,  —  loving  and  generous  toward  her  friends,  un- 
forgiving and  revengeful  to  her  enemies, — reared 
in  the  midst  of  cruelty  and  of  charity,  she  did  her 
duty  according  to  the  light  given  her,  made  France 
a  Christian  nation,  and  so  helped  on  the  progress  of 
civilization.  Certainly  a  place  among  the  world's 
historic  girls  may  rightly  be  accorded  to  this  fair- 
haired  young  princess  of  the  summer-land  of  France, 
the  beautiful  Clotilda  of  Burgundy. 


WOO    OF    HWANG-HO. 

THE    GIRL    OF    THE    YELLOW    RIVER. 

[Afterwards  the  Great  Empress  Woo  of  China.'} 
A.I).  635. 


T 


HOMAS  the  Nestorian 
had  been  in  many  lands 
and  in  the  midst  of  many 
dangers,  but  he  had  never 
before  found  himself  in  quite 
so  unpleasant  a  position  as 
now.  Six  ugly  Tartar  horse- 
men with  very  uncomfortable- 
looking  spears  and  appalling 
shouts,  and  mounted  on  their 
swift  Kirghiz  ponies,  were 
charging  down  upon  him, 
while  neither  the  rushing 
Yellow  River  on  the  right 
hand,  nor  the  steep  dirt-cliffs 
on  the  left,  could  offer  him 
shelter  or  means  of  escape. 
These  dirt-cliffs,  or  "loess," 
to  give  them  their  scientific 
name,  are  remarkable  banks 
of  brownish-yellow  loam, 

79 


8O  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

found  largely  in  Northern  and  Western  China, 
and  rising  sometimes  to  a  height  of  a  thousand 
feet.  Their  peculiar  yellow  tinge  makes  every 
thing  look  "  hwang  "  or  yellow, — and  hence  yel- 
low is  a  favorite  color  among. the  Chinese.  So, 
for  instance,  the  emperor  is  "  Hwang-ti "  -  the 
"  Lord  of  the  Yellow  Land  "  ;  the  imperial  throne 
is  the  "  Hwang-wei  "  or  "  yellow  throne  "  of  China  ; 
the  great  river,  formerly  spelled  in  your  school 
geographies  Hoang-ho,  is  "  Hwang-ho,"  the  "  yel- 
low river,"  etc. 

These  "  hwang "  cliffs,  or  dirt-cliffs,  are  full  of 
caves  and  crevices,  but  the  good  priest  could  see 
no  convenient  cave,  and  he  had  therefore  no  al- 
ternative but  to  boldly  face  his  fate,  and  like  a 
brave  man  calmly  meet  what  he  could  not  avoid. 

But,  just  as  he  had  singled  out,  as  his  probable 
captor,  one  peculiarly  unattractive-looking  horse- 
man, whose  crimson  sheepskin  coat  and  long  horse- 
tail plume  were  streaming  in  the  wind,  and  just  as 
he  had  braced  himself  to  meet  the  onset  against 
the  great  "  loess,"  or  dirt-cliff,  he  felt  a  twitch  at 
his  black  upper  robe,  and  a  low  voice — a  girl's,  he 
was  confident — said  quickly  : 

"  Look  not  before  nor  behind  thee,  good  O-lo- 
pun,  but  trust  to  my  word  and  give  a  backward 
leap." 

Thomas  the  Nestorian  had  Jearned  two  valuable 


WOO   OF  HWANG-HO.  8 1 

lessons  in  his  much  wandering  about  the  earth,— 
never  to  appear  surprised,  and  always  to  be  ready 
to  act  quickly.  So,  knowing  nothing  of  the  possi- 
ble results  of  his  action,  but  feeling  that  it  could 
scarcely  be  worse  than  death  from  Tartar  spears, 
he  leaped  back,  as  bidden. 

The  next  instant,  he  found  himself  flat  upon  his 
back  in  one  of  the  low-ceiled  cliff  caves  that  abound 
in  Western  China,  while  the  screen  of  vines  that  had 
concealed  its  entrance  still  quivered  from  his  fall. 
Picking  himself  up  and  breathing  a  prayer  of 
thanks  for  his  deliverance,  he  peered  through  the 
leafy  doorway  and  beheld  in  surprise  six  much  as- 
tonished Tartar  robbers  regarding  with  looks  of 
puzzled  wonder  a  defiant  little  Chinese  girl,  who 
had  evidently  darted  out  of  the  cave  as  he  had 
tumbled  in.  She  was  facing  the  enemy  as  boldly 
as  had  he,  and  her  little  almond  eyes  fairly  danced 
with  mischievous  delight  at  their  perplexity. 

At  once  he  recognized  the  child.  She  was  Woo 
(the  "  high-spirited  "  or  "  dauntless  one  "),  the 
bright  young  girl  whom  he  had  often  noticed  in 
the  throng  at  his  mission-house  in  Tung-Chow, — 
the  little  city  by  the  Yellow  River,  where  her  father, 
the  bannerman,  held  guard  at  the  Dragon  Gate. 

He  was  about  to  call  out  to  the  girl  to  save  her- 
self, when,  with  a  sudden  swoop,  the  Tartar  whom 
he  had  braced  himself  to  resist,  bent  in  his  saddle 


82  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

and  made  a  dash  for  the  child.  But  agile  little 
Woo  was  quicker  than  the  Tartar  horseman. 
With  a  nimble  turn  and  a  sudden  spring,  she 
dodged  the  Tartar's  hand,  darted  under  his  pony's 
legs,  and  with  a  shrill  laugh  of  derision,  sprang 
up  the  sharp  incline,  and  disappeared  in  one  of  the 
many  cliff  caves  before  the  now  doubly  baffled 
horsemen  could  see  what  had  become  of  her. 

With  a  grunt  of  discomfiture  and  disgust,  the 
Tartar  riders  turned  their  ponies'  heads  and  gal- 
loped off  along  the  road  that  skirted  the  yellow 
waters  of  the  swift-flowing  Hwang-ho.  Then  a  lit- 
tle yellow  face  peeped  out  of  a  cave  farther  up  the 
cliff,  a  black-haired,  tightly  braided  head  bobbed 
and  twitched  with  delight,  and  the  next  moment 
the  good  priest  was  heartily  thanking  his  small 
ally  for  so  skilfully  saving  him  from  threatened 
capture. 

It  was  a  cool  September  morning  in  the  days  of 
the  great  Emperor  Tai,  twelve  hundred  and  fifty 
years  ago.  And  a  great  emperor  was  Tai-tsung, 
though  few,  if  any,  of  my  young  readers  ever  heard 
his  name.  His  splendid  palace  stood  in  the  midst 
of  lovely  gardens  in  the  great  city  of  Chang-an,— 
that  old,  old  city  that  for  over  two  thousand  years 
was  the  capital  of  China,  and  which  you  can  now 
find  in  your  geographies  under  its  modern  name  of 
Singan-foo.  And  in  the  year  635,  when  our  story 


84  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

opens,  the  name  of  Tai-tsung  was  great  and  power- 
ful throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  Chung 
Kwoh — the  "  Middle  Kingdom,"  as  the  Chinese  for 
nearly  thirty  centuries  have  called  their  vast 
country — while  the  stories  of  his  fame  and  power 
had  reached  to  the  western  courts  of  India  and  of 
Persia,  of  Constantinople,  and  even  of  distant  Rome. 

It  was  a  time  of  darkness  and  strife  in  Europe. 
Already  what  historians  have  called  the  Dark 
Ages  had  settled  upon  the  Christian  world.  And 
among  all  the  races  of  men  the  only  nation  that 
was  civilized,  and  learned,  and  cultivated,  and  re- 
fined in  this  seventh  century  of  the  Christian  era, 
was  this  far  eastern  Empire  of  China,  where 
schools  and  learning  flourished,  and  arts  and  man- 
ufactures abounded,  when  America  was  as  yet  un- 
discovered and  Europe  was  sunk  in  degradation. 

And  here,  since  the  year  505,  the  Nestorians,  a 
branch  of  the  Christian  Church,  originating  in 
Asia  Minor  in  the  fifth  century,  and  often  called 
"  the  Protestants  of  the  East,"  had  been  spread- 
ing the  story  of  the  life  and  love  of  Christ.  And 
here,  in  this  year  of  grace  635,  in  the  city  of 
Chang-an,  and  in  all  the  region  about  the  Yellow 
River,  the  good  priest  Thomas  the  Nestorian, 
whom  the  Chinese  called  O-lo-pun — the  nearest 
approach  they  could  give  to  his  strange  Syriac 
name — had  his  Christian  mission-house,  and  was 


woo  or  invAxc.-uo.  85 

zealously  bringing  to  the  knowledge  of  a  great 
and  enlightened  people  the  still  greater  and  more 
helpful  light  of  Christianity. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  Nestorian  after  his 
words  of  thanks  were  uttered  ;  "  this  is  a  gracious 
deed  done  to  me,  and  one  that  I  may  not  easily 
repay.  Yet  would  I  gladly  do  so,  if  I  might.  Tell 
me  what  wouldst  thou  like  above  all  other  things?" 

The  answer  of  the  girl  was  as  ready  as  it  was  un- 
pected. 

"  To  be  a  boy,  O  master !  "  she  replied.  "  Let 
the  great  Shang-ti,*  whose  might  thou  teachest, 
make  me  a  man  that  I  may  have  revenge." 

The  good  priest  had  found  strange  things  in  his 
mission  work  in  this  far  Eastern  land,  but  this 
wrathful  demand  of  an  excited  little  maid  was  full 
as  strange  as  any.  For  China  is  and  ever  has  been 
a  land  in  which  the  chief  things  taught  the  children 
are,  "  subordination,  passive  submission  to  the  law, 
to  parents,  and  to  all  superiors,  and  a  peaceful  de- 
meanor." 

"  Revenge  is  not  for  men  to  trifle  with,  nor  maids 
to  talk  of,"  he  said.  "  Harbor  no  such  desires,  but 
rather  come  with  me  and  I  will  show  thee  more 
attractive  things.  This  very  day  doth  the  great 
emperor  go  forth  from  the  City  of  Peace,  f  to  the 

*  Almighty  r»eing. 

f  The  meaning  of  Chang-an,  the  ancient  capital  of  China,  is  "  the  City  of 
Continuous  Peace." 


86  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

banks  of  the  Yellow  River.  Come  thou  with  me  to 
witness  the  splendor  of  his  train,  and  perchance 
even  to  see  the  great  emperor  himself  and  the 
young  Prince  Kaou,  his  son." 

"That  I  will  not  then,"  cried  the  girl,  more  hotly 
than  before.  "  I  hate  this  great  emperor,  as  men 
do  wrongfully  call  him,  and  I  hate  the  young  Prince 
Kaou.  May  Lung  Wang,  the  god  of  the  dragons, 
dash  them  both  beneath  the  Yellow  River  ere  yet 
they  leave  its  banks  this  day." 

At  this  terrible  wish  on  the  lips  of  a  girl,  the  good 
master  very  nearly  forgot  even  his  most  valuable 
precept — never  to  be  surprised.  He  regarded  his 
defiant  young  companion  in  sheer  amazement. 

"  Have  a  care,  have  a  care,  my  daughter  !  "  he 
said  at  length.  "The  blessed  Saint  James  telleth 
us  that  the  tongue  is  a  little  member,  but  it  can 
kindle  a  great  fire.  How  mayst  thou  hope  to  say 
such  direful  words  against  the  Son  of  Heaven  *  and 
live  ? " 

"  The  Son  of  Heaven  killed  the  emperor,  my 
father,"  said  the  child. 

"The  emperor  thy  father  !  "  Thomas  the  Nesto- 
rian  almost  gasped  in  this  latest  surprise.  "  Is  the 
girl  crazed  or  doth  she  sport  with  one  who  seeketh 
her  good  ?  "  And  amazement  and  perplexity  settled 
upon  his  face. 

*  "  The  Son  of  Heaven  "  is  one  of  the  chief  titles  of  the  Chinese  em- 
peror. 


OF  HWAKG-HO.  S/ 

"  The  Princess  Woo  is  neither  crazed  nor  doth 
she  sport  with  the  master,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  do 
but  speak  the  truth.  Great  is  Tai-tsung.  Whom 
he  will  he  slayeth,  and  whom  he  will  he  keepeth 
alive."  And  then  she  told  the  astonished  priest 
that  the  bannerman  of  the  Dragon  Gate  was  not 
her  father  at  all.  For,  she  said,  as  she  had  lain 
awake  only  the  night  before,  she  had  heard  enough 
in  talk  between  the  bannerman  and  his  wife  to  learn 
her  secret — how  that  she  was  the  only  daughter  of 
the  rightful  emperor,  the  Prince  Kung-ti,  whose 
guardian  and  chief  adviser  the  present  emperor 
had  been  ;  how  this  trusted  protector  had  made 
away  with  poor  Kung-ti  in  order  that  he  might 
usurp  the  throne  ;  and  how  she,  the  Princess  Woo, 
had  been  flung  into  the  swift  Hwang-ho,  from  the 
turbid  waters  of  which  she  had  been  rescued  by  the 
bannerman  of  the  Dragon  Gate. 

"  This  may  or  may  not  be  so,"  Thomas  the  Nes- 
torian  said,  uncertain  whether  or  not  to  credit  the 
girl's  surprising  story  ;  "  but  even  were  it  true,  my 
daughter,  how  couldst  thou  right  thyself  ?  What 
can  a  girl  hope  to  do  ?" 

The  young  princess  drew  up  her  small  form 
proudly.  "  Do  ?  "  she  cried  in  brave  tones  ;  "  I  can 
do  much,  wise  O-lo-pun,  girl  though  I  am  !  Did  not 
a  girl  save  the  divine  books  of  Confucius,  when  the 
great  F.mperor  Chi-Hwang-ti  did  command  the 


88  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

burning  of  all  the  books  in  the  empire  ?  Did  not  a 
girl  —  though  but  a  soothsayer's  daughter  —  raise 
the  outlaw  Liu  Pang  straight  to  the  Yellow 
Throne?  And  shall  I,  who  am  the  daughter  of 
emperors,  fail  to  be  as  able  or  as  brave  as  they  ?  " 

The  wise  Nestorian  was  shrewd  enough  to  see 
that  here  was  a  prize  that  might  be  worth  the  fos- 
tering. By  the  assumption  of  mystic  knowledge, 
he  learned  from  the  bannerman  of  the  Dragon 
Gate,  the  truth  of  the  girl's  story,  and  so  worked 
upon  the  good  bannerman's  native  superstition  and 
awe  of  superior  power  as  to  secure  the  custody  of 
the  young  princess,  and  to  place  her  in  his  mission- 
house  at  Tung-Chow  for  teaching  and  guidance. 
Among  the  early  Christians,  the  Nestorians  held 
peculiarly  helpful  and  elevating  ideas  of  the  worth 
and  proper  condition  of  woman.  Their  precepts 
were  full  of  mutual  help,  courtesy,  and  fraternal 
love.  All  these  the  Princess  Woo  learned  under 
her  preceptor's  guidance.  She  grew  to  be  even 
more  assertive  and  self-reliant,  and  became,  also, 
expert  in  many  sports  in  which,  in  that  woman- 
despising  country,  only  boys  could  hope  to  excel. 

One  day,  when  she  was  about  fourteen  years  old, 
the  Princess  Woo  was  missing  from  the  Nestorian 
mission-house,  by  the  Yellow  River.  Her  troubled 
guardian,  in  much  anxiety,  set  out  to  find  the 
truant  ;  and,  finally,  in  the  course  of  his  search, 


WOO   OF  IIWANG-HO.  89 

climbed  the  high  bluff  from  which  he  saw  the 
massive  walls,  the  many  gateways,  the  gleaming 
roofs,  and  porcelain  towers  of  the  Imperial  city  of 
Chang-an — the  City  of  Continuous  Peace. 

But  even  before  he  had  entered  its  northern 
gate,  a  little  maid  in  loose  silken  robe,  peaked  cap, 
and  embroidered  shoes  had  passed  through  that 
very  gateway,  and  slipping  through  the  thronging 
streets  of  the  great  city,  approached  at  last  the 
group  of  picturesque  and  glittering  buildings  that 
composed  the  palace  of  the  great  Emperor  Tai. 

Just  within  the  main  gateway  of  the  palace  rose 
the  walls  of  the  Imperial  Academy,  where  eight 
thousand  Chinese  boys  received  instruction  under 
the  patronage  of  the  emperor,  while,  just  beyond 
extended  the  long,  low  range  of  the  archery  school, 
in  which  even  the  emperor  himself  sometimes  came 
to  witness,  or  take  part  in,  the  exciting  contests. 

Drawing  about  her  shoulders  the  yellow  sash  that 
denoted  alliance  with  royalty,  the  Princess  Woo, 
without  a  moment's  hesitation,  walked  straight 
through  the  palace  gateway,  past  the  wondering 
guards,  and  into  the  boundaries  of  the  archery  court. 

Here  the  young  Prince  Kaou,  an  indolent  and 
lazy  lad  of  about  her  own  age,  was  cruelly  goading 
on  his  trained  crickets  to  a  ferocious  fight  within 
their  gilded  bamboo  cage,  while,  just  at  hand,  the 
slaves  were  preparing  his  bow  and  arrows  for  his 
daily  archery  practice. 


90  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Now,  among  the  rulers  of  China  there  are  three 
classes  of  privileged  targets — the  skin  of  the  bear 
for  the  emperor  himself,  the  skin  of  the  deer  for 
the  princes  of  the  blood,  and  the  skin  of  the  tiger 
for  the  nobles  of  the  court  ;  and  thus,  side  by  side, 
in  the  Imperial  Archery  School  at  Chang-an,  hung 
the  three  targets. 

The  girl  with  the  royal  sash  and  the  determined 
face  walked  straight  up  to  the  Prince  Kaou.  The 
boy  left  off  goading  his  fighting  crickets,  and 
looked  in  astonishment  at  this  strange  and  highly 
audacious  girl,  who  dared  to  enter  a  place  from 
which  all  women  were  excluded.  Before  the  guards 
could  interfere,  she  spoke. 

"  Are  the  arrows  of  the  great  Prince  Kaou  so 
well  fitted  to  the  cord,"  she  said,  "  that  he  dares  to 
try  his  skill  with  one  who,  although  a  girl,  hath  yet 
the  wit  and  right  to  test  his  skill  ?  " 

The  guards  laid  hands  upon  the  intruder  to  drag 
her  away,  but  the  prince,  nettled  at  her  tone,  yet 
glad  to  welcome  any  thing  that  promised  novelty 
or  amusement,  bade  them  hold  off  their  hands. 

"  No  girl  speaketh  thus  to  the  Prince  Kaou  and 
liveth,"  he  said  insolently.  "  Give  me  instant  test 
of  thy  boast,  or  the  wooden  collar  *  in  the  palace 
torture-house,  shall  be  thy  fate." 

*  The  "  wooden  collar  "  was  the  "  kia  "  or  "  cangue," — a  terrible  instru- 
ment of  torture  used  in  China  for  the  punishment  of  criminals. 


WOO   OF  HWAXG-HO.  91 

"  Give  me  the  arrows,  Prince,"  the  girl  said, 
bravely,  "  and  I  will  make  good  my  words." 

At  a  sign,  the  slaves  handed  her  a  bow  and 
arrows.  But,  as  she  tried  the  cord  and  glanced 
along  the  polished  shaft,  the  prince  said  : 

"  Yet,  stay,  girl ;  here  is  no  target  set  for  thee. 
Let  the  slaves  set  up  the  people's  target.  These 
arc  not  for  such  as  them." 

"  Nay,  Prince,  fret  not  thyself,"  the  girl  coolly 
replied.  "  My  target  is  here  !  "  and  while  all  looked 
on  in  wonder,  the  undaunted  girl  deliberately  toed 
the  practice  line,  twanged  her  bow,  and  with  a  sud- 
den whiz,  sent  her  well-aimed  shaft  quivering 
straight  into  the  small  white  centre  of  the  great 
bearskin — the  imperial  target  itself  ! 

With  a  cry  of  horror  and  of  rage  at  such  sacri- 
lege, the  guards  pounced  upon  the  girl  archer, 
and  would  have  dragged  her  away.  But  with  the 
same  quick  motion  that  had  saved  her  from  the 
Tartar  robbers,  she  sprang  from  their  grasp  and, 
standing  full  before  the  royal  target,  she  said  com- 
mandingly  : 

"  Hands  off,  slaves ;  nor  dare  to  question  my 
right  to  the  bearskin  target.  I  am  the  Empress  ! " 

It  needed  but  this  to  cap  the  climax.  Prince, 
guards,  and  slaves  looked  at  this  extraordinary  girl 
in  open-mouthed  wonder.  But  ere  their  speechless 
amazement  could  change  to  instant  seizure,  a  loud 


92  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

laugh  rang  from  the  imperial  doorway  and  a  hearty 
voice  exclaimed  :  "  Braved,  and  by  a  girl  !  Who  is 
thy  Empress,  Prince  ?  Let  me,  too,  salute  the 
Tsih-tien  !"*  Then  a  portly  figure,  clad  in  yellow 
robes,  strode  down  to  the  targets,  while  all  within 
the  archery  lists  prostrated  themselves  in  homage 
before  one  of  China's  greatest  monarchs — the  Em- 
peror Tai-tsung,  Wun-woo-ti.f 

But  before  even  the  emperor  could  reach  the  girl, 
the  bamboo  screen  was  swept  hurriedly  aside,  and 
into  the  archery  lists  came  the  anxious  priest, 
Thomas  the  Nestorian.  He  had  traced  his  miss- 
ing charge  even  to  the  imperial  palace,  and  now 
found  her  in  the  very  presence  of  those  he  deemed 
her  mortal  enemies.  Prostrate  at  the  emperor's 
feet,  he  told  the  young  girl's  story,  and  then 
pleaded  for  her  life,  promising  to  keep  her  safe 
and  secluded  in  his  mission-home  at  Tung-Chow. 

The  Emperor  Tai  laughed  a  mighty  laugh,  for 
the  bold  front  of  this  only  daughter  of  his  former 
master  and  rival,  suited  his  warlike  humor.  But 
he  was  a  wise*  and  clement  monarch  withal. 

"  Nay,  wise  O-lo-pun,"  he  said.  "  Such  rivals  to 
our  throne  may  not  be  at  large,  even  though  shel- 
tered in  the  temples  of  the  hung-mao.\  The  royal 
blood  of  the  house  of  Sui§  flows  safely  only  within 

*  "  The  Sovereign  Divine  " — an  imperial  title, 
f  "Our  Exalted  Ancestor — the  Literary-Martial  Emperor." 
\  The  "light-haired  ones" — an  old  Chinese  term  for  the  western  Chris- 
tians. $  The  name  of  the  former  dynasty. 


93 


94  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

palace  walls.  Let  the  proper  decree  be  registered, 
and  let  the  gifts  be  exchanged  ;  for  to-morrow  thy 
ward,  the  Princess  Woo,  becometh  one  of  our  most 
noble  queens." 

And  so  at  fourteen,  even  as  the  records  show, 
this  strong-willed  young  girl  of  the  Yellow  River 
became  one  of  the  wives  of  the  great  Emperor  Tai. 
She  proved  a  very  gracious  and  acceptable  step- 
mother to  young  Prince  Kaou,  who,  as  the  records 
also  tell  us,  grew  so  fond  of  the  girl  queen  that, 
within  a  year  from  the  death  of  his  great  father, 
and  when  he  himself  had  succeeded  to  the  Yellow 
Throne,  as  Emperor  Supreme,  he  recalled  the 
Queen  Woo  from  her  retirement  in  the  mission- 
house  at  Tung-Chow  and  made  her  one  of  his 
royal  wives.  Five  years  after,  in  the  year  655,  she 
was  declared  Empress,  and  during  the  reign  of  her 
lazy  and  indolent  husband  she  was  "  the  power 
behind  the  throne."  And  when,  in  the  year  683, 
Kaou-tsung  died,  she  boldly  assumed  the  direction 
of  the  government,  and,  ascending  the  throne,  de- 
clared herself  Woo  How  Tsih-tien — Woo  the  Em- 
press Supreme  and  Sovereign  Divine. 

History  records  that  this  Zenobia  of  China 
proved  equal  to  the  great  task.  She  "  governed 
the  empire  with  discretion,"  extended  its  borders, 
and  was  acknowledged  as  empress  from  the  shores 
of  the  Pacific  to  the  borders  of  Persia,  of  India, 
and  of  the  Caspian  Sea. 


g(j  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Her  reign  was  one  of  the  longest  and  most  suc- 
cessful in  that  period  known  in  history  as  the 
Golden  Age  of  China.  Because  of  the  relentless 
native  prejudice  against  a  successful  woman,  in  a 
country  where  girl  babies  are  ruthlessly  drowned, 
as  the  quickest  way  of  ridding  the  world  of  useless 
incumbrances,  Chinese  historians  have  endeavored 
to  blacken  her  character  and  undervalue  her  serv- 
ices. But  later  scholars  now  see  that  she  was  a 
powerful  and  successful  queen,  who  did  great 
good  to  her  native  land,  and  strove  to  maintain  its 
power  and  glory. 

She  never  forgot  her  good  friend  and  protector, 
Thomas  the  Nestorian.  During  her  long  reign  of 
almost  fifty  years,  Christianity  strengthened  in  the 
kingdom,  and  obtained  a  footing  that  only  the 
great  Mahometan  conquests  of  five  centuries  later 
entirely  destroyed  ;  and  the  Empress  Woo,  so  the 
chronicles  declare,  herself  "  offered  sacrifices  to  the 
great  God  of  all."  When,  hundreds  of  years  after, 
the  Jesuit  missionaries  penetrated  into  this  most 
exclusive  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  they  found 
near  the  palace  at  Chang-an  the  ruins  of  the  Nes- 
torian mission  church,  with  the  cross  still  standing, 
and,  preserved  through  all  the  changes  of  dynasties, 
an  abstract  in  Syriac  characters  of  the  Christian  law, 
and  with  it  the  names  of  seventy-two  attendant  priests 
who  had  served  the  church  established  by  O-lo-pun. 


iroo  or  jn\TANG-HO.  97 

Thus,  in  a  land  in  which,  from  the  earliest  ages, 
women  have  been  regarded  as  little  else  but  slaves, 
did  a  self-possessed  and  wise  young  girl  triumph 
over  all  difficulties,  and  rule  over  her  many  millions 
of  subjects  "  in  a  manner  becoming  a  great  prince." 
This,  even  her  enemies  admit.  "  Lessening  the 
miseries  of  her  subjects,"  so  the  historians  declare, 
she  governed  the  wide  Empire  of  China  wisely, 
discreetly,  and  peacefully ;  and  she  displayed  upon 
the  throne  all  the  daring,  wit,  and  wisdom  that  had 
marked  her  actions  when,  years  before,  she  was 
nothing  but  a  sprightly  and  determined  little  Chi- 
nese maiden,  on  the  banks  of  the  turbid  Yellow  Riven 


EDITH   OF  SCOTLAND. 

THE  GIRL  OF  THE  NORMAN  ABBEY. 

[Afterward  known  as  the  "  Cood  Queen  Aland" 
'         .  of  England^     A.n.  1093. 

ON   a  broad  and  deep  window-seat  in  the  old 
Abbey  guest-house    at    Gloucester,  sat  two 
young  girls  of  thirteen  and  ten  ;  before  them, 
brave-looking  enough  in  his  old-time  costume,  stood 
a  manly   young  fellow  of  sixteen.     The  three  were 
in  earnest  conversation,  all  unmindful  of   the  noise 
about  them — the  romp  and  riot  of  a  throng  of  young 
folk,  attendants,   or  followers  of   the   knights   and 
barons  of  King  William's  court. 

For  William  Rufus,  son  of  the  Conqueror  and 
second  Norman  king  of  England,  held  his  Whit- 
suntide gemot,  or  summer  council  of  his  lords 

98 


EDITH   OF  SCOTLAND.  99 

and  lieges,  in  the  curious  old  Roman-Saxon-Nor- 
man town  of  Gloucester,  in  the  fair  vale  through 
which  flows  the  noble  Severn.  The  city  is  known 
to  the  young  folk  of  to-day  as  the  one  in  which 
good  .Robert  Raikes  started  the  first  Sunday- 
school  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago.  But  the 
fcnidf  of  King  William  the  Red,  which  was  a  far 
different  gathering  from  good  Mr.  Raikes'  Sunday- 
school,  was  held  in  the  great  chapter-house  of  the 
old  Benedictine  Abbey,  while  the  court  was  lodged 
in  the  Abbey  guest-houses,  in  the  grim  and  for- 
tress-like Gloucester  Castle,  and  in  the  houses  of 
the  quaint  old  town  itself. 

The  boy  was  shaking  his  head  rather  doubtfully 
as  he  stood,  looking  down  upon  the  two  girls  on 
the  broad  window-seat. 

"  Nay,  nay,  beausire  *  ;  shake  not  your  head  like 
that,"  exclaimed  the  younger  of  the  girls.  "  We 
did  escape  that  way,  trust  me  we  did  ;  Edith  here 
can  tell  you  I  clo  speak  the  truth — for  sure,  't  was 
her  device." 

Thirteen-year-old  Edith  laughed  merrily  enough 
at  her  sister's  perplexity,  and  said  gayly  as  the  lad 
turned  questioningly  to  her  : 

"Sure,  then,  beausire,  't  is  plain  to  see  that  you 
are  Southron-born  and  know  not  the  complexion  of 

*"  Fair  sir":  an  ancient  style  of  address,  used  especially  toward  those 
high  in  rank  in  Xorman  times. 


100  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

a  Scottish  mist.  Yet  't  is  even  as  Mary  said.  For, 
as  we  have  told  you,  the  Maiden's  Castle  standeth 
high-placed  on  the  crag  in  Edwin's  Burgh,  and 
hath  many  and  devious  pathways  to  the  lower  gate. 
So  when  the  Red  Donald's  men  were  swarming  up 
the  steep,  my  uncle,  the  Atheling,  did  guide  us,  by 
ways  we  knew  well,  and  by  twists  and  turnings  that 
none  knew  better,  straight  through  Red  Donald's 
array,  and  all  unseen  and  unnoted  of  them,  because 
of  the  blessed  thickness  of  the  gathering  mist." 

"  And  this  was  your  device  ?"  asked  the  boy,  ad- 
miringly. 

"  Ay,  but  any  one  might  have  devised  it  too," 
replied  young  Edith,  modestly.  "  Sure,  't  was  no 
great  device  to  use  a  Scotch  mist  for  our  safety, 
and  't  were  wiser  to  chance  it  than  stay  and  be 
stupidly  murdered  by  Red  Donald's  men.  And  so 
it  was,  good  Robert,  even  as  Mary  did  say,  that  we 
came  forth  unharmed,  from  amidst  them  and  fled 
here  to  King  William's  court,  where  we  at  last  are 
safe." 

"  Safe,  say  you  ;  safe  ? "  exclaimed  the  lad,  im- 
pulsively. "  Ay,  as  safe  as  is  a  mouse's  nest  in  a 
cat's  ear — as  safe  as  is  a  rabbit  in  a  ferret's  hutch. 
But  that  I  know  you  to  be  a  brave  and  dauntless 
maid,  I  should  say  to  you — 

But,  ere  Edith  could  know  what  he  would  say, 
their  conference  was  rudely  broken  in  upon.  For 


/./vy//  or  SCOTLAND.  ioi 

a  royal  page,  dashing  up  to  the  three,  with  scant 
courtesy  seized  the  arm  of  the  elder  girl,  and  said 
hurriedly  : 

"  Haste  ye,  haste  ye,  my  lady  !  Our  lord  king 
is  even  now  calling  for  you  to  come  before  him  in 
the  banquet-hall." 

Edith  knew  too  well  the  rough  manners  of  those 
dangerous  days.  She  freed  herself  from  the  grasp 
of  the  page,  and  said  : 

"  Nay,  that  may  I  not,  master  page.  T  is  neither 
safe  nor  seemly  for  a  maid  to  show  herself  in  baron's 
hall  or  in  king's  banquet-room." 

"  Safe  and  seemly  it  may  not  be,  but  come  you 
must,"  said  the  page,  rudely.  "  The  king  demands 
it,  and  your  nay  is  naught." 

And  so,  hurried  along  whether  she  would  or  no, 
while  her  friend,  Robert  Fitz  Godwine,  accom- 
panied her  as  far  as  he  dared,  the  young  Princess 
Edith  was  speedily  brought  into  the  presence  of 
the  king  of  England,  William  II.,  called,  from  the 
color  of  his  hair  and  from  his  fiery  temper,  Rufus, 
or  "the  Red." 

For  Edith  and  Mary  were  both  princesses  of 
Scotland,  with  a  history,  even  before  they  had 
reached  their  teens,  as  romantic  as  it  was  exciting. 
Their  mother,  an  exiled  Saxon  princess,  had,  after 
the  conquest  of  Saxon  England  by  the  stern  Duke 
William  the  Norman,  found  refuge  in  Scotland,  and 


IO2  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

had  there  married  King  Malcolm  Canmore,  the  son 
of  that  King  Duncan  whom  Macbeth  had  slain. 
But  when  King  Malcolm  had  fallen  beneath  the 
walls  of  Alnwick  Castle,  a  victim  to  English  treach- 
ery, and  when  his  fierce  brother  Donald  Bane,  or 
Donald  the  Red,  had  usurped  the  throne  of  Scot- 
land, then  the  good  Queen  Margaret  died  in  the 
gray  castle  on  the  rock  of  Edinburgh,  and  the  five 
orphaned  children  were  only  saved  from  the  ven- 
geance of  their  bad  uncle  Donald  by  the  shrewd 
and  daring  device  of  the  young  Princess  Edith,  who 
bade  their  good  uncle  Edgar,  the  Atheling,  guide 
them,  under  cover  of  the  mist,  straight  through  the 
Red  Donald's  knights  and  spearmen  to  England 
and  safety. 

You  would  naturally  suppose  that  the  worst  pos- 
sible place  for  the  fugitives  to  seek  safety  was  in 
Norman  England  ;  for  Edgar  the  Atheling,  a  Saxon 
prince,  had  twice  been  declared  king  of  England 
by  the  Saxon  enemies  of  the  Norman  conquerors, 
and  the  children  of  King  Malcolm  and  Queen  Mar- 
garet— half  Scotch,  half  Saxon — were,  by  blood  and 
birth,  of  the  two  races  most  hateful  to  the  con- 
querors. But  the  Red  King  in  his  rough  sort  of 
way — hot  to-day  and  cold  to-morrow — had  shown 
something  almost  like  friendship  for  this  Saxon 
Atheling,  or  royal  prince,  who  might  have  been 
king  of  England  had  he  not  wisely  submitted  to 


EDITH   OF   SCOTLAND.  103 

the  greater  power  of  Duke  William  the  Conqueror 
and  to  the  Red  William,  his  son.  More  than  this, 
it  had  been  rumored  that  some  two  years  before, 
when  there  was  truce  between  the  kings  of  Eng- 
land and  of  Scotland,  this  harsh  and  headstrong 
English  king,  who  was  as  rough  and  repelling  as  a 
chestnut  burr,  had  seen,  noticed,  and  expressed  a 
particular  interest  in  the  eleven-year-old  Scottish 
girl — this  very  Princess  Edith  who  now  sought  his 
protection. 

So,  when  this  wandering  uncle  boldly  threw 
himself  upon  Norman  courtesy,  and  came  with  his 
homeless  nephews  and  nieces  straight  to  the  Nor- 
man court  for  safety,  King  William  Rufus  not  only 
received  these  children  of  his  hereditary  foeman 
with  favor  and  royal  welcome,  but  gave  them 
comfortable  lodgment  in  quaint  old  Gloucester 
town,  where  he  held  his  court. 

But  even  when  the  royal  fugitives  deemed  them- 
selves safest  were  they  in  the  greatest  danger. 

Among  the  attendant  knights  and  nobles  of 
King  William's  court  was  a  Saxon  knight  known 
as  Sir  Ordgar,  a  "  thegn,"*  or  baronet,  of  Oxford- 
shire ;  and  because  those  who  change  their  opin- 
ions— political  or  otherwise — often  prove  the  most 
unrelenting  enemies  of  their  former  associates,  it 
came  to  pass  that  Sir  Ordgar,  the  Saxon,  conceived 

*  Pronounced  thane. 


104  HISTORIC   CIRLS. 

a  strong  dislike  for  these  orphaned  descendants  of 
the  Saxon  kings,  and  convinced  himself  that  the 
best  way  to  secure  himself  in  the  good  graces  of 
the  Norman  King  William  was  to  slander  and 
accuse  the  children  of  the  Saxon  Queen  Margaret. 

And  so  that  very  day,  in  the  great  hall,  when 
wine  was  flowing  and  passions  were  strong,  this 
false  knight,  raising  his  glass,  bade  them  all  drink  : 
"  Confusion  to  the  enemies  of  our  liege  the  king, 
from  the  base  Philip  of  France  to  the  baser  Edgar 
the  Atheling  and  his  Scottish  brats  ! " 

This  was  an  insult  that  even  the  heavy  and 
peace-loving  nature  of  Edgar  the  Atheling  could 
not  brook.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  denounced 
the  charge  : 

"  None  here  is  truer  or  more  leal  to  you,  lord 
king,"  he  said,  "  than  am  I,  Edgar  the  Atheling, 
and  my  charges,  your  guests." 

But  King  William  Rufus  was  of  that  changing 
temper  that  goes  with  jealousy  and  suspicion.  His 
flushed  face  grew  still  more  red,  and,  turning  away 
from  the  Saxon  prince,  he  demanded  : 

"  Why  make  you  this  charge,  Sir  Ordgar  ?  " 

"  Because  of  of  its  truth,  beausire,"  said  the  faith- 
less knight.  "  For  what  other  cause  hath  this  false 
Atheling  sought  sanctuary  here,  save  to  use  his 
own  descent  from  the  ancient  kings  of  this  realm 
to  make  head  and  force  among  your  lieges  ?  And 


EDITH  OF  SCOTLAND.  1 05 

his  eldest  kinsgirl  here,  the  Princess  Edith,  hath 
she  not  been  spreading  a  trumpery  story  among 
the  younger  folk,  of  how  some  old  wyrdwif* 
hath  said  that  she  who  is  the  daughter  of  kings 
shall  be  the  wife  and  mother  of  kings  ?  And 
is  it  not  further  true  that  when  her  aunt,  the  Ab- 
bess of  Romsey,  bade  her  wear  the  holy  veil,  she 
hath  again  and  yet  again  torn  it  off,  and  affirmed 
that  she,  who  was  to  be  a  queen,  could  never  be 
made  a  nun  ?  Children  and  fools,  't  is  said,  do 
speak  the  truth,  beausire  ;  and  in  all  this  do  I  see 
the  malice  and  device  of  this  false  Atheling,  the 
friend  of  your  rebellious  brother,  Duke  Robert, 
as  you  do  know  him  to  be  ;  and  I  do  brand  him 
here,  in  this  presence,  as  traitor  and  recreant  to 
you,  his  lord." 

The  anger  of  the  jealous  king  grew  more  un- 
reasoning as  Sir  Ordgar  went  on. 

"  Enough  !  "  he  cried.  "  Seize  the  traitor,  - 
or,  stay  ;  children  and  fools,  as  you  have  said,  Sir 
Ordgar,  do  indeed  speak  the  truth.  Have  in  the 
girl  and  let  us  hear  the  truth.  '  Not  seemly  '  ?  Sir 
Atheling/'  he  broke  out  in  reply  to  some  protest 
of  Edith's  uncle.  "  Aught  is  seemly  that  the  king 
doth  wish.  Holo  !  Raoul  !  Damian  !  sirrah  pages  ! 
Run,  one  of  you,  and  seek  the  Princess  Edith,  and 
bring  her  here  forthwith  !  " 

*  Witch-wife  or  seeress. 


IO6  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

And  while  Edgar  the  Atheling,  realizing  that 
this  was  the  gravest  of  all  his  dangers,  strove, 
though  without  effect,  to  reason  with  the  angry 
king,  Damian,  the  page,  as  we  have  seen,  hurried 
after  the  Princess  Edith. 

"  How  now,  mistress  !  "  broke  out  the  Red 
King,  as  the  young  girl  was  ushered  into  the 
banquet-hall,  where  the  disordered  tables,  strewn 
with  fragments  of  the  feast,  showed  the  ungentle 
manners  of  those  brutal  days.  "  How  now,  mis- 
tress !  do  you  prate  of  kings  and  queens  and  of 
your  own  designs — you,  who  are  but  a  beggar 
guest  ?  Is  it  seemly  or  wise  to  talk, — nay,  keep 
you  quiet,  Sir  Atheling ;  we  will  have  naught  from 
you, — to  talk  of  thrones  and  crowns  as  if  you  did 
even  now  hope  to  win  the  realm  from  me — from 
me,  your  only  protector  ?  " 

The  Princess  Edith  was  a  very  high-spirited 
maiden,  as  all  the  stories  of  her  girlhood  show. 
And  this  unexpected  accusation,  instead  of  fright- 
ening her,  only  served  to  embolden  her.  She 
looked  the  angry  monarch  full  in  the  face. 

"  'T  is  a  false  and  lying  charge,  lord  king,"  she 
said,  "  from  whomsoever  it  may  come.  Naught 
have  I  said  but  praise  of  you  and  your  courtesy  to 
us  motherless  folk.  'T  is  a  false  and  lying  charge  ; 
and  I  am  ready  to  stand  test  of  its  proving,  come 
what  may." 


io7 


108  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

"  Even  to  the  judgment  of  God,  girl  ? "  de- 
manded the  king. 

And  the  brave  girl  made  instant  reply  :  "  Even 
to  the  judgment  of  God,  lord  king."  Then,  skilled 
in  all  the  curious  customs  of  those  warlike  times, 
she  drew  off  her  glove.  "  Whosoever  my  accuser  be, 
lord  king,"  she  said,  "  I  do  denounce  him  as  fore- 
sworn and  false,  and  thus  do  I  throw  myself  upon 
God's  good  mercy,  if  it  shall  please  him  to  raise  me 
up  a  champion."  And  she  flung  her  glove  upon  the 
floor  of  the  hall,  in  face  of  the  king  and  all  his  barons. 

It  was  a  bold  thing  for  a  girl  to  do,  and  a  mur- 
mur of  applause  ran  through  even  that  unfriendly 
throng.  For,  to  stand  the  test  of  a  "  wager  of 
battle,"  or  the  "  judgment  of  God,"  as  the  savage 
contest  was  called,  was  the  last  resort  of  any  one 
accused  of  treason  or  of  crime.  It  meant  no  less 
than  a  "  duel  to  the  death  "  between  the  accuser 
and  the  accused  or  their  accepted  champions,  and, 
upon  the  result  of  the  duel  hung  the  lives  of  those 
in  dispute.  And  the  Princess  Edith's  glove  lying- 
on  the  floor  of  the  Abbey  hall  was  her  assertion 
that  she  had  spoken  the  truth  and  was  willing  to- 
risk  her  life  in  proof  of  her  innocence. 

Edgar  the  Atheling,  peace-lover,  though  he  wasr 
would  gladly  have  accepted  the  post  of  champion 
for  his  niece,  but,  as  one  also  involved  in  the  charge 
of  treason,  such  action  was  denied  him. 


KDI'l/f   OF  SCOTLAND.  1 09 

For  the  moment,  the  Red  King's  former  admira- 
tion for  this  brave  young  princess  caused  him  to 
waver  ;  but  those  were  days  when  suspicion  and 
jealousy  rose  above  all  nobler  traits.  His  face 
grew  stern  again. 

"  Ordgar  of  Oxford,"  he  said,  "  take  up  the 
glove  ! "  and  Edith  knew  who  was  her  accuser. 
Then  the  King  asked  :  "  Who  standeth  as  cham- 
pion for  Edgar  the  Atheling  and  this  maid,  his 
niece  ?" 

Almost  before  the  words  were  spoken  young 
Robert  Fitz  Godwine  had  sprung  to  Edith's  side. 

"  That  would  I,  lord  king,  if  a  young  squire 
might  appear  against  a  belted  knight  !  " 

"  Ordgar  of  Oxford  fights  not  with  boys  ! "  said 
the  accuser  contemptuously. 

The  king's  savage  humor  broke  out  again. 

"  Face  him  with  your  own  page,  Sir  Ordgar," 
he  said,  with  a  grim  laugh.  "  Boy  against  boy 
would  be  a  fitting  wager  for  a  young  maid's  life." 

But  the  Saxon  knight  was  in  no  mood  for  sport. 

"  Nay,  beausire  ;  this  is  no  child's  play,"  he  said. 
"  I  care  naught  for  this  girl.  I  stand  as  champion 
for  the  king  against  yon  traitor  Atheling  ;  and  if 
the  maiden's  cause  is  his,  why  then  against  her  too. 
This  is  a  man's  quarrel." 

Young  Robert  would  have  spoken  yet  again  as 
his  face  flushed  hot  with  anger  at  the  knight's  con- 


110  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

temptuous  words.  But  a  firm  hand  was  laid  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  a  strong  voice  said  : 

"  Then  is  it  mine,  Sir  Ordgar.  If  between  man 
and  man,  then  will  I,  with  the  gracious  permission 
of  our  lord  the  king,  stand  as  champion  for  this 
maiden  here  and  for  my  good  lord,  the  noble 
Atheling,  whose  liegeman  and  whose  man  am  I, 
next  to  you,  lord  king."  And,  taking  the  mate  to 
the  glove  which  the  Princess  Edith  had  flung  down 
in  defiance,  he  thrust  it  into  the  guard  of  his  cappe- 
line,  or  iron  skull-cap,  in  token  that  he,  Godwine  of 
Winchester,  the  father  of  the  boy  Robert,  was  the 
young  girl's  champion. 

Three  days  after,  in  the  tilt-yard  of  Gloucester 
Castle,  the  wager  of  battle  was  fought.  It  was  no 
gay  tournament  show  with  streaming  banners, 
gorgeous  lists,  gayly  dressed  ladies,  flower-bedecked 
balconies,  and  all  the  splendid  display  of  a  tourney 
of  the  knights,  of  which  you  read  in  the  stories  of 
romance  and  chivalry.  It  was  a  solemn  and  sombre 
gathering  in  which  all  the  arrangements  suggested 
only  death  and  gloom,  while  the  accused  waited  in 
suspense,  knowing  that  halter  and  fagot  were  pre- 
pared for  them  should  their  champion  fall.  In 
quaint  and  crabbed  Latin  the  old  chronicler,  John 
of  Fordun,  tells  the  story  of  the  fight,  for  which 
there  is  neither  need  nor  space  here.  The  glove 
of  each  contestant  was  flung  into  the  lists  by  the 


/•.7V  777   OF  SCOTLAND.  Ill 

judge,  and  the  dispute  committed  for  settlement  to 
the  power  of  God  and  their  own  good  swords.  It 
is  a  stirring  picture  of  those  days  of  daring  and  of 
might,  when  force  took  the  place  of  justice,  and  the 
deadliest  blows  were  the  only  convincing  argu- 
ments. But,  though  supported  by  the  favor  of  the 
king  and  the  display  of  splendid  armor,  Ordgar's 
treachery  had  its  just  reward.  Virtue  triumphed, 
and  vice  was  punished.  Even  while  treacherously 
endeavoring  (after  being  once  disarmed)  to  stab 
the  brave  Godwine  with  a  knife  which  he  had  con- 
cealed in  his  boot,  the  faLc  Sir  Orclgar  was  over- 
come, confessed  the  falsehood  of  his  "charge  against 
Edgar  the  Atheling  and  Edith  his  niece,  and,  as 
the  quaint  old  record  has  it,  "  The  strength  of  his 
grief  and  the  multitude  of  his  wounds  drove  out  his 
impious  soul." 

So  young  Edith  was  saved  ;  and,  as  is  usually 
the  case  with  men  of  his  character,  the  Red  King's 
humor  changed  completely.  The  victorious  God- 
wine  received  the  arms  and  lands  of  the  dead 
Ordgar  ;  Edgar  the  Atheling  was  raised  high  in 
trust  and  honor  ;  the  throne  of  Scotland,  wrested 
from  the  Red  Donald,  was  placed  once  more  in  the 
family  of  King  Malcolm,  and  King  William  Rufus 
himself  became  the  guardian  and  protector  of  the 
Princess  Edith. 

And  when,  one  fatal  August  day,  the  Red  Kino- 


112  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

was  found  pierced  by  an  arrow  under  the  trees  of 
the  New  Forest,  his  younger  brother,  Duke  Henry, 
whom  men  called  Beauclerc,  "  the  good  scholar," 
for  his  love  of  learning  and  of  books,  ascended  the 
throne  of  England  as  King  Henry  I.  And  the 
very  year  of  his  accession,  on  the  nth  of  Novem- 
ber, 1 100,  he  married,  in  the  Abbey  of  Westminster, 
the  Princess  Edith  of  Scotland,  then  a  fair  young 
lady  of  scarce  twenty-one.  At  the  request  of  her 
husband  she  took,  upon  her  coronation  day,  the 
Norman  name  of  Matilda,  or  Maud,  and  by  this 
name  she  is  known  in  history  and  among  the 
queens  of  England. 

So  scarce  four  and  thirty  years  after  the  Norman 
conquest,  a  Saxon  princess  sat  upon  the  throne 
of  Norman  England,  the  loving  wife  of  the  son  of 
the  very  man  by  whom  Saxon  England  was  con- 
quered. 

"  Never,  since  the  battle  of  Hastings,"  says  Sir 
Francis  Palgrave,  the  historian,  "  had  there  been 
such  a  joyous  day  as  when  Queen  Maud  was 
crowned."  Victors  and  vanquished,  Normans  and 
Saxons,  were  united  at  last,  and  the  name  of 
"  Good  Queen  Maud  "  was  long  an  honored  mem- 
ory among  the  people  of  England. 

And  she  was  a  good  queen.  In  a  time  of  bitter 
tyranny,  when  the  common  people  were  but  the 
serfs  and  slaves  of  the  haughty  and  cruel  barons, 


EDIT  If   OF   SCOTLAND.  113 

this  young  queen  labored  to  bring  in  kindlier  man- 
ners and  more  gentle  ways.  Beautiful  in  face,  she 
was  still  more  lovely  in  heart  and  life.  Her  influ- 
ence upon  her  husband,  Henry  the  scholar,  was 
seen  in  the  wise  laws  he  made,  and  the  "  Charter 
of  King  Henry  "  is  said  to  have  been  gained  by  her 
intercession.  This  important  paper  was  the  first 
step  toward  popular  liberty.  It  led  the  way  to 
Magna  Charta,  and  finally  to  our  own  Declaration 
of  Independence.  The  boys  and  girls  of  America, 
therefore,  in  common  with  those  of  England,  can 
look  back  with  interest  and  affection  upon  the 
romantic  story  of  "  Good  Queen  Maud,"  the  brave- 
hearted  girl  who  showed  herself  wise  and  fearless 
both  in  the  perilous  mist  at  Edinburgh,  and,  later 
still,  in  the  yet  greater  dangers  of  "  the  black  lists 
of  Gloucester." 


COUNT   WILLIAM  OF   HAINAULT,  of 
Zealand  and  Friesland,    Duke  of  Bavaria 
and  Sovereign  Lord  of  Holland,  held  his 
court    in    the    great,    straggling    castle    which    he 
called  his    "  hunting  lodge,"   near  to  the  German 

114 


JACQUELINE   OF  HOLLAND.  115 

Ocean,  and    since   known   by  the   name   of   "  The 
Hague."  * 

Count  William  was  a  gallant  and  courtly  knight, 
learned  in  all  the  ways  of  chivalry,  the  model  of  the 
younger  cavaliers,  handsome  in  person,  noble  in 
bearing,  the  surest  lance  in  the  tilting-yard,  and 
the  stoutest  arm  in  the  foray. 

Like  "  Jephtha,  Judge  of  Israel,"  of  whom  the 
mock-mad  Hamlet  sang  to  Polonius,  Count  William 
had 

"  One  fair  daughter,  and  no  more, 
The  which  he  loved  passing  well  "  ; 

and,  truth  to  tell,  this  fair  young  Jacqueline,  the 
little   "  Lady   of    Holland,"   as    men    called   her,— 
but  whom  Count  William,  because  of  her  fearless 
antics  and  boyish  ways,  called  "  Dame  Jacob,"  * — 
loved  her  knightly  father  with  equal  fervor. 

As  she  sat,  that  day,  in  the  great  Hall  of  the 
Knights  in  the  massive  castle  at  The  Hague,  she 
could  see,  among  all  the  knights  and  nobles  who 
came  from  far  and  near  to  join  in  the  festivities  at 
Count  William's  court,  not  one  that  approached  her 
father  in  nobility  of  bearing  or  manly  strength— 
not  even  her  husband. 

"The  Hague"  is  a  contraction  of  the  Dutch  's  Gravenhage-—\\\z  /mag^ 
or  "hunting  lodge,"  of  the  Graf,  or  count. 

t  Jacqueline  is  the  French  rendering  of  the   Dutch   Jakobine — the  femi- 
nine of  Jakob,  or  James. 


Il6  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

Her  husband  ?  Yes.  For  this  little  maid  of 
thirteen  had  been  for  eight  years  the  wife  of  the 
Dauphin  of  France,  the  young  Prince  John  of  Tou- 
raine,  to  whom  she  had  been  married  when  she 
was  scarce  five  years  old  and  he  barely  nine. 
Surrounded  by  all  the  pomp  of  an  age  of  glitter 
and  display,  these  royal  children  lived  in  their 
beautiful  castle  of  Quesnoy,  in  Flanders,*  when 
they  were  not,  as  at  the  time  of  our  story,  residents 
at  the  court  of  the  powerful  Count  William  of 
Holland. 

Other  young  people  were  there,  too, — nobles 
and  pages  and  little  ladies-in-waiting ;  and  there 
was  much  of  the  stately  ceremonial  and  flowery 
talk  that  in  those  days  of  knighthood  clothed  alike 
the  fears  of  cowards  and  the  desires  of  heroes.  For 
there  have  always  been  heroes  and  cowards  in  the 
world. 

And  so,  between  all  these  young  folk,  there  was 
much  boastful  talk  and  much  harmless  gossip  : 
how  the  little  Lady  of  Courtrai  had  used  the  wrong 
corner  of  the  towel  yesterday  ;  how  the  fat  Duchess 
of  Enkhuysen  had  violated  the  laws  of  all  etiquette 
by  placing  the  wrong  number  of  finger-bowls  upon 
her  table  on  St.  Jacob's  Day  ;  and  how  the  stout 
young  Hubert  of  Malsen  had  scattered  the  rascal 
merchants  of  Dort  at  their  Shrovetide  fair. 

*  Now  Northeastern  F ranee. 


JACQUELINE   OF  HOLLAND.  II? 

Then  uprose  the  young  Lord  of  Arkell. 

"  Hold,  there  !"  he  cried  hotly.  "  This  Hubert 
of  Malsen  is  but  a  craven,  sirs,  if  he  doth  say  the 
merchants  of  Dort  are  rascal  cowards.  Had  they 
been  fairly  mated,  he  had  no  more  dared  to  put 
his  nose  within  the  gates  of  Dort  than  dare  one  of 
you  here  to  go  down  yonder  amid  Count  William's 
lions  ! " 

"  Have  a  care,  friend  Otto,"  said  the  little  Lady 
of  Holland,  with  warning  finger  ;  "  there  is  one 
here,  at  least,  who  dareth  to  go  amid  the  lions — 
my  father,  sir." 

"  I  said  nothing  of  him,  madam,"  replied  Count 
Otto.  "  I  did  mean  these  young  red  hats  here, 
who  do  no  more, dare  to  bait  your  father's  lions 
than  to  face  the  Cods  of  Dort  in  fair  and  equal 

fight." 

At  this  bold  speech  there  was  instant  commo- 
tion. For  the  nobles  and  merchants  of  Holland, 
four  centuries  and  a  half  ago,  were  at  open  strife 
with  one  another.  The  nobles  saw  in  the  increas- 
ing prosperity  of  the  merchants  the  end  of  their 
own  feudal  power  and  tyranny.  The  merchants 
recognized  in  the  arrogant  nobles  the  only  bar  to 
the  growth  of  Holland's  commercial  enterprise: 
So  each  faction  had  its  leaders,  its  partisans,  its 
badges,  and  its  followers.  Many  and  bloody  were 
the  feuds  and  fights  that  raged  through  all  those 


Il8  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

low-lying  lands  of  Holland,  as  the  nobles,  or 
"  Hooks,"  as  they  were  called — distinguishable  by 
their  big  red  hats, — and  the  merchants,  or  "Cods," 
with  their  slouch  hats  of  quiet  gray,  struggled  for 
the  lead  in  the  state.  And  how  they  did  hate  one 
another ! 

Certain  of  the  younger  nobles,  however,  who 
were  opposed  to  the  reigning  house  of  Holland,  of 
which  Count  William,  young  Jacqueline's  father, 
was  the  head,  had  espoused  the  cause  of  the  mer- 
chants, seeing  in  their  success  greater  prosperity 
and  wealth  for  Holland.  Among  these  had  been 
the  young  Lord  of  Arkell,  now  a  sort  of  half  pris- 
oner at  Count  William's  court  because  of  certain 
bold  attempts  to  favor  the  Cods  in  his  own  castle 
of  Arkell.  His  defiant  words  therefore  raised  a 
storm  of  protests. 

"  Nay,  then,  Lord  of  Arkell,"  said  the  Dauphin 
John,  "you,  who  prate  so  loudly,  would  better 
prove  your  words  by  some  sign  of  your  own  valor 
You  may  have  dared  fight  your  lady  mother,  who 
so  roundly  punished  you  therefor,  but  a  lion  hath 
not  the  tender  ways  of  a  woman.  Face  you  the 
lions,  lord  count,  and  I  will  warrant  me  they  will 
not  prove  as  forbearing  as  did  she." 

It  was  common  talk  at  Count  William's  court 
that  the  brave  Lady  of  Arkell,  mother  of  the  Count 
Otto,  had  made  her  way,  disguised,  into  the  castle 


JACQUELINE   OF  HOLLAND.  1 19 

of  her  son,  had  herself  lowered  the  drawbridge, 
admitted  her  armed  retainers,  overpowered  and 
driven  out  her  rebellious  son  ;  and  that  then,  re- 
lenting, she  had  appealed  to  Count  William  to  par- 
don the  lad  and  to  receive  him  at  court  as  hostage 
for  his  own  fealty.  So  this  fling  of  the  Dauphin's 
cut  deep. 

But  before  the  young  Otto  could  return  an  angry 
answer,  Jacqueline  had  interfered. 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  lord,"  she  said  to  her  husband, 
the  Dauphin  ;  "  't  is  not  a  knightly  act  thus  to  im- 
peach the  honor  of  a  noble  guest." 

But  now  the  Lord  of  Arkell  had  found  his 
tongue. 

"  My  lord  prince,"  he  said,  bowing  low  with 
stately  courtesy,  "  if,  as  my  lady  mother  and  good 
Count  William  would  force  me,  I  am  to  be  loyal 
vassal  to  you,  my  lieges  here,  I  should  but  follow 
where  you  dare  to  lead.  Go  you  into  the  lions' 
den,  lord  prince,  and  I  will  follow  you,  though  it 
were  into  old  Hercules'  very  teeth." 

It  was-  a  shrewd  reply,  and  covered  as  good  a 
"  double-dare  "  as  ever  one  boy  made  to  another. 
Some  of  the  manlier  of  the  young  courtiers  indeed 
even  dared  to  applaud.  But  the  Dauphin  John 
was  stronger  in  tongue  than  in  heart. 

"  Pcste  / "  he  cried  contemptuously.  "  T  is  a 
fool's  answer  and  a  fool's  will.  And  well  shall  we 


120  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

see  now  how  you  will  sneak  out  of  it  all.  See, 
Lord  of  Arkell,  you  who  can  prate  so  loudly  of 
Cods  and  lions  :  here  before  all,  I  dare  you  to  face 
Count  William's  lions  yourself  !  " 

The  young  Lord  of  Arkell  was  in  his  rich  court 
suit — a  tight-fitting,  great-sleeved  silk  jacket,  rich, 
violet  chausses,  or  tights,  and  pointed  shoes.  But 
without  a  word,  with  scarce  a  look  toward  his 
challenger,  he  turned  to  his  nearest  neighbor,  a 
brave  Zealand  lad,  afterward  noted  in  Dutch  his- 
tory— Francis  von  Borselen. 

"  Lend  me  your  gabardine,  friend  Franz,  will  you 
not  ?"  he  said. 

The  young  von  Borselen  took  from  the  back  of 
the  settle,  over  which  it  was  flung,  his  gabardine— 
the  long,  loose  gray  cloak  that  was  a  sort  of  over- 
coat in  those  days  of  queer  costume. 

"  It  is  here,  my  Otto,"  he  said. 

The  Lord  of  Arkell  drew  the  loose  gray  cloak 
over  his  rich  silk  suit,  and  turned  toward  the  door. 

"  Otto  von  Arkell  lets  no  one  call  him  fool  or 
coward,  lord  prince,"  he  said.  "  What  I  have 
dared  you  all  to  do,  /  dare  do,  if  you  do  not.  See, 
now  :  I  will  face  Count  William's  lions  ! " 

The  Princess  Jacqueline  sprang  up  in  protest. 

"  No,  no  ;  you  shall  not !"  she  cried.  "  My  lord 
prince  did  but  jest,  as  did  we  all.  John,"  she  said, 
turning  appealingly  to  her  young  husband,  who  sat 


JACQUELINE    OF  HOLLAND.  121 

sullen  and  unmoved,  "  tell  him  you  meant  no  such 
murderous  test.  My  father  ! "  she  cried,  turning 
now  toward  Count  William,  whose  attention  had 
been  drawn  to  the  dispute,  "  the  Lord  of  Arkell  is 
pledged  to  face  your  lions  ! " 

Count  William  of  Holland  dearly  loved  pluck 
and  nerve. 

"  Well,  daughter  mine,"  he  said,  "  then  will  he 
keep  his  pledge.  Friend  Otto  is  a  brave  young 
gallant,  else  had  he  never  dared  raised  spear  and 
banner,  as  he  did,  against  his  rightful  liege." 

"  But,  my  father,"  persisted  the  gentle-hearted 
girl,  "  spear  and  banner  are  not  lions'  jaws.  And 
surely  you  may  not  in  honor  permit  the  wilful 
murder  of  a  hostage." 

"  Nay,  madam,  have  no  fear,"  the  Lord  of  Arkell 
said,  bending  in  courteous  recognition  of  her  inter- 
est ;  "  that  which  I  do  of  mine  own  free  will  is  no 
murder,  even  should  it  fail." 

And  he  hastened  from  the  hall. 

A  raised  gallery  looked  down  into  the  spacious 
inclosure  in  which  Count  William  kept  the  living 
specimens  of  his  own  princely  badge  of  the  lion. 
And  here  the  company  gathered  to  see  the  sport. 

With  the  gray  gabardine  drawn  but  loosely  over 
his  silken  suit,  so  that  he  might,  if  need  be,  easily 
slip  from  it,  Otto  von  Arkell  boldly  entered  the 
inclosure. 


122  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

"  Soho,  Juno  !  up,  Hercules;  hollo,  up,  Ajax!" 
cried  Count  William,  from  the  balcony.  "  Here 
cometh  a  right  royal  playfellow — up,  up,  my  beau- 
ties !  "  and  the  great  brutes,  roused  by  the  voice  of 
their  master,  pulled  themselves  up,  shook  them- 
selves awake,  and  stared  at  the  intruder. 

Boldly  and  without  hesitation,  while  all  the 
watchers  had  eyes  but  for  him  alone,  the  young 
Lord  of  Arkell  walked  straight  up  to  Hercules,  the 
largest  of  the  three,  and  laid  his  hand  caressingly 
upon  the  shaggy  mane.  Close  to  his  side  pressed 
Juno,  the  lioness,  and,  so  says  the  record  of  the  old 
Dutch  chronicler,  von  Hildegaersberch,  "the  lions 
did  him  no  harm  ;  he  played  with  them  as  if  they 
had  been  dogs." 

But  Ajax,  fiercest  of  the  three,  took  no  notice  of 
the  lad.  Straight  across  his  comrades  he  looked  to 
where,  scarce  a  rod  behind  the  daring  lad,  came 
another  figure,  a  light  and  graceful  form  in  clinging 
robes  of  blue  and  undergown  of  cloth  of  gold — the 
Princess  Jacqueline  herself  ! 

The  watchers  in  the  gallery  followed  the  lion's 
stare,  and  saw,  with  horror,  the  advancing  figure  of 
this  fair  young  girl.  A  cry  of  terror  broke  from 
every  lip.  The  Dauphin  John  turned  pale  with 
fright,  and  Count  William  of  Holland,  calling  out, 
"  Down,  Ajax  !  back,  girl,  back  !  "  sprang  to  his  feet 
as  if  he  would  have  vaulted  over  the  gallery  rail. 


OF  HOLLAND.  123 

But  before  he  could  act,  Ajax  himself  had  acted. 
With  a  bound  he  cleared  the  intervening  space  and 
crouched  at  the  feet  of  the  fair  young  Princess 
Jacqueline  ! 

The  lions  must  have  been  in  remarkably  good 
humor  on  that  day,  for,  as  the  records  tell  us,  they 
did  no  harm  to  their  visitors.  Ajax  slowly  rose 
and  looked  up  into  the  girl's  calm  face.  Then  the 
voice  of  Jacqueline  rang  out  fresh  and  clear  as, 
standing  with  her  hand  buried  in  the  lion's  tawny 
mane,  she  raised  her  face  to  the  startled  galleries. 

"  You  who  could  dare  and  yet  dared  not  to  do  ! " 
she  cried,  "  it  shall  not  be  said  that  in  all  Count 
William's  court  none  save  the  rebel  Lord  of  Arkell 
dared  to  face  Count  William's  lions  !  " 

The  Lord  of  Arkell  sprang  to  his  comrade's  side. 
With  a  hurried  word  of  praise  he  flung  the  gabar- 
dine about  her,  grasped  her  arm,  and  bade  her 
keep  her  eyes  firmly  fixed  upon  the  lions  ;  then,  step 
by  step,  those  two  foolhardy  young  persons  backed 
slowly  out  of  the  danger  into  which  they  had  so 
thoughtlessly  and  unnecessarily  forced  themselves. 

The  lions'  gate  closed  behind  them  with  a  clang  ; 
the  shouts  of  approval  and  of  welcome  sounded 
from  the  thronging  gallery,  and  over  all  they  heard 
the  voice  of  the  Lord  of  Holland  mingling  com- 
mendation and  praise  with  censure  for  the  rashness 
of  their  action. 


124  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

And  it  was  a  rash  and  foolish  act.  But  we  must 
remember  that  those  were  days  when  such  feats  were 
esteemed  as  brave  and  valorous.  For  the  Princess 
Jaqueline  of  Holland  was  reared  in  the  school  of 
so-called  chivalry  and  romance,  which  in  her  time 
was  fast  approaching  its  end.  She  was,  indeed,  as 
one  historian  declares,  the  last  heroine  of  knight- 
hood. Her  very  titles  suggest  the  days  of  chivalry. 
She  was  Daughter  of  Holland,  Countess  of  Pon- 
thieu,  Duchess  of  Berry,  Lady  of  Crevecoeur,  of 
Montague  and  Arlceux.  Brought  up  in  the  midst 
of  tilts  and  tournaments,  of  banquets  and  feasting, 
and  all  the  lavish  display  of  the  rich  Bavarian 
court,  she  was,  as  we  learn  from  her  chroniclers,  the 
leader  of  adoring  knights  and  vassals,  the  idol  of 
her  parents,  the  ruler  of  her  soft-hearted  boy  hus- 
band, an  expert  falconer,  a  daring  horsewoman,  and 
a  fearless  descendant  of  those  woman  warriors  of 
her  race,  Margaret  the  Empress,  and  Philippa  the 
Queen,  and  of  a  house  that  traced  its  descent 
through  the  warlike  Hohenstaufens  back  to  Charle- 
magne himself. 

All  girls  admire  bravery,  even  though  not  them- 
selves personally  courageous.  It  is  not,  therefore, 
surprising  that  this  intrepid  and  romance-reared 
young  princess,  the  wife  of  a  lad  for  whom  she  never 
especially  cared,  and  whose  society  had  for  political 
reasons  been  forced  upon  her,  should  have  placed  as 


125  AJAX    SLOWLY    ROSE  AND    I.OOKID    UP    INTO   THE   GIRL'S    CALM    FACE. 


126  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

the  hero  of  her  admiration,  next  to  her  own  fearless 
father,  not  the  Dauphin  John  of  France,  but  this 
brave  young  rebel  lad,  Otto,  the  Lord  of  Arkell. 

But  the  joyous  days  of  fete  and  pleasure  at 
Ouesnoy,  at  Paris,  and  The  Hague  were  fast  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  On  the  fourth  of  April,  1417,  the 
Dauphin  John  died  by  poisoning,  in  his  father's 
castle  at  Compiegne — the  victim  of  those  terrible 
and  relentless  feuds  that  were  then  disgracing  and 
endangering  the  feeble  throne  of  France. 

The  dream  of  future  power  and  greatness  as 
Queen  of  France,  in  which  the  girl  wife  of  the 
Dauphin  had  often  indulged,  was  thus  rudely  dis- 
pelled, and  Jacqueline  returned  to  her  father's  court 
in  Holland,  no  longer  crown  princess  and  heiress  to 
a  throne,  but  simply  "  Lady  of  Holland." 

But  in  Holland,  too,  sorrow  was  in  store  for  her. 
Swiftly  following  the  loss  of  her  husband,  the 
Dauphin,  came  the  still  heavier  blow  of  her  father's 
death.  On  the  thirtieth  of  May,  1417,  Count 
William  died  in  his  castle  of  Bouchain,  in  Hainault, 
and  his  sorrowing  daughter  Jacqueline,  now  a 
beautiful  girl  of  sixteen,  succeeded  to  his  titles  and 
lordship  as  Countess  and  Lady  Supreme  of  Hai- 
nault, of  Holland,  and  of  Zealand. 

For  years,  however,  there  had  been  throughout 
the  Low  Countries  a  strong  objection  to  the  rule  of 
a  woman.  The  death  of  Count  William  showed  the 


JACQUELINE   OF  HOLLAND.  I2/ 

Cods  a  way  toward  greater  liberty.  Rebellion 
followed  rebellion,  and  the  rule  of  the  Countess 
Jacqueline  was  by  no  means  a  restful  one. 

And  chief  among  the  rebellious  spirits,  as  leader 
and  counsellor  among  the  Cods,  appeared  the  brave 
lad  who  had  once  been  the  companion  of  the  prin- 
cess in  danger,  the  young  Lord  of  Arkell. 

It  was  he  who  lifted  the  standard  of  revolt  against 
her  regency.  Placing  the  welfare  of  Holland  above 
personal  friendship,  and  sinking,  in  his  desire  for 
glory,  even  the  chivalry  of  that  day,  which  should 
have  prompted  him  to  aid  rather  than  annoy  this 
beautiful  girl,  he  raised  a  considerable  army  among 
the  knights  of  the  Cods,  or  liberal  party,  and  the 
warlike  merchants  of  the  cities,  took  possession  of 
many  strong  positions  in  Holland,  and  occupied, 
among  other  places,  the  important  town  of  Gorkum 
on  the  Maas.  The  stout  citadel  of  the  town,  was, 
however,  garrisoned  with  loyal  troops.  This  the 
Lord  of  Arkell  beseiged,  and,  demanding  its  sur- 
render, sent  also  a  haughty  challenge  to  the  young 
countess,  who  was  hastening  to  the  relief  of  her 
beleaguered  town. 

Jacqueline's  answer  was  swift  and  unmistakable. 
With  three  hundred  ships  and  six  thousand  knights 
and  men-at-arms,  she  sailed  from  the  old  harbor  of 
Rotterdam,  and  the  lion-flag  of  her  house  soon 
floated  above  the  loyal  citadel  of  Gorkum. 


128  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Her  doughty  Dutch  general,  von  Brederode, 
counselled  immediate  attack,  but  the  girl  countess, 
though  full  of  enthusiasm  and  determination,  hesi- 
tated. 

From  her  station  in  the  citadel  she  looked  over 
the  scene  before  her.  Here,  along  the  low  bank  of 
the  river  Maas,  stretched  the  camp  of  her  own 
followers,  and  the  little  gayly  colored  boats  that  had 
brought  her  army  up  the  river  from  the  red  roofs  of 
Rotterdam.  There,  stretching  out  into  the  flat 
country  beyond  the  straggling  streets  of  Gorkum, 
lay  the  tents  of  the  rebels.  And  yet  they  were  all 
her  countrymen — rebels  and  retainers  alike.  Hol- 
landers all,  they  were  ever  ready  to  combine  for  the 
defence  of  their  homeland  when  threatened  by 
foreign  foes  or  by  the  destroying  ocean  floods. 

Jacqueline's  eye  caught  the  flutter  of  the  broad 
banner  of  the  house  of  Arkell  that  waved  over  the 
rebel  camp. 

Again  she  saw  the  brave  lad  who  alone  of  all 
her  father's  court,  save  she,  had  dared  to  face  Count 
William's  lions ;  again  the  remembrance  of  how  his 
daring  had  made  him  one  of  her  heroes,  filled  her 
heart,  and  a  dream  of  what  might  be  possessed  her. 
Her  boy  husband,  the  French  Dauphin,  was  dead, 
and  she  was  pledged  by  her  dying  father's  command 
to  marry  her  cousin,  whom  she  detested,  Duke  John 
of  Brabant.  But  how  much  better,  so  she  reasoned,. 


JACQUELINE    OF  HOLLAND.  129 

that  the  name  and  might  of  her  house  as  rulers  of 
Holland  should  be  upheld  by  a  brave  and  fearless 
knight.  On  the  impulse  of  this  thought  she  sum- 
moned a  loyal  and  trusted  vassal  to  her  aid. 

"  Von  Leyenburg,"  she  said,  "  go  you  in  haste 
and  in  secret  to  the  Lord  of  Arkell,  and  bear  from 
me  this  message  for  his  ear  alone.  Thus  says  the 
Lady  of  Holland  :  '  Were  it  not  better,  Otto  of 
Arkell,  that  we  join  hands  in  marriage  before  the 
altar,  than  that  we  spill  the  blood  of  faithful  follow- 
ers and  vassals  in  a  cruel  fight  ? ' ' 

It  was  a  singular,  and  perhaps,  to  our  modern 
ears,  a  most  unladylike  proposal ;  but  it  shows  how, 
even  in  the  heart  of  a  sovereign  countess  and  a  girl 
general,  warlike  desires  may  give  place  to  gentler 
thoughts. 

To  the  Lord  Arkell,  however,  this  unexpected 
proposition  came  as  an  indication  of  weakness. 

"  My  lady  countess  fears  to  face  my  determined 
followers,"  he  thought.  "  Let  me  but  force  this 
fight  and  the  victory  is  mine.  In  that  is  greater 
glory  and  more  of  power  than  being  husband  to 
the  Lady  of  Holland." 

And  so  he  returned  a  most  ungracious  answer : 

"Tell  the  Countess  Jacqueline,"  he  said  to  the 
knight  of  Leyenburg,  "that  the  honor  of  her  hand 
I  cannot  accept.  I  am  her  foe,  and  would  rather 
die  than  marry  her." 


130  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

All  the  hot  blood  of  her  ancestors  flamed  in 
wrath  as  young  Jacqueline  heard  this  reply  of  the 
rebel  lord. 

"  Crush  we  these  rebel  curs,  von  Brederode,"  she 
cried,  pointing  to  the  banner  of  Arkell  ;  "  for  by  my 
father's  memory,  they  shall  have  neither  mercy  nor 
life  from  me." 

Fast  upon  the  curt  refusal  of  the  Lord  of  Arkell 
came  his  message  of  defiance. 

"  Hear  ye,  Countess  of  Holland,"  rang  out  the 
challenge  of  the  herald  of  Arkell,  as  his  trumpet- 
blast  sounded  before  the  gate  of  the  citadel,  "  the 
free  Lord  of  Arkell  here  giveth  you  word  and 
warning  that  he  will  fight  against  you  on  the 
morrow  !  " 

And  from  the  citadel  came  back  this  ringing 
reply,  as  the  knight  of  Leyenburg  made  answer 
for  his  sovereign  lady  : 

"  Hear  ye,  sir  Herald,  and  answer  thus  to  the 
rebel  Lord  of  Arkell  :  '  For  the  purpose  of  fighting 
him  came  we  here,  and  fight  him  we  will,  until  he 
and  his  rebels  are  beaten  and  dead.'  Long  live  our 
Sovereign  Lady  of  Holland  !  " 

On  the  morrow,  a  murky  December  day,  in  the 
year  1417,  the  battle  was  joined,  as  announced. 
On  the  low  plain  beyond  the  city,  knights  and  men- 
at-arms,  archers  and  spearmen,  closed  in  the  shock 
of  battle,  and  a  stubborn  and  bloody  fight  it  was. 


JACQUELINE    OF  HOLLAND.  13! 

Seven  times  did  the  knights  of  Jacqueline,  glit- 
tering in  their  steel  armor,  clash  into  the  rebel 
ranks  ;  seven  times  were  they  driven  back,  until, 
at  last,  the  Lord  of  Arkell,  with  a  fiery  charge, 
forced  them  against  the  very  gates  of  the  citadel. 
The  brave  von  Brederode  fell  pierced  with  wounds, 
and  the  day  seemed  lost,  indeed,  to  the  Lady  of 
Holland. 

Then  Jacqueline  the  Countess,  seeing  her  cause 
in  danger — like  another  Joan  of  Arc,  though  she 
was  indeed  a  younger  and  much  more  beautiful  girl 
general, — seized  the  lion-banner  of  her  house,  and, 
at  the  head  of  her  reserve  troops,  charged  through 
the  open  gate  straight  into  the  ranks  of  her  vic- 
torious foes.  There  was  neither  mercy  nor  gentle- 
ness in  her  heart  then.  As  when  she  had  cowed 
with  a  look  Ajax,  the  lion,  so  now,  with  defiance 
and  wrath  in  her  face,  she  dashed  straight  at  the 
foe. 

Her  disheartened  knights  rallied  around  her, 
and,  following  the  impetuous  girl,  they  wielded 
axe  and  lance  for  the  final  struggle.  The  result 
came  quickly.  The  ponderous  battle-axe  of  the 
knight  of  Leyenburg  crashed  through  the  helmet 
of  the  Lord  of  Arkell,  and  as  the  brave  young 
leader  fell  to  the  ground,  his  panic-stricken  fol- 
lowers turned  and  fled.  The  troops  of  Jacqueline 
pursued  them  through  the  streets  of  Gorkum  and 


132  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

out  into  the  open  country,  and  the  vengeance  of  the 
countess  was  sharp  and  merciless. 

But  in  the  flush  of  victory  wrath  gave  way  to 
pity  again,  and  the  young  conqueror  is  reported 
to  have  said,  sadly  and  in  tears  : 

"  Ah  !   I  have  won,  and  yet  how  have  I  lost  !'" 

But  the  knights  and  nobles  who  followed  her 
banner  loudly  praised  her  valor  and  her  fearless- 
ness, and  their  highest  and  most  knightly  vow 
thereafter  was  to  swear  "  By  the  courage  of  our 
Princess." 

The  brilliant  victory  of  this  girl  of  sixteen  was 
not,  however,  to  accomplish  her  desires.  Peace 
never  came  to  her.  Harassed  by  rebellion  at 
home,  and  persecuted  by  her  relentless  and  per- 
fidious uncles,  Count  John  of  Bavaria,  rightly 
called  "  the  Pitiless,"  and  Duke  Philip  of  Bur- 
gundy, falsely  called  "  the  Good,"  she,  who  had 
once  been  Crown  Princess  of  France  and  Lady  of 
Holland,  died  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-six,  stripped 
of  all  her  titles  and  estates.  It  is,  however,  pleas- 
ant to  think  that  she  was  happy  in  the  love  of  her 
husband,  the  baron  of  the  forests  of  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  a  plain  Dutch  gentleman,  Francis  von 
Borselen,  the  lad  who,  years  before,  had  furnished 
the  gray  gabardine  that  had  shielded  Count  Wil- 
liam's daughter  from  her  father's  lions. 

The  story  of  Jacqueline  of  Holland  is  one  of  the 


JACQUELINE    OF  HOLLAND.  133 

most  romantic  that  has  come  down  to  us  from  those 
romantic  days  of  the  knights.  Happy  only  in  her 
earliest  and  latest  years,  she  is,  nevertheless,  a 
bright  and  attractive  figure  against  the  dark  back- 
ground of  feudal  tyranny  and  crime.  The  story 
of  her  womanhood  should  indeed  be  told,  if  we 
would  study  her  life  as  a  whole  ;  but  for  us,  who 
can  in  this  paper  deal  only  with  her  romantic 
girlhood,  her  young  life  is  to  be  taken  as  a 
type  of  the  stirring  and  extravagant  days  of 
chivalry. 

And  we  cannot  but  think  with  sadness  upon  the 
power  for  good  that  she  might  have  been  in  her 
land  of  fogs  and  floods  if,  instead  of  being  made 
the  tool  of  party  hate  and  the  ambitions  of  men, 
her  frank  and  fearless  girl  nature  had  been  trained 
to  gentle  ways  and  charitable  deeds. 

To  be  "  the  most  picturesque  figure  in  the  history 
of  Holland,"  as  she  has  been  called,  is  distinction 
indeed  ;  but  higher  still  must  surely  be  that  gen- 
tleness of  character  and  nobility  of  soul  that,  in 
these  days  of  ours,  may  be  acquired  by  every  girl 
and  boy  who  reads  this  romantic  story  of  the  Coun- 
tess Jacqueline,  the  fair  young  Lady  of  Holland. 


CATARINA  OF  VENICE: 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  GRAND  CANAL. 

[Afterward  known  as  Queen  of  Cyprus  and  "  Daughter  of  the  Republic"} 

A.D.  1466. 

HO  is  he  ?    Why,  do  you 
not  know,  Catarina  mia  f 
T  is  his  Most  Puissant 
Excellency,  the  mighty  Lord  of  Lu- 
signan,  the  runaway  Heir  of  Jerusa- 
lem,   the    beggar    Prince    of 
Cyprus,    with  more  titles  to 
his  name — ho,  ho,  ho  ! — than 
he  hath  jackets  to  his  back; 
and  with  more  dodging  than 
ducats,  so  't  is  said,  when  the 
time  to  pay  for  his  lodging 
draweth  nigh.    Holo,  Messer 
Principino  !    Give  you  good- 
day,  Lord  of  Lusignan  !    Ho,, 
below  there  !  here  is  tribute  for  you  ! " 

134 


CATARINA    OF  VENICE.  135 

And  down  upon  the  head  of  a  certain  sad-faced, 
seedy-looking  young  fellow  in  the  piazza,  or  square, 
beneath,  descended  a  rattling  shower  of  bonbons, 
thrown  by  the  hand  of  the  speaker,  a  brown-faced 
Venetian  lad  of  sixteen. 

But  little  Catarina  Cornaro,  just  freed  from  the 
imprisonment  of  her  convent-school  at  Padua,  felt 
her  heart  go  out  in  pity  towards  this  homeless 
young  prince,  who  just  now  seemed  to  be  the  butt 
for  all  the  riot  and  teasing  of  the  boys  of  the  Great 
Republic. 

"  Nay,  nay,  my  Giorgio,"  she  said  to  her  brother  ; 
"  't  is  neither  fair  nor  wise  so  to  beset  one  in  dire 
distress.  The  good  sisters  of  our  school  have  often 
told  us  that  't  is  better  to  be  a  beggar  than  a  dull- 
ard ;  and  sure  yon  prince,  as  you  do  say  he  is, 
looketh  to  be  no  dolt.  But  ah,  see  there  !  "  she 
cried,  leaning  far  over  the  gayly  draped  balcony  ; 
"  see,  he  can  well  use  his  fists,  can  he  not  !  Nay, 
though,  't  is  a  shame  so  to  beset  him,  say  I.  Why 
should  our  lads  so  misuse  a  stranger  and  a  prince  ?" 

It  was  the  Feast  Day  of  St.  Mark,  one  of  the 
jolliest  of  the  old-time  holidays  of  Venice,  that 
wonderful  City  of  the  Sea,  whose  patron  and  guar- 
dian St.  Mark,  the  apostle,  was  supposed  to  be. 
Gondolas,  rich  with  draperies  of  every  hue  that 
completely  concealed  their  frames  of  sombre  black, 
shot  in  and  out,  and  up  and  down  all  the  water- 


136  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

streets  of  the  beautiful  city ;  while  towering  palace 
and  humbler  dwelling  alike  were  gay  with  gorgeous 
hangings  and  fluttering  streamers. 

In  noticeable  contrast  with  all  the  brilliant  cos- 
tumes and  laughing  faces  around  him  was  the  lad 
who  just  now  seemed  in  so  dire  a  strait.  He  had 
paused  to  watch  one  of  the  passing  pageants  from 
the  steps  of  the  Palazzo  Cornaro,  quite  near  the  spot 
where,  a  century  later,  the  famous  bridge  known  as 
the  Rialto  spanned  the  Street  of  the  Nobles,  or 
Grand  Canal — one  of  the  most  notable  spots  in 
the  history  of  Venice  the  Wonderful. 

The  lad  was  indeed  a  prince,  the  representative 
of  a  lordly  house  that  for  more  than  five  hundred 
years  had  been  strong  and  powerful,  first  as  barons 
of  France,  and  later  as  rulers  of  the  Crusaders' 
kingdom  of  Jerusalem  and  the  barbaric  but  wealthy 
island  of  Cyprus.  But  poor  Giacomo,  or  James,  of 
Lusignan,  royal  prince  though  he  was,  had  been 
banished  from  his  father's  court  in  Cyprus.  He  had 
dared  rebel  against  the  authority  of  his  step-mother, 
a  cruel  Greek  princess  from  Constantinople,  who 
ruled  her  feeble  old  husband  and  persecuted  her 
spirited  young  step-son,  the  Prince  Giacomo. 

And  so,  with  neither  money  nor  friends  to  help 
him  on,  he  had  wandered  to  Venice.  But  Venice 
in  1466,  a  rich,  proud,  and  prosperous  city,  was  a 
very  poor  place  for  a  lad  who  had  neither  friends 


CATAR1NA    OF  VENICE.  137 

nor  money  ;  for,  of  course,  the  royal  prince  of  a 
little  island  in  the  Mediterranean  could  not  so  de- 
mean himself  as  to  soil  his  hands  with  work  ! 

So  I  imagine  that  young  Prince  Giacomo  had  any 
thing  but  a  pleasant  time  in  Venice.  On  this 
particular  Feast  Day  of  St.  Mark,  I  am  certain  that 
he  was  having  the  most  unpleasant  of  all  his  bitter 
experiences,  as,  backed  up  against  one  of  the  columns 
of  the  Cornaro  Palace,  he  found  himself  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  of  thoughtless  young  Venetians,  who 
were  teasing  and  bullying  him  to  the  full  content  of 
their  brutal  young  hearts. 

The  Italian  temper  is  known  to  be  both  hot  and 
hasty  ;  but  the  temper  of  oriental  Cyprus  is  even 
more  fiery,  and  so  it  was  not  surprising  that,  in  this 
most  one-sided  fray,  the  fun  soon  became  fighting 
in  earnest ;  for  anger  begets  anger. 

All  about  the  young  prince  was  a  tossing  throng 
of  restless  and  angry  boys,  while  the  beleaguered 
lad,  still  standing  at  bay,  flourished  a  wicked-looking 
stiletto  above  his  head  and  answered  taunt  with 
taunt. 

At  this  instant  the  door  of  the  Cornaro  Palace 
opened  quickly,  and  the  Prince  Giacomo  felt  him- 
self drawn  bodily  within  ;  while  a  bright-faced  young 
girl  with  flashing  eye  and  defiant  air  confronted  his 
greatly  surprised  tormentors. 

Shame,  shame  upon  you,  boys  of  Venice,"  she 


138  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

cried,  "  thus  to  ill-use  a  stranger  in  your  town  !  Is 
a  score  of  such  as  you  against  one  poor  lad  the 
boasted  chivalry  of  Venice  ?  Eh  via  !  the  very 
fisher-lads  of  Mendicoli  could  teach  you  better 
ways  !  " 

Taken  quite  aback  by  this  sudden  apparition  and 
these  stinging  words,  the  boys  dispersed  with  scarce 
an  attempt  to  reply,  and  all  the  more  hastily  because 
they  spied,  coming  up  the  Grand  Canal,  the  gor- 
geous gondola  of  the  Companions  of  the  Stocking, 
an  association  of  young  men  under  whose  charge 
and  supervision  all  the  pageants  and  displays  of  old 
Venice  were  given. 

So  the  piazza  was  speedily  cleared  ;  and  the 
Prince  Giacomo,  with  many  words  of  thanks  to  his 
young  and  unknown  deliverers,  hurried  from  the 
spot  which  had  so  nearly  proved  disastrous  to  him. 

Changes  came  suddenly  in  those  unsettled  times. 
Within  two  years  both  the  Greek  step-mother  and 
the  feeble  old  king  were  dead,  and  Prince  Giacomo, 
after  a  struggle  for  supremacy  with  his  half-sister 
Carlotta,  became  King  of  Cyprus. 

Now  Cyprus,  though  scarcely  as  large  as  the 
State  of  Connecticut,  was  a  very  desirable  posses- 
sion, and  one  that  Venice  greatly  coveted.  Some 
of  her  citizens  owned  land  there,  and  among  these 
was  Marco  Cornaro,  father  of  Catarina.  And  so 
it  happened  that,  soon  after  the  accession  of  King 


CATAKINA    OF  VENICE.  139 

Giacomo,  Messer  Andrea  Cornaro,  the  uncle  of 
Catarina,  came  to  Cyprus  to  inspect  and  improve 
the  lands  belonging  to  his  brother  Marco. 

Venice,  in  those  days  was  so  gteat  a  power  that 
the  Venetian  merchants  were  highly  esteemed  in  all 
the  courts  of  Europe.  And  Uncle  Andrea,  who 
had  probably  loaned  the  new  king  of  Cyprus  a 
goodly  store  of  Venetian  ducats,  became  quite 
friendly  with  the  young  monarch,  and  gave  him 
much  sage  advice. 

One  day — it  seemed  as  if  purely  by  accident,  but 
those  old  Venetians  were  both  shrewd  and  far- 
seeing — Uncle  Andrea,  talking  of  the  glories  of 
Venice,  showed  to  King  Giacomo  a  picture  of  his 
niece,  Catarina  Cornaro,  then  a  beautiful  girl  of 
fourteen. 

King  Giacomo  came  of  a  house  that  was  quick  to 
form  friendships  and  antipathies,  loves  and  hates. 
He  "  fell  violently  in  love  with  the  picture," — so 
the  story  goes, — and  expressed  to  Andrea  Cornaro 
his  desire  to  see  and  know  the  original. 

"  That  face  seemeth  strangely  familiar,  Messer 
Cornaro,"  he  said. 

He  held  the  portrait  in  his  hands,  and  seemed 
struggling  with  an  uncertain  memory.  Suddenly 
his  face  lighted  up,  and  he  exclaimed  joyfully  : 

11  So  ;  I  have  it  !  Messer  Cornaro,  I  know  your 
niece." 


140  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

11  You  know  her,  sire  ? "  echoed  the  surprised 
Uncle  Andrea. 

"  Ay,  that  indeed  I  do,"  said  the  king.  "  This  is 
the  same  fair  and  brave  young  maiden  who  deliv- 
ered me  from  a  rascal  rout  of  boys  on  the  Grand 
Canal  at  Venice,  on  St.  Mark's  Day,  scarce  two 
years  ago."  And  King  Giacomo  smiled  and  bowed 
at  the  picture  as  if  it  were  the  living  Catarina  in- 
stead of  her  simple  portrait. 

Here  now  was  news  for  Uncle  Andrea.  And 
you  may  be  sure  he  was  too  good  a  Venetian  and 
too  loyal  a  Cornaro  not  to  turn  it  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage. So  he  stimulated  the  young  king's  evident 
inclination  as  cunningly  as  he  was  able.  His  niece 
Catarina,  he  assured  the  king,  was  as  good  as  she 
was  beautiful,  and  as  clever  as  she  was  both. 

"  But  then,"  he  declared,  "  Venice  hath  many  fair 
daughters,  sire,  whom  the  king's  choice  would 
honor,  and  Catarina  is  but  a  young  maid  yet. 
Would  it  not  be  wiser,  when  you  choose  a  queen, 
to  select  some  older  donzella  for  your  bride  ? 
Though  it  will,  I  can  aver,  be  hard  to  choose  a 
fairer." 

It  is  just  such  half-way  opposition  that  renders  a 
nature  like  that  of  this  young  monarch  all  the  more 
determined.  No  !  King  Giacomo  would  have 
Catarina,  and  Catarina  only,  for  his  bride  and 
queen.  Messer  Cornaro  must  secure  her  for  him. 


CATARINA    OF  VENICE.  141 

But  shrewd  Uncle  Andrea  still  feared  the  jeal- 
ousy of  his  fellow-Venetians.  Why  should  the  house 
of  Cornaro,  they  would  demand,  be  so  openly  pre- 
ferred ?  And  so,  at  his  suggestion,  an  ambassador 
was  despatched  to  Venice  soliciting  an  alliance  with 
the  Great  Republic,  and  asking  from  the  senate  the 
hand  of  some  high-born  maid  of  Venice  in  mar- 
riage for  his  highness,  the  King  of  Cyprus.  But 
you  may  be  very  sure  that  the  ambassador  had  spe- 
cial and  secret  instructions  alike  from  King  Gia- 
como  and  from  Uncle  Andrea  just  how  and  whom 
to  choose. 

The  ambassador  came  to  Venice,  and  soon  the 
senate  issued  its  commands  that  upon  a  certain  day 
the  noblest  and  fairest  of  the  daughters  of  Venice 
—one  from  each  of  the  patrician  families — should 
appear  in  the  great  Council  Hall  of  the  Ducal  Pal- 
ace in  order  that  the  ambassador  of  the  King  of 
Cyprus  might  select  a  fitting  bride  for  his  royal 
master.  It  reads  quite  like  one  of  the  old  fairy 
stories,  does  it  not  ?  Only  in  this  case  the  dragon 
who  was  to  take  away  the  fairest  maiden  as  his 
tribute  was  no  monster,  but  the  brave  young  king 
of  a  lovely  island  realm. 

The  Palace  of  the  Doges — the  Palazzo  Ducale  of 
old  Venice — is  familiar  to  all  who  have  ever  seen  a 
picture  of  the  Square  of  St.  Mark's,  the  best  known 
spot  in  that  famous  City  of  the  Sea.  It  is  the  low. 


142  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

rectangular,  richly  decorated  building  with  its  long 
row  of  columns  and  arcades  that  stand  out  so 
prominently  in  photograph  and  engraving.  It 
has  seen  many  a  splendid  pageant,  but  it  never  wit- 
nessed a  fairer  sight  than  when  on  a  certain  bright 
day  of  the  year  1468  seventy-two  of  the  daughters 
of  Venice,  gorgeous  in  the  rich  costumes  of  that 
most  lavish  city  of  a  lavish  age,  gathered  in  the 
great  Consiglio,  or  Council  Hall. 

Up  the  Scala  d '  Oro,  or  Golden  Staircase,  built 
only  for  the  use  of  the  nobles,  they  came,  escorted 
by  the  ducal  guards,  gleaming  in  their  richest  uni- 
forms. The  great  Council  Hall  was  one  mass  of 
color ;  the  splendid  dresses  of  the  ladies,  the  scarlet 
robes  of  the  senators  and  high  officials  of  the  Re- 
public, the  imposing  vestments  of  the  old  doge, 
Cristofero  Moro,  as  he  sat  in  state  upon  his  mas- 
sive throne,  and  the  bewildering  array  of  the  sev- 
enty-two candidates  for  a  king's  choice.  Seventy- 
two,  I  say,  but  in  all  that  company  of  puffed  and 
powdered,  coifed  and  combed  young  ladies,  standing 
tall  and  uncomfortable  on  their  ridiculously  high- 
heeled  shoes,  one  alone  was  simply  dressed  and  ap- 
parently unaffected  by  the  gorgeousness  of  her  com- 
panions, the  seventy-second  and  youngest  of  them  all. 

She  was  a  girl  of  fourteen.  Face  and  form  were 
equally  beautiful,  and  a  mass  of  "  dark  gold  hair  " 
crowned  her  "  queenly  head."  While  the  other  girls 


CATAKINA    OF  VENICE.  143 

appeared  nervous  or  anxious,  she  seemed  uncon- 
cerned, and  her  face  wore  even  a  peculiar  little 
smile,  as  if  she  were  contrasting  the  poor  badgered 
young  prince  of  St.  Mark's  Day  with  the  present 
King  of  Cyprus  hunting  for  a  bride.  "  Eh  via  f  " 
she  said  to  herself,  "  't  is  almost  as  if  it  were  a  re- 
venge upon  us  for  our  former  churlishness,  that  he 
thus  now  puts  us  to  shame." 

The  ambassador  of  Cyprus,  swarthy  of  face  and 
stately  in  bearing,  entered  the  great  hall.  With 
him  came  his  attendant  retinue  of  Cypriote  nobles. 
Kneeling  before  the  doge,  the  ambassador  presented 
the  petition  of  his  master,  the  King  of  Cyprus, 
seeking  alliance  and  friendship  with  Venice. 

"  And  the  better  to  secure  this  and  the  more 
firmly  to  cement  it,  Eccellenza,"  said  the  ambassa- 
dor, ''my  lord  and  master  the  king  doth  crave  from 
your  puissant  state  the  hand  of  some  high-born 
damsel  of  the  Republic  as  that  of  his  loving  and 
acknowledged  queen." 

The  old  doge  waved  his  hand  toward  the  fair  and 
anxious  seventy-two. 

"  Behold,  noble  sir,"  he  said,  "  the  fairest  and 
noblest  of  our  maidens  of  Venice.  Let  your  eye 
seek  among  these  a  fitting  bride  for  your  lord,  the 
King  of  Cyprus,  and  it  shall  be  our  pleasure  to  give 
her  to  him  in  such  a  manner  as  shall  suit  the  power 
•and  dignity  of  the  State  of  Venice." 


144  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

Courteous  and  stately  still,  but  with  a  shrewd 
and  critical  eye,  the  ambassador  of  Cyprus  slowly 
passed  from  candidate  to  candidate,  with  here  a 
pleasant  word  and  there  a  look  of  admiration  ;  to 
this  one  a  honeyed  compliment  upon  her  beauty,  to 
that  one  a  bit  of  praise  for  her  elegance  of  dress. 

How  oddly  this  all  sounds  to  us  with  our  modern 
ideas  of  propriety  and  good  taste  !  It  seems  a  sort 
of  Prize  Girl  Show,  does  it  not  ?  Or,  it  is  like  a 
competitive  examination  for  a  royal  bride. 

But,  like  too  many  such  examinations,  this  one 
had  already  been  settled  beforehand.  The  King 
had  decided  to  whom  the  prize  of  his  crown  should 
go,  and  so,  at  the  proper  time,  the  critical  ambassa- 
dor stopped  before  a  slight  girl  of  fourteen,  dressed 
in  a  robe  of  simple  white. 

"  Donzella  mia"  he  said  courteously,  but  in  alow 
tone  ;  "  are  not  you  the  daughter  of  Messer  Marco 
Cornaro,  the  noble  merchant  of  the  Via  Merceria?" 

"  I  am,  my  lord,"  the  girl  replied. 

"  My  royal  master  greets  you  through  me,"  he 
said.  "He  recalls  the  day  when  you  did  give  him 
shelter,  and  he  invites  you  to  share  with  him  the 
throne  of  Cyprus.  Shall  this  be  as  he  wishes  ? " 

And  the  girl,  with  a  deep  courtesy  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  stately  obeisance  of  the  ambassador, 
said  simply,  "  That  shall  be,  my  lord,  as  my  father 
and  his  Excellency  shall  say." 


CAT  AKIN  A    OF  VENICE.  145 

The  ambassador  of  Cyprus  took  the  young  girl's 
hand,  and,  conducting  her  through  all  that  splendid 
company,  presented  her  before  the  doge's  throne. 

"  Excellency,"  he  said,  "  Cyprus  hath  made  her 
choice.  We  present  to  you,  if  so  it  shall  please 
your  grace,  our  future  queen,  this  fair  young  maid, 
Catarina,  the  daughter  of  the  noble  Marco  Gornaro, 
merchant  and  senator  of  the  Republic." 

What  the  seventy-one  disappointed  young  ladies 
thought  of  the  King's  choice,  or  what  they  said 
about  it  when  they  were  safely  at  home  once  more, 
history  does  not  record.  But  history  does  record 
the  splendors  and  display  of  the  ceremonial  with 
which  the  gray-haired  old  doge,  Cristofero  Moro,  in 
the  great  hall  of  the  palace,  surrounded  by  the 
senators  of  the  Republic  and  all  the  rank  and  power 
of  the  State  of  Venice,  formally  adopted  Catarina  as 
a  "  daughter  of  the  Republic."  Thus  to  the  dignity 
of  her  father's  house  was  added  the  majesty  of  the 
great  Republic.  Her  marriage  portion  was  placed 
at  one  hundred  thousand  ducats,  and  Cyprus  was 
granted,  on  behalf  of  this  "  daughter  of  the  Repub- 
lic," the  alliance  and  protection  of  Venice. 

The  ambassador  of  Cyprus  standing  before  the 
altar  of  St.  Mark's  as  the  personal  representative 
of  his  master,  King  Giacomo  was  married  "  by 
proxy  "  to  the  young  Venetian  girl ;  while  the  doge, 
representing  her  new  father,  the  republic,  gave  her 


146  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

away  in  marriage,  and  Catarina  Cornaro,  amid  the 
blessings  of  the  priests,  the  shouts  of  the  people, 
and  the  demonstrations  of  clashing  music  and  wav- 
ing banners,  was  solemnly  proclaimed  Queen  of 
Cyprus,  of  Jerusalem,  and  of  Armenia. 

But  the  gorgeous  display,  before  which  even  the 
fabled  wonders  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  were  but 
poor  affairs,  did  not  conclude  here.  Following  the 
splendors  of  the  marriage  ceremony  and  the  wed- 
ding-feast, came  the  pageant  of  departure.  The 
Grand  Canal  was  ablaze  with  gorgeous  colors  and 
decorations.  The  broad  water-steps  of  the  Piazza 
of  St.  Mark  was  soft  with  carpets  of  tapestry, 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  floated  the  most 
beautiful  boat  in  the  world,  the  Bucentaur  or 
state  gondola,  of  Venice.  Its  high,  carved  prow 
and  framework  were  one  mass  of  golden  decora- 
tions. White  statues  of  the  saints,  carved  heads  of 
the  lion  of  St.  Mark,  the  doge's  cap,  and  the  em- 
blems of  the  Republic  adorned  it  throughout.  Silken 
streamers  of  blue  and  scarlet  floated  from  its  stand- 
ards ;  and  its  sides  were  draped  in  velvet  hangings 
of  crimson  and  royal  purple.  The  long  oars  were 
scarlet  and  gold,  and  the  rowers  were  resplendent 
in  suits  of  blue  and  silver.  A  great  velvet-covered 
throne  stood  on  the  upper  deck,  and  at  its  right  was 
a  chair  of  state,  glistening  with  gold. 

Down  the  tapestried  stairway  came  the  Doge  of 


147 


148  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Venice,  and,  resting  upon  his  arm,  in  a  white  bridal 
dress  covered  with  pearls,  walked  the  girl  queen 
Catarina.  Doge  and  daughter  seated  themselves 
upon  their  sumptuous  thrones,  their  glittering  reti- 
nue filled  the  beautiful  boat,  the  scarlet  oars  dip- 
ped into  the  water ;  and  then,  with  music  playing, 
banners  streaming,  and  a  grand  escort  of  boats  of 
every  conceivable  shape,  flashing  in  decoration  and 
gorgeous  in  mingled  colors,  the  bridal  train  floated 
down  the  Grand  Canal,  on  past  the  outlying  islands, 
and  between  the  great  fortresses  to  where,  upon 
the  broad  Adriatic,  the  galleys  were  waiting  to  take 
the  new  Queen  to  her  island  kingdom  off  the  shores 
of  Greece.  And  there,  in  his  queer  old  town  of 
Famagusta,  built  with  a  curious  commingling  of 
Saracen,  Grecian,  and  Norman  ideas,  King  Giacomo 
met  his  bride. 

So  they  were  married,  and  for  five  happy  years 
all  went  well  with  the  young  King  and  Queen. 
Then  came  troubles.  King  Giacomo  died  suddenly 
from  a  cold  caught  while  hunting,  so  it  was  said  ; 
though  some  averred  that  he  had  been  poisoned, 
either  by  his  half-sister  Carlotta,  with  whom  he  had 
contended  for  his  throne,  or  by  some  mercenary  of 
Venice,  who  desired  his  realm  for  that  voracious 
Republic. 

But  if  this  latter  was  the  case,  the  voracious  Re- 
public of  Venice  was  not  to  find  an  easy  prey.  The 


150  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

young  Queen  Catarina  proclaimed  her  baby  boy 
King  of  Cyprus,  and  defied  the  Great  Republic. 
Venice,  surprised  at  this  rebellion  of  its  adopted 
"  daughter,"  dispatched  embassy  after  embassy  to 
demand  submission.  But  the  young  mother  was 
brave  and  stood  boldly  up  for  the  rights  of  her 
son. 

But  he,  too,  died.  Then  Catarina,  true  to  the 
memory  of  her  husband  and  her  boy,  strove  to  re- 
tain the  throne  intact.  For  years  she  ruled  as 
Queen  of  Cyprus,  despite  the  threatenings  of  her 
home  Republic  and  the  conspiracies  of  her  ene- 
mies. Her  one  answer  to  the  demands  of  Venice 
was  : 

"  Tell  the  Republic  I  have  determined  never  to 
remarry.  When  I  am  dead,  the  throne  of  Cyprus 
shall  go  to  the  State,  my  heir.  But  until  that  day 
I  am  Queen  of  Cyprus  !  " 

Then  her  brother  Giorgio,  the  same  who  in  ear- 
lier days  had  looked  down  with  her  from  the  Cor- 
naro  Palace  upon  the  outcast  Prince  of  Cyprus, 
came  to  her  as  ambassador  of  the  Republic.  His 
entreaties  and  his  assurance  that,  unless  she  com- 
plied with  the  senate's  demand,  the  protection  of 
Venice  would  be  withdrawn,  and  the  island  kingdom 
left  a  prey  to  Saracen  pirates  and  African  robbers, 
at  last  carried  the  day.  Worn  out  with  long  con- 
tending, fearful,  not  for  herself  but  for  her  subjects 


CATARINA    OF  VENICE.  151 

of  Cyprus, —  she  yielded  to  the  demands  of  the 
senate,  and  abdicated  in  favor  of  the  Republic. 

Then  she  returned  to  Venice.  The  same  wealth 
of  display  and  ceremonial  that  had  attended  her 
departure  welcomed  the  return  of  this  obedient 
daughter  of  the  Republic,  now  no  longer  a  light- 
hearted  young  girl,  but  a  dethroned  queen,  a 
widowed  and  childless  woman. 

She  was  allowed  to  retain  her  royal  title  of 
Queen  of  Cypus,  and  a  noble  domain  was  given 
her  for  a  home  in  the  town  of  Asola,  up  among  the 
northern  mountains.  Here,  in  a  massive  castle, 
she  held  her  court.  It  was  a  bright  and  happy 
company,  the  home  of  poetry  and  music,  the  arts, 
and  all  the  culture  and  refinement  of  that  age,  when 
learning  belonged  to  the  few  and  the  people  were 
sunk  in  densest  ignorance. 

Here  Titian,  the  great  artist,  painted  the  por- 
trait of  the  exiled  queen  that  has  come  down  to 
us.  Here  she  lived  for  years,  sad  in  her  memories 
of  the  past,  but  happy  in  her  helpfulness  of  others 
until,  on  her  way  to  visit  her  brother  Giorgio  in 
Venice,  she  was  stricken  with  a  sudden  fever,  and 
died  in  the  palace  in  which  she  had  played  as  a  child. 

With  pomp  and  display,  as  was  the  wont  of  the 
Great  Republic,  with  a  city  hung  with  emblems  of 
mourning,  and  with  the  solemn  strains  of  dirge  and 
mass  filling  the  air,  out  from  the  great  hall  of  the 


152  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Palazzo  Cornaro,  on,  across  the  heavily  draped 
bridge  that  spanned  the  Grand  Canal  from  the 
water-gate  of  "the  palace,  along  the  broad  piazza 
crowded  with  a  silent  throng,  and  into  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Apostles,  the  funeral  procession  slowly 
passed.  The  service  closed,  and  in  the  great  Cor- 
naro tomb  in  the  family  chapel,  at  last  was  laid  to 
rest  the  body  of  one  who  had  enjoyed  much  but 
suffered  more — the  sorrowful  Queen  of  Cyprus,  the 
once  bright  and  beautiful  "  Daughter  of  the  Re- 
public." 

Venice  to-day  is  mouldy  and  wasting.  The 
palace  in  which  Catarina  Cornaro  spent  her  girl- 
hood is  now  a  pawnbroker's  shop.  The  last  living 
representative  of  the  haughty  house  of  Lusignan— 
Kings,  in  their  day,  of  Cyprus,  of  Jerusalem,  and 
of  Armenia — is  said  to  be  a  waiter  in  a  French  cafe. 
So  royalty  withers  and  power  fades.  There  is  no 
title  to  nobility  save  character,  and  no  family  pride 
so  unfading  as  a  spotless  name.  But,  though  palace 
and  family  have  both  decayed,  the  beautiful  girl 
who  was  once  the  glory  of  Venice  and  whom  great 
artists  loved  to  paint,  sends  us  across  the  ages,  in  a 
flash  of  regal  splendor,  a  lesson  of  loyalty  and  help- 
fulness. This,  indeed,  will  outlive  all  their  queenly 
titles,  and  shows  her  to  us  as  the  bright-hearted  girl 
who,  in  spite  of  sorrow,  of  trouble,  and  of  loss,  de- 
veloped into  the  strong  and  self-reliant  woman. 


THERESA  OF  AVILA: 

THE    GIRL    OF    THE    SPANISH    SIERRAS. 

{Afterward  known  as  St.  Theresa  of  AvilaJ\ 
A.D.    1525. 

IT  is  a  stern  and  gray  old  city  that  the  sun  looks 
down  upon,  when  once  he  does  show  his  jolly 
face    above    the  saw-like   ridges  of  the  grim 
Guadarrama  Mountains  in  Central  Spain  ;  a  stern 
and  gray  old  city  as  well  it  may  be,  for  it  is  one 
of  the  very  old  towns  of  Western  Europe — Avila, 
said  by  some  to  have  been  built  by  Albula,   the 
mother  of   Hercules  nearly    four    thousand    years 
ago. 

Whether  or  not  it  was  the  place  in  which  that 
baby  gymnast  strangled  the  serpents  who  sought 
to  kill  him  in  his  cradle,  it  is  indeed  ancient  enough 
to  suit  any  boy  or  girl  who  likes  to  dig  among  the 
relics  of  the  past.  For  more  than  eight  centuries 
the  same  granite  walls  that  now  surround  it  have 
lifted  their  gray  ramparts  out  of  the  vast  and  granite- 
covered  plains  that  make  the  country  so  wild  and 

153 


154  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

lonesome,  while  its  eighty-six  towers  and  gateways, 
still  unbroken  and  complete,  tell  of  its  strength  and 
importance  in  those  far-off  days,  when  the  Cross 
was  battling  with  the  Crescent,  and  Christian  Spain, 
step  by  step,  was  forcing  Mohammedan  Spain  back 
to  the  blue  Mediterranean  and  the  arid  wastes  of 
Africa,  from  which,  centuries  before,  the  followers 
of  the  Arabian  Prophet  had  come. 

At  the  time  of  our  story,  in  the  year  1525,  this 
forcing  process  was  about  over.  Under  the  relent- 
less measures  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  with  whose 
story  all  American  children,  at  least,  should  be 
familiar,  the  last  Moorish  stronghold  had  fallen, 
in  the  very  year  in  which  Columbus  discovered 
America,  and  Spain,  from  the  Pyrenees  to  the 
Straits  of  Gibraltar,  acknowledged  the  mastership 
of  its  Christian  sovereigns. 

But  the  centuries  of  warfare  that  had  made  the 
Spaniards  a  fierce  and  warlike  race,  had  also  filled 
Spain  with  frowning  castles  and  embattled  towns. 
And  such  an  embattled  town  was  this  same  city  of 
Avila,  in  which,  in  1525,  lived  the  stern  and  pious  old 
grandee,  Don  Alphonso  Sanchez  de  Cepeda,  his  sen- 
timental and  romance-loving  wife,  the  Donna  Bea- 
trix, and  their  twelve  sturdy  and  healthy  children. 

Religious  warfare,  as  it  is  the  most  bitter  and 
relentless  of  strifes,  is  also  the  most  brutal.  It 
turns  the  natures  of  men  and  women  into  quite  a 


156  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

different  channel  from  the  one  in  which  the  truths 
they  are  fighting  for  would  seek  to  lead  them  ;  and 
of  all  relentless  and  brutal  religious  wars,  few  have 
been  more  bitter  than  the  one  that  for  fully  five 
hundred  years  had  wasted  the  land  of  Spain. 

To  battle  for  the  Cross,  to  gain  renown  in  fights 
against  the  Infidels — as  the  Moors  were  then  called, 
—to  "  obtain  martyrdom  "  among  the  followers  of 
Mohammed — these  were  reckoned  by  the  Christians 
of  crusading  days  as  the  highest  honor  that  life 
could  bring  or  death  bestow.  It  is  no  wonder, 
therefore,  that  in  a  family,  the  father  of  which  had 
been  himself  a  fighter  of  Infidels,  and  the  mother 
a  reader  and  dreamer  of  all  the  romantic  stories 
that  such  conflicts  create,  the  children  also  should 
be  full  of  that  spirit  of  hatred  toward  a  conquered 
foe  that  came  from  so  bitter  and  long-continuing  a 
warfare. 

Don  Alphonso's  religion  had  little  in  it  of  cheer- 
fulness and  love  It  was  of  the  stern  and  pitiless 
kind  that  called  for  sacrifice  and  penance,  and  all 
those  uncomfortable  and  unnecessary  forms  by 
which  too  many  good  people,  even  in  this  more 
enlightened  day,  think  to  ease  their  troubled  con- 
sciences, or  to  satisfy  the  fancied  demands  of  the 
Good  Father,  who  really  requires  none  of  these 
foolish  and  most  unpleasant  self-punishments. 

But  such  a  belief  was  the  rule  in  Don  Alphonso's 


THERESA    OF  A  VILA.  157 

day,  and  when  it  could  lay  so  strong  a  hold  upon 
grown  men  and  women,  it  would,  of  course,  be  likely 
to  work  in  peculiar  ways  with  thoughtful  and  con- 
scientious children,  who,  understanding  little  of  the 
real  meaning  of  sacrifice  and  penance,  felt  it  their 
duty  to  do  something  as  proof  of  their  belief. 

So  it  came  about  that  little  ten-year-old  Theresa, 
one  of  the  numerous  girls  of  the  Cepeda  family, 
thought  as  deeply  of  these  things  as  her  small  mind 
was  capable.  She  was  of  a  peculiarly  sympathetic, 
romantic,  and  conscientious  nature,  and  she  felt  it 
her  duty  to  do  something  to  show  her  devotion  to 
the  faith  for  which  her  father  had  fought  so  val- 
iantly, and  which  the  nuns  and  priests,  who  were  her 
teachers,  so  vigorously  impressed  upon  her. 

She  had  been  taught  that  alike  the  punishment 
or  the  glory  that  must  follow  her  life  on  earth  were 
to  last  forever.  Forever  !  this  was  a  word  that 
even  a  thoughtful  little  maiden  like  Theresa  could 
not  comprehend.  So  she  sought  her  mother. 

"  Forever  ?  how  long  is  forever,  mother  mine  ? " 
she  asked. 

But  the  Donna  Beatrix  was  just  then  too  deeply 
interested  in  the  tragic  story  of  the  two  lovers, 
Calixto  and  Melibea,  in  the  Senor  Fernando  de 
Rojas'  tear-compelling  story,  to  be  able  to  enter  into 
the  discussion  of  so  deep  a  question. 

"  Forever,"  she  said,  looking  up  from  the  thick 


158  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

and  crabbed  black-letter  pages,  "  why  forever  is 
forever,  child — always.  Pray  do  not  trouble  me 
with  such  questions  ;  just  as  I  am  in  the  midst  of 
this  beautiful  death-scene  too." 

The  little  girl  found  she  could  gain  no  knowledge 
from  this  source,  and  she  feared  to  question  her 
stern  and  bigoted  old  father.  So  she  sought  her 
favorite  brother  Pedro — a  bright  little  fellow  of 
seven,  who  adored  and  thoroughly  believed  in  his 
sister  Theresa. 

To  Pedro,  then,  Theresa  confided  her  belief  that, 
if  forever  was  so  long  a  time  as  "  always,"  it  would 
be  most  unpleasant  to  suffer  "  always,"  if  by  any 
chance  they  should  do  any  thing  wrong.  It  would 
be  far  better,  so  argued  this  little  logician,  to  die 
now  and  end  the  problem,  than  to  live  and  run  so 
great  a  risk.  She  told  him,  too,  that,  as  they  knew 
from  their  mother's  tales,  the  most  beautiful,  the 
most  glorious  way  to  die  was  as  a  martyr  among 
the  infidel  Moors.  So  she  proposed  to  Pedro  that 
she  and  he  should  not  say  a  word  to  any  one,  but 
just  start  off  at  once  as  crusaders  on  their  own  ac- 
counts, and  lose  their  lives  but  save  their  souls  as 
martyrs  among  the  Moors. 

The  suggestion  had  all  the  effect  of  novelty  to 
the  little  Pedro,  and  while  he  did  not  altogether 
relish  the  idea  of  losing  his  life  among  the  Moors, 
still  the  possibility  of  a  change  presented  itself  with 


THERESA    OF  A  VI LA.  159 

all  the  attractions  that  the  thought  of  trying  some- 
thing new  always  has  for  children.  Besides,  he  had 
great  respect  for  his  sister's  judgment. 

"  Well,  let  us  be  crusaders,"  he  said,  "  and  per- 
haps we  need  not  be  martyrs,  sister.  I  don't  think 
that  would  be  so  very  pleasant,  do  you  ?  Who 
knows  ;  perhaps  we  may  be  victorious  crusaders  and 
conquer  the  Infidels  just  as  did  Ruy  Diaz  the  Cid.* 
See  here,  Theresa ;  I  have  my  sword  and  you  can 
take  your  cross,  and  we  can  have  such  a  nice  cru- 
sade, and  may  be  the  infidel  Moors  will  run  away 
from  us  just  as  they  did  from  the  Cid  and  leave  us 
their  cities  and  their  gold  and  treasure  ?  Don't  you 
remember  what  mother  read  us,  how  the  Cid  won 
Castelon,  with  its  silver  and  its  gold  ?  " 

And  the  little  fellow  spouted  most  valiantly  this 
portion  of  the  famous  poem  of  the  exploits  of  the 
Cid  (the  Poema  del  Cid),  with  the  martial  spirit  of 
which  stirring  rhyme  his  romantic  mother  had  filled 
her  children  : 

"  Smite,  smite,  my  knights,  for  mercy's  sake — on  boldly  to  the 

war  ; 

I  am  Ruy  Diaz  of  Bivar,  the  Cid  Campeador ! 
Three  hundred  lances   then    were  couched,  with  pennons 
streaming  gay  ; 

*  The  Cid  was  the  great  hero  of  Spanish  romance.  The  stories  of  his 
valor  have  been  the  joy  of  Spaniards,  old  and  young,  for  centuries.  Cid  is 
-a  corruption  of  the  Moorish  word  seyd  or  said,  and  means  master. 


l6o  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Three  hundred   shields  were  pierced  through — no  steel  the 

shock  might  stay  ;  — 

Three  hundred  hauberks  were  torn  off  in  that  encounter  sore  ; 
Three  hundred  snow-white  pennons  were  crimson-dyed  in 

gore; 
Three  hundred  chargers  wandered  loose — their  lords  were 

overthrown  ; 
The  Christians  cry  '  St.    James  for  Spain  ! '  the  Moormen 

cry  '  Mahoun  ! '  " 

Theresa  applauded  her  little  brother's  eloquent 
recitation,  and  thought  him  a  very  smart  boy  ;  but 
she  said  rather  sadly  :  "  I  fear  me  it  will  not  be  that 
way,  my  Pedro  ;  for  martyrdom  means,  as  mother 
has  told  us,  the  giving  up  of  our  life  rather  than 
bow  to  the  false  faith  of  the  Infidel,  and  thus  to  save 
our  souls  and  have  a  crown  of  glory." 

"  The  crown  would  be  very  nice,  I  suppose,  sis- 
ter," said  practical  young  Pedro,  "  especially  if  it 
was  all  so  fine  as  the  one  they  say  the  young  King 
Carlos  *  wears — Emperor,  too,  now,  is  he  not  ? 
Could  we  be  emperors,  too,  sister,  if  we  were  mar- 
tyrs, and  had  each  a  crown  ?  But  we  must  be  cru- 
saders first,  I  suppose.  Come,  let  us  go  at  once." 

The  road  from  granite-walled  Avila  to  the  south 
is  across  a  wild  and  desolate  waste,  frowned  down 
upon  on  either  hand  by  the  savage  crests  of  the 
grim  sierras  of  the  Guadarrama.  It  winds  along 

*  King  Charles  the  Fifth  was  at  this  time  King  of  Spain,    and  had  just. 
been  elected  Emperor  of  Germany. 


THERESA    OF  A  VILA.  l6l 

gorges  and  ravines  and  rocky  river-beds,  and  has 
always  been,  even  in  the  days  of  Spanish  power  and 
glory,  about  as  untamed  and  savagely  picturesque 
a  road  as  one  could  well  imagine. 

Along  this  hard  and  desolate  road,  only  a  few 
days  after  their  determination  had  been  reached, 
to  start  upon  a  crusade  the  brother  and  sister  plod- 
ded. Theresa  carried  her  crucifix,  and  Pedro  his 
toy  sword,  while  in  a  little  wallet  at  his  side  were  a 
few  bits  of  food  taken  from  the  home  larder.  This 
stock  of  food  had,  of  course,  been  taken  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  mother,  who  knew  nothing  of 
their  crusade,  and  this,  therefore,  furnished  for 
Theresa  another  sin,  for  which  she  must  do  pen- 
ance, and  another  reason  for  the  desired  martyrdom. 

They  had  really  only  proceeded  a  few  miles  into 
the  mountains  beyond  Avila,  but  already  their 
sturdy  little  legs  were  tired,  and  their  stout  little 
backs  were  sore.  Pedro  thought  crusading  not 
such  very  great  fun  after  all ;  he  was  always  hungry 
and  thirsty,  and  Theresa  would  only  let  him  take  a 
bite  once  in  a  while. 

"  Don't  you  suppose  there  is  a  Moorish  castle 
somewhere  around  here  that  we  could  capture,  and 
so  get  plenty  to  eat? "he  inquired  of  his  sister. 
u  That  is  what  the  Cid  was  always  finding.  Don't 
you  remember  how  nicely  he  got  into  Alcacer  and 
slew  eleven  Infidel  knights,  and  found  ever  so  much 


1 62  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

gold  and  things  to  eat  ?     This  is  what  he  said,  you 
know : 

"  '  On,  on,  my  knights,  and  smite  the  foe  ! 

And  falter  not,  I  pray  ; 
For  by  the  grace  of  God,  I  trow, 
The  town  is  ours  this  day  ! ' ' 

"  O  Pedro,  dear,  why  will  you  think  so  much  of 
things  to  eat,"  groaned  Theresa.  "  Do  you  not  know 
that  to  be  hungry  is  one  way  to  be  a  martyr.  And 
besides,  it  is,  I  doubt  not,  our  just  punishment  for 
having  taken  any  thing  to  eat  without  letting  mother 
know.  We  must  suffer  and  be  strong,  little  brother." 

"That's  just  like  a  girl,"  cried  Pedro,  a  trifle 
scornfully.  "  How  can  we  be  strong  if  we  suffer? 
I  can't,  I  know." 

But  before  Theresa  could  enter  upon  an  explana- 
tion of  this  most  difficult  problem — one  that  has 
troubled  many  older  heads  than  little  Pedro's, — both 
the  children  started  in  surprise,  and  then  involun- 
tarily shrunk  closer  to  the  dark  gray  rock  in  whose 
shadow  they  were  resting.  For  there,  not  a  hun- 
dred yards  distant,  coming  around  a  turn  in  the 
road,  was  one  of  the  very  Infidels  they  had  come 
out  to  meet  and  conquer,  or  be  martyred  by. 

He  was  a  rather  imposing-looking  but  not  a  for- 
midable old  man.  His  cloak  or  mantle  of  brown 
stuff  was  worn  and  ragged,  his  turban  was  quite  as 
dingy,  but  the  long  white  beard  that  fell  upon  his 


THERESA    OF  A  VILA.  163 

breast  made  his  swarthy  face  look  even  fiercer  than 
it  really  was,  and  the  stout  staff,  with  which  he 
helped  himself  over  the  uneven  road,  seemed  to  the 
little  crusaders  some  terrible  weapon  of  torture  and 
of  martyrdom. 

But  Pedro  was  a  valiant  little  fellow  after  all. 
The  fighting  spirit  of  his  father  the  Don  burned 
within  him,  and  few  little  folks  of  seven  know  what 
caution  is.  He  whispered  to  his  sister,  whose  hand 
he  had  at  first  clutched  in  terror,  a  word  of  assur- 
ance. 

"  Be  not  afraid,  sister  mine,"  he  said.  "  Yonder 
comes  the  Infidel  we  have  gone  forth  to  find.  Do 
you  suppose  he  has  a  whole  great  army  following 
him  ?  Hold  up  your  crucifix,  and  I  will  strike  him 
with  my  sword.  The  castle  can't  be  far  away,  and 
perhaps  we  can  conquer  this  old  Infidel  and  find  a 
good  dinner  in  his  castle.  That  's  just  what  the  Cid 
would  have  done.  You  know  what  he  said  : 

"  '  Far  from  our  land,  far  from  Castile 

We  here  are  banished  ; 

If  with  the  Moors  we  battle  not, 

I  wot  we  get  no  bread.' 

Let  us  battle  with  him  at  once." 

And  before  his  sister  with  restraining  hand, 
could  hold  him  back  the  plucky  young  crusader 
flourished  his  sword  furiously  and  charged  down 
upon  the  old  Moor,  who  now  in  turn  started  in  sur- 


1 64  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

prise  and  drew  aside  from  the  path  of  the  deter- 
mined little  warrior. 

"  Now  yield  thee,  yield  thee,  pagan  prince, 

Or  die  in  crimson  gore  ; 
I  am  Ruy  Diaz  of  Bivar, 
The  Cid  Campeador  !  " 

shouted  the  little  crusader,  charging  against  his 
pagan  enemy  at  a  furious  rate. 

"  O  spare  him,  spare  my  brother,  noble  emir. 
Let  me  die  in  his  stead,"  cried  the  terrified  Theresa, 
not  quite  so  confident  now  as  to  the  pleasure  of 
martyrdom. 

The  old  man  stretched  out  his  staff  and  stopped 
the  headlong  dash  of  the  boy.  Then  laying  a  hand 
lightly  on  his  assailant's  head  he  looked  smilingly 
toward  Theresa. 

"  Neither  prince  nor  emir  am  I,  Christian  maiden," 
he  said,  "  but  the  poor  Morisco  Abd-el-'Aman  of  Cor- 
dova, seeking  my  son  Ali,  who,  men  say,  is  servant 
to  a  family  in  Valladolid.  Pray  you  if  you  have 
aught  to  eat  give  some  to  me,  for  I  am  famishing." 

This  was  not  exactly  martyrdom  ;  it  was,  in  fact, 
quite  the  opposite,  and  the  little  Theresa  was  puz- 
zled as  to  her  duty  in  the  matter.  Pedro,  however, 
was  not  at  all  undecided. 

"  Give  our  bread  and  cake  to  a  nasty  old  Moor  ?  " 
he  cried  ;  "  I  should  say  we  will  not,  will  we,  sister  ? 


THERESA    OF  A  VILA.  165 

We  need  it  for  ourselves.  Besides,  what  dreadful 
thing  is  it  that  the  Holy  Inquisition  does  to  people 
who  succor  the  infidel  Moors  ?" 

Theresa  shuddered.  She  knew  too  well  all  the 
stories  of  the  horrible  punishments  that  the  Holy 
Office,  known  as  the  Inquisition  of  Spain,  visited 
upon  those  who  harbored  Jews  or  aided  the  now 
degraded  Moors.  For  so  complete  had  been  the 
conquest  of  the  once  proud  possessors  of  Southern 
Spain,  that  they  were  usually  known  only  by  the  con- 
temptuous title  of  "  Moriscoes,"  and  were  despised 
and  hated  by  their  "  chivalrous "  Christian  con- 
querors. 

But  little  Theresa  de  Cepeda  was  of  so  loving 
and  generous  a  nature  that  even  the  plea  of  an  out- 
cast and  despised  Morisco  moved  her  to  pity. 
From  her  earliest  childhood  she  had  delighted  in 
helpful  and  generous  deeds.  She  repeatedly  gave 
away,  so  we  are  told,  all  her  pocket-money  in 
charity,  and  any  sign  of  trouble  or  distress  found 
her  ready  and  anxious  to  extend  relief.  There  was 
really  a  good  deal  of  the  angelic  in  little  Theresa, 
and  even  the  risk  of  arousing  the  wrath  of  the  In- 
quisition, the  walls  of  whose  gloomy  dungeon  in 
Avila  she  had  so  often  looked  upon  with  awe,  could 
not  withhold  her  from  wishing  to  help  this  poor  old 
man  who  was  hunting  for  his  lost  son. 

"  Nay,  brother,"  she  said  to  little  Pedro,  "  it  can 


1 66  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

be  not  so  very  great  a  crime  to  give  food  to  a 
starving  man  "  ;  and  much  to  Pedro's  disgust,  she 
opened  the  wallet  and  emptied  their  little  store  of 
provisions  into  the  old  beggar's  hand. 

"  And  wither  are  ye  bound,  little  ones  ?  "  asked 
this  "  tramp "  of  the  long  ago,  as  the  children 
watched  their  precious  dinner  disappear  behind  his 
snowy  beard. 

"We  are  on  a  crusade,  don  Infidel,"  replied 
Pedro,  boldly.  "A  crusade  against  your  armies 
and  castles,  perhaps  to  capture  them,  and  thus  -gain 
the  crown  of  martyrdom." 

The  old  Moor  looked  at  them  sadly.  "  There  is 
scarce  need  for  that,  my  children,"  he  said.  "  My 
people  are  but  slaves  ;  their  armies  and  their  castles 
are  lost ;  their  beautiful  cities  are  ruined,  and  there 
is  neither  conquest  nor  martyrdom  for  Christian 
youths  and  maidens  to  gain  among  them.  Go 
home,  my  little  ones,  and  pray  to  Allah  that  you 
and  yours  may  never  know  so  much  of  sorrow  and 
of  trouble  as  do  the  poor  Moriscoes  of  Spain  this 
day." 

This  was  news  to  Theresa.  No  martyrdom  to 
be  obtained  among  the  Moors  ?  Where  then  was 
all  the  truth  of  her  mother's  romances, — where  was 
all  the  wisdom  of  her  father's  savage  faith  ?  She 
had  always  supposed  that  the  Moors  were  monsters 
and  djins,  waiting  with  great  fires  and  racks  and 


OF  A  VILA.  167 

sharpest  cimeters  to  put  to  horrible  death  all  young 
Christians  who  came  amongst  them,  and  now  here 
was  one  who  begged  for  bread  and  pleaded  for  pity 
like  any  common  beggar  of  Avila.  Evidently  some- 
thing was  wrong  in  the  home  stories. 

As  for  little  Pedro,  he  waxed  more  valiant  as  the 
danger  lessened.  He  whetted  his  toy  sword  against 
the  granite  rocks  and  looked  savagely  at  the  old  man. 

"  You  have  eaten  all  my  bread,  don  Infidel,"  he 
said,  "  and  now  you  would  lie  about  your  people  and 
your  castles.  You  are  no  beggar  ;  you  are  the  King 
of  Cordova  come  here  in  this  disguise  to  spy  out  the 
Christian's  land.  I  know  all  about  you  from  my 
mother's  stories.  So  you  must  die.  I  shall  send 
your  head  to  our  Emperor  by  my  sister  here,  and 
when  he  shall  ask  her  who  has  done  this  noble  deed 
she  will  say,  just  as  did  Alvar  Fanez  to  King  Al- 
fonso : 

4  My  Cid  Campeador,  O  king,  it  was  who  girded  brand  : 
The  Paynim  king  he  hath  o'ercome,  the  mightiest  in  the  land. 
Plenteous  and  sovereign  is  the  spoil  he  from  the  Moor  hath 

won  ; 
This   portion,  honored    king   and    lord,  he   sendeth   to    your 

throne.' 

"  So,  King  of  Cordova,  bend  down  and  let  me 
cut  off  your  head." 

The  "  King  of  Cordova"  made  no  movement  of 
compliance  to  this  gentle  invitation,  and  the  head- 


1 68  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

strong  Pedro,  springing  toward  him,  would  have 
caught  him  by  the  beard,  had  not  his  gentle  sister 
restrained  him. 

"  I  do  believe  he  is  no  king,  my  Pedro,"  she  said, 
"  but  only,  as  he  says,  a  poor  Morisco  beggar.  Let 
us  rather  try  to  help  him.  He  hath  no  castles  I  am 
sure,  and  as  for  his  armies — 

"  His  armies!  there  they  come;  look,  sister!" 
cried  little  Pedro,  breaking  into  his  sister's  words ; 
"  now  will  you  believe  me  ?  "  and  following  his  gaze, 
Theresa  herself  started  as  she  saw  dashing  down 
the  mountain  highway  what  looked  to  her  unprac- 
tised eye  like  a  whole  band  of  Moorish  cavalry  with 
glimmering  lances  and  streaming  pennons. 

Pedro  faced  the  charge  with  drawn  sword. 
Theresa  knelt  on  the  ground  with  silver  crucifix 
upraised,  expecting  instant  martyrdom,  while  the  old 
Moorish  tramp,  Abd-el-'Aman,  believing  discretion 
to  be  the  better  part  of  valor,  quietly  dropped  down 
by  the  side  of  the  rocky  roadway,  for  well  he  under- 
stood who  were  these  latest  comers. 

The  Moorish  cavalry,  which  proved  to  be  three 
Spaniards  on  horseback,  drew  up  before  the  young 
crusaders. 

"  So,  runaways,  we  have  found  you,"  cried  one  of 
them,  as  he  recognized  the  children.  "  Come, 
Theresa,  what  means  this  folly  ?  Whither  are  you 
and  Pedro  bound  ?  " 


THERESA    OF  A  VI LA.  169 

"  We  were  even  starting  for  a  crusade  against  the 
Moor,  Brother  Jago,"  said  Theresa,  timidly,  "but 
our  Infidel  friend  here — why,  where  hath  he  gone  ? 
—  says  that  there  are  neither  Infidel  castles  nor 
Moorish  armies  now,  and  that  therefore  we  may 
not  be  crusaders." 

"  But  I  know  that  he  doth  lie,  Brother  Jago," 
cried  little  Pedro,  more  valiant  still  when  he  saw  to 
what  his  Moorish  cavalry  was  reduced.  "  He  is 
the  King  of  Cordova,  come  here  to  spy  out  the 
land,  and  I  was  about  to  cut  off  his  head  when  you 
did  disturb  us." 

Big  brother  Jago  de  Cepeda  and  the  two 
servants  of  his  father's  house  laughed  long  and 
loudly. 

"  Crusaders  and  kings,"  he  cried  ;  "  why,  we  shall 
have  the  Cid  himself  here,  if  we  do  but  wait  long 
enough." 

"  Hush,  brother,"  said  young  Pedro,  confidentially, 
"  say  it  not  so  loudly.  I  did  tell  the  Infidel  that  I 
was  Ruy  Diaz  of  Bivar,  the  Cid  Campeador  —  and 
he  did  believe  me." 

And  then  the  cavalry  laughed  louder  than  ever, 
and  swooping  down  captured  the  young  crusaders 
and  set  the  truants  before  them  on  their  uncomfort- 
able Cordova  saddles.  Then,  turning  around,  they 
rode  swiftly  back  to  Avila  with  the  runaways,  while 
the  old  Moor,  glad  to  have  escaped  rough  handling 


1 70  .  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

from  the  Christian  riders,  grasped  his  staff  and 
plodded  on  toward  Avila  and  Valladolid. 

So  the  expedition  for  martyrdom  and  crusade 
came  to  an  ignominious  end.  But  the  pious  desires 
of  little  Theresa  did  not.  For,  finding  that  martyr- 
dom was  out  of  the  question,  she  proposed  to  her 
ever-ready  brother  that  they  should  become  hermits, 
and  for  days  the  two  children  worked  away  trying 
to  build  a  hermitage  near  their  father's  house. 

But  the  rough  and  heavy  pieces  of  granite  with 
which  they  sought  to  build  their  hermitage  proved 
more  than  they  could  handle,  and  their  knowledge 
of  mason-work  was  about  as  imperfect  as  had  been 
their  familiarity  with  crusading  and  the  country  of 
the  Moors.  "  The  stones  that  we  piled  one  upon 
another,"  wrote  Theresa  herself  in  later  years,  "  im- 
mediately fell  down,  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  we 
found  no  means  of  accomplishing  our  wish." 

The  pluck  and  piety,  however,  that  set  this  con- 
scientious and  sympathetic  little  girl  to  such  im- 
possible tasks  were  certain  to  blossom  into  some- 
thing equally  hard  and  unselfish  when  she  grew  to 
womanhood.  And  so  it  proved.  Her  much-loved 
but  romance-reading  mother  died  when  she  was 
twelve  years  old,  and  Theresa  felt  her  loss  keenly. 

She  was  a  very  clever  and  ambitious  girl,  and  with 
a  mother's  guiding  hand  removed  she  became  im- 
patient under  the  restraints  which  her  stern  old 


THERESA    OF  A  VILA.  \Jl 

father,  Don  Alphonso,  placed  upon  her.  At  sixteen 
she  was  an  impetuous,  worldly-minded,  and  very 
vain  though  very  dignified  young  lady.  Then  her 
father,  fearful  as  to  her  future,  sent  her  to  a  convent, 
with  orders  that  she  should  be  kept  in  strict  seclusion. 

Such  a  punishment  awoke  all  the  feelings  of  con- 
scientiousness and  self-conviction  that  had  so  in- 
fluenced her  when  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  The- 
resa, left  to  her  own  thoughts,  first  grew  morbid, 
and  then  fell  sick. 

During  her  sickness  she  resolved  to  become  a 
nun,  persuaded  her  ever-faithful  brother,  Pedro,  to 
become  a  friar,  and  when  Don  Alphonso,  their 
father,  refused  his  consent,  the  brother  and  sister, 
repeating  the  folly  of  their  childhood,  again  ran 
away  from  home. 

Then  their  father,  seeing  the  uselessness  of  re- 
sistance, consented,  and  Theresa,  at  the  age  of 
twenty,  entered  a  convent  in  Avila,  and  became  a 
nun  in  what  was  known  as  the  Order  of  the  Car- 
melites. 

The  life  of  these  nuns  was  strict,  secluded,  and  si- 
lent ;  but  the  conscientious  nature  of  Theresa  found 
even  the  severities  of  this  lonely  life  not  sufficiently 
hard,  and  attaining  to  a  position  of  influence  in  the 
order  she  obtained  permission  from  the  Pope  in 
1562  to  found  a  new  order  which  should  be  even 
more  strict  in  its  rules,  and  therefore,  so  she  be- 


172  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

lieved,  more  helpful.  Thus  was  founded  the  Order 
of  Barefooted  Carmelites,  a  body  of  priests  and 
nuns,  who  have  in  their  peculiar  way  accomplished 
very  much  for  charity,  gentleness,  and  self-help  in 
the  world,  and  whose  schools  and  convents  have 
been  instituted  in  all  parts  of  the  earth. 

Theresa  de  Cepeda  died  in  1582,  greatly  be- 
loved and  revered  for  her  strict  but  gentle 
life,  her  great  and  helpful  chanties,  and  her 
sincere  desire  to  benefit  her  fellow-men.  After  her 
death,  so  great  was  the  respect  paid  her  that  she 
was  canonized,  as  it  is  called  :  that  is,  lifted  up  as 
an  example  of  great  goodness  to  the  world  ;  and  she 
is  to-day  known  and  honored  among  devout  Ro- 
man Catholics  as  St.  Theresa  of  Avila. 

Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  peculiar  way  in 
which  her  life  was  spent ;  however  we  may  regard 
the  story  of  her  troubles  with  her  conscience,  her 
understanding  of  what  she  deemed  her  duty,  and 
her  sinking  of  what  might  have  been  a  happy  and 
joyous  life  in  the  solitude  and  severity  of  a  convent, 
we  cannot  but  think  of  her  as  one  who  wished  to 
do  right,  and  who  desired  above  all  else  to  benefit 
the  world  in  which  she  lived  and  labored.  Her 
story  is  that  of  a  most  extraordinary  and  remark- 
able woman,  who  devoted  her  life  to  what  she 
deemed  the  thing  demanded  of  her.  Could  we  not, 
all  of  us,  profitably  attempt  to  live  in  something 


THERESA    OF  A  VILA.  173 

like  a  kindred  spirit  to  that  helpful  and  unselfish  one 
that  actuated  this  girl  of  the  Spanish  sierras  ? 

"  Here  and  there  is  born  a  Saint  Theresa,"  says 
George  Eliot,  "  foundress  of  nothing,  whose  loving 
heart-beats  and  sobs  after  an  unattained  goodness 
tremble  off  and  are  dispersed  among  hindrances, 
instead  of  centring  in  some  long-recognizable  deed." 

But  if  a  girl  or  boy,  desiring  to  do  right,  will  dis- 
regard the  hindrances,  and  not  simply  sit  and  sob 
after  an  unattained  goodness — if,  instead,  they  will 
but  do  the  duty  nearest  at  hand  manfully  and  well, 
the  reward  will  come  in  something  even  more  de- 
sirable than  a  "  long-recognizable  deed."  It  will 
come  in  the  very  self-gratification  that  will  at  last 
follow  every  act  of  courtesy,  of  friendliness,  and  of 
self-denial,  and  such  a  life  will  be  of  more  real 
value  to  the  world  than  all  the  deeds  of  all  the  cru- 
saders, or  than  even  the  stern  and  austere  charities 
of  a  Saint  Theresa. 


ELIZABETH    OF  TUDOR  : 


THE    GIRL    OF    THE    HERTFORD     MANOR. 

^Afterward    Queen    Elizabeth    of    England;    tlie    "Good    Queen 

A.D.  1548. 


THE  iron-shod  hoofs  of  the  big  gray  courser 
rang  sharply  on  the  frozen  ground,  as,  beneath 
the  creaking  boughs  of  the  long-armed  oaks, 
Launcelot    Crue,     the     Lord    Protector's    fleetest 
courser-man,  galloped  across  the  Hertford  fells  or 
hills,  and  reined  up  his  horse  within  the  great  gates 
of  Hatfield  manor-house. 

174 


ELIZABETH  OF  TUDOR.  175 

"  From  the  Lord  Protector,"  he  said  ;  and  Master 
Avery  Mitchell,  the  feodary,*  who  had  been  closely 
watching  for  this  same  courser-man  for  several 
anxious  hours,  took  from  his  hands  a  scroll,  on 
which  was  inscribed  : 

"  To  Avery  Mitchell,  feodary  of  the  Wards  in 
Herts,  at  Hatfreld  House.  From  the  Lord  Pro- 
tector, THESE  : " 

And  next,  the  courser-man,  in  secrecy,  unscrewed 
one  of  the  bullion  buttons  on  his  buff  jerkin,  and 
taking  from  it  a  scrap  of  paper,  handed  this  also  to 
the  watchful  feodary.  Then,  his  mission  ended,  he 
repaired  to  the  buttery  to  satisfy  his  lusty  English 
appetite  with  a  big  dish  of  pasty,  followed  by  ale 
and  " wardens"  (as  certain  hard  pears,  used  chiefly 
for  cooking,  were  called  in  those  days),  while  the 
cautious  Avery  Mitchell,  unrolling  the  scrap  of 
paper,  read  : 

"  In  secrecy,  THESE  :  Under  guise  of  mummers  place  a  half- 
score  good  men  and  true  in  your  Yule-tide  maskyng.  Well 
armed  and  safely  conditioned.  They  will  be  there  who  shall 
command.  Look  for  the  green  dragon  of  Wantley.  On  your 
allegiance.  This  from  ye  wit  who." 

Scarcely  had  the  feodary  read,  re-read,  and  then 
•destroyed  this  secret  and  singular  missive,  when  the 
"  Ho  !  hollo  !  "  of  Her  Grace  the  Princess'  outriders 

*An  old  English  term  for  the  guardian  of  "certain  wards  of  the  state," 
— young  persons  under  guardianship  of  the  government. 


176  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

rang  on  the  crisp  December  air,  and  there  galloped 
up  to  the  broad  doorway  of  the  manor-house,  a 
gayly  costumed  train  of  lords  and  ladies,  with 
huntsmen  and  falconers  and  yeomen  following  on 
behind.  Central  in  the  group,  flushed  with  her  hard 
gallop  through  the  wintry  air,  a  young  girl  of 
fifteen,  tall  and  trim  in  figure,  sat  her  horse  with 
the  easy  grace  of  a  practised  and  confident  rider. 
Her  long  velvet  habit  was  deeply  edged  with  fur, 
and  both  kirtle  and  head-gear  were  of  a  rich  purple 
tinge,  while  from  beneath  the  latter  just  peeped  a 
heavy  coil  of  sunny,  golden  hair.  Her  face  was 
fresh  and  fair,  as  should  be  that  of  any  young  girl 
of  fifteen,  but  its  expression  was  rather  that  of  high 
spirits  and  of  heedless  and  impetuous  moods  than 
of  simple  maidenly  beauty. 

"  Tilly-vally,  my  lord,"  she  cried,  dropping  her 
bridle-rein  into  the  hands  of  a  waiting  groom, 
"  't  was  my  race  to-day,  was  it  not  ?  Odds  fish, 
man  !  "  she  cried  out  sharply  to  the  attendant  groom  ; 
"be  ye  easier  with  Roland's  bridle  there.  One 
beast  of  his  gentle  mettle  were  worth  a  score  of 
clumsy  varlets  like  to  you  !  Well,  said  I  not  right, 
my  Lord  Admiral ;  is  not  the  race  fairly  mine,  I 
ask  ?  "  and,  careless  in  act  as  in  speech,  she  gave  the 
Lord  Admiral's  horse,  as  she  spoke,  so  sharp  a  cut 
with  her  riding  whip  as  to  make  the  big  brute  rear 
in  sudden  surprise,  and  almost  unhorse  its  rider,. 


ELIZABETH  OF  TUDOR.  I'J'J 

while  an  unchecked  laugh  came  from  its  fair  tor- 
mentor. 

"  Good  faith,  Mistress,"  answered  Sir  Thomas 
Seymour,  the  Lord  High  Admiral,  gracefully  swal- 
lowing his  exclamation  of  surprise,  "  your  ladyship 
hath  fairly  won,  and,  sure,  hath  no  call  to  punish 
both  myself  and  my  good  Selim  here  by  such 
unwarranted  chastisement.  Will  your  grace  dis- 
mount ?  " 

And,  vaulting  from  his  seat,  he  gallantly  extended 
his  hand  to  help  the  young  girl  from  her  horse  ; 
while,  on  the  same  instant,  another  in  her  train,  a 
handsome  young  fellow  of  the  girl's  own  age,  knelt 
on  the  frozen  ground  and  held  her  stirrup. 

But  this  independent  young  maid  would  have 
none  of  their  courtesies.  Ignoring  the  outstretched 
hands  of  both  the  man  and  boy,  she  sprang  lightly 
from  her  horse,  and,  as  she  did  so,  with  a  sly  and 
sudden  push  of  her  dainty  foot,  she  sent  the  kneel- 
ing lad  sprawling  backward,  while  her  merry  peal 
of  laughter  rang  out  as  an  accompaniment  to  his 
downfall. 

"  Without  your  help,  my  lords — without  your 
help,  so  please  you  both,"  she  cried.  "  Why,  Dud- 
ley," she  exclaimed,  in  mock  surprise,  as  she  threw 
a  look  over  her  shoulder  at  the  prostrate  boy,  "  are 
you  there  ?  Beshrew  me,  though,  you  do  look  like 
one  of  goodman  Roger's  Dorking  cocks  in  the 


1 78  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

poultry  yonder,  so  red  and  ruffled  of  feather  do  you 
seem.  There,  see  now,  I  do  repent  me  of  my  dis- 
courtesy. You,  Sir  Robert,  shall  squire  me  to  the 
hall,  and  Lord  Seymour  must  even  content  himself 
with  playing  the  gallant  to  good  Mistress  Ashley"  ; 
and,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  now  pacified  Dud- 
ley, the  self-willed  girl  tripped  lightly  up  the 
entrance-steps. 

Self-willed  and  thoughtless — even  rude  and  hoy- 
denish — we  may  think  her  in  these  days  of  gentler 
manners  and  more  guarded  speech.  But  those  were 
less  refined  and  cultured  times  than  these  in  which 
we  live  ;  and  the  rough,  uncurbed  nature  of  "  Kinge 
Henrye  the  viij.  of  Most  Famous  Memorye,"  as  the 
old  chronicles  term  the  "  bluff  King  Hal,"  reap- 
peared to  a  noticeable  extent  in  the  person  of  his 
second  child,  the  daughter  of  ill-fated  Anne  Boleyn 
— "  my  ladye's  grace  "  the  Princess  Elizabeth  of 
England. 

And  yet  we  should  be  readier  to  excuse  this  im- 
petuous young  princess  of  three  hundred  years  ago 
than  were  even  her  associates  and  enemies.  For 
enemies  she  had,  poor  child,  envious  and  vindictive 
ones,  who  sought  to  work  her  harm.  •  Varied  and 
unhappy  had  her  young  life  already  been.  Born 
amid  splendid  hopes,  in  the  royal  palace  of  Green- 
wich ;  called  Elizabeth  after  that  grandmother,  the 
fair  heiress  of  the  House  of  York,  whose  marriage 


WITHOUT    YOUR    HKL1',   MY   LORDS  !    WITHOUT    YOUK    HELP 


179 


ISO  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

to  a  prince  of  the  House  of  Lancaster  had  ended 
the  long  and  cruel  War  or  the  Roses  ;  she  had 
been  welcomed  with  the  peal  of  bells  and  the  boom 
of  cannon,  and  christened  with  all  the  regal  cere- 
monial of  King  Henry's  regal  court.  Then,  when 
scarcely  three  years  old,  disgraced  by  the  wicked 
murder  of  her  mother,  cast  off  and  repudiated  by 
her  brutal  father,  and  only  received  again  to  favor 
at  the  christening  of  her  baby  brother,  passing  her 
childish  days  in  grim  old  castles  and  a  wicked  court, 
— she  found  herself,  at  thirteen,  fatherless  as  well 
as  motherless,  and  at  fifteen  cast  on  her  own  re- 
sources, the  sport  of  men's  ambitions  and  of  con- 
spirators' schemes.  To-day  the  girl  of  fifteen, 
tenderly  reared,  shielded  from  trouble  by  a  mother's 
watchful  love  and  a  father's  loving  care,  can  know 
but  little  of  the  dangers  that  compassed  this  prin- 
cess of  England,  the  Lady  Elizabeth.  Deliberately 
separated  from  her  younger  brother,  the  king,  by 
his  unwise  and  selfish  counsellors,  hated  by  her 
elder  sister,  the  Lady  Mary,  as  the  daughter  of  the 
woman  who  had  made  her  mother's  life  so  misera- 
ble, she  was,  even  in  her  manor-home  of  Hatfield, 
where  she  should  have  been  most  secure,  in  still 
greater  jeopardy.  For  this  same  Lord  Seymour  of 
Sudleye,  who  was  at  once  Lord  High  Admiral  of 
England,  uncle  to  the  king,  and  brother  of  Somer- 
set the  Lord  Protector,  had  by  fair  promises  and 


n  OF  TUDOA\  181 

lavish  gifts  bound  to  his  purpose  this  defenceless 
girl's  only  protectors,  Master  Parry,  her  cofferer,  or 
steward,  and  Mistress  Katherine  Ashley,  her  gov- 
erness. And  that  purpose  was  to  force  the  young 
princess  into  a  marriage  with  himself,  so  as  to  help 
his  schemes  of  treason  against  the  Lord  Protector, 
and  get  into  his  own  hands  the  care  of  the  boy  king 
and  the  government  of  the  realm.  It  was  a  bold 
plot,  and,  if  unsuccessful,  meant  attainder  and  death 
for  high  treason  ;  but  Seymour,  ambitious,  reckless, 
and  unprincipled,  thought  only  of  his  own  desires, 
and  cared  little  for  the  possible  ruin  into  which 
he  was  dragging  the  unsuspecting  and  orphaned 
daughter  of  the  king  who  had  been  his  ready  friend 
and  patron. 

So  matters  stood  at  the  period  of  our  store,  on 
the  eve  of  the  Christmas  festivities  of  1548,  as,  on 
the  arm  of  her  boy  escort,  Sir  Robert  Dudley,  gen- 
tleman usher  at  King  Edward's  court,  and,  years 
after,  the  famous  Earl  of  Leicester  of  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth's day,  the  royal  maiden  entered  the  hall  of 
Hatfield  House.  And,  within  the  great  hall,  she 
was  greeted  by  Master  Parry,  her  cofferer,  Master 
Runyon,  her  yeoman  of  the  robes,  and  Master 
Mitchell,  the  feodary.  Then,  with  a  low  obeisance, 
the  feodary  presented  her  the  scroll  which  had  been 
brought  him,  post-haste,  by  Launcelot  Crue,  the 
courser-man. 


1 82  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

11  What,  good  Master  Avery,"  exclaimed  Eliza- 
beth, as  she  ran  her  eye  over  the  scroll,  "  you  to  be 
Lord  of  Misrule  and  Master  of  the  Revels  !  And 
by  my  Lord  of  Somerset's  own  appointing?  I  am 
right  glad  to  learn  it." 

And  this  is  what  she  read  : 

"  Imprimis  *  :  I  give  leave  to  Avery  Mitchell,  f  eodary,  gentle- 
man, to  be  Lord  of  Misrule  of  all  good  orders,  at  the  Manor 
of  Hatfield,  during  the  twelve  days  of  Yule-tide.  And,  also,  I 
give  free  leave  to  the  said  Avery  Mitchell  to  command  all  and 
every  person  or  persons  whatsoever,  as  well  servants  as  others, 
to  be  at  his  command  whensoever  he  shall  sound  his  trumpet 
or  music,  and  to  do  him  good  service,  as  though  I  were  present 
myself,  at  their  perils.  I  give  full  power  and  authority  to  his 
lordship  to  break  all  locks,  bolts,  bars,  doors,  and  latches  to 
come  at  all  those  who  presume  to  disobey  his  lordship's  com- 
mands. God  save  the  King.  SOMERSET." 

It  was  Christmas  Eve.  The  great  hall  of  Hat- 
field  House  gleamed  with  the  light  of  many  candles 
that  flashed  upon  the  sconce  and  armor  and  polished 
floor.  Holly  and  mistletoe,  rosemary  and  bay,  and 
all  the  decorations  of  an  old-time  English  Christ- 
mas were  tastefully  arranged.  A  burst  of  laughter 
ran  through  the  hall,  as  through  the  ample  door- 
way, and  down  the  broad  stair,  trooped  the  motley 
train  of  the  Lord  of  Misrule  to  open  the  Christmas 
revels.  A  fierce  and  ferocious-looking  fellow  was 

*  A  Latin  term  signifying  "in  the  first  place,"  or  "to  commence  with," 
and  used  as  the  opening  of  legal  or  official  directions. 


DOWN  THE  BUOAD  STAIRS  TROOPED  THE  MOTLEY  TRAIN  OF  THE  LORD  OF  MISRULE. 

183 


1 84  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

he,  with  his  great  green  mustache  and  his  ogre-like 
face.  His  dress  was  a  gorgeous  parti-colored  jerkin 
and  half-hose,  trunks,  ruff,  slouch-boots  of  Cordova 
leather,  and  high  befeathered  steeple  hat.  His  long 
staff,  topped  with  a  fool's  head,  cap,  and  bells,  rang 
loudly  on  the  floor,  as,  preceded  by  his  diminutive 
but  pompous  page,  he  led  his  train  around  and 
around  the  great  hall,  lustily  singing  the  chorus : 

"  Like  prince  and  king  he  leads  the  ring  ; 
Right  merrily  we  go.     Sing  hey-trix,  trim-go-trix, 
Under  the  mistletoe  !  " 

A  menagerie  let  loose,  or  the  most  dyspeptic  of 
after-dinner  dreams,  could  not  be  more  bewildering 
than  was  this  motley  train  of  the  Lord  of  Misrule. 
Giants  and  dwarfs,  dragons  and  griffins,  hobby- 
horses and  goblins,  Robin  Hood  and  the  Grand 
Turk,  bears  and  boars  and  fantastic  animals  that 
never  had  a  name,  boys  and  girls,  men  and  women, 
in  every  imaginable  costume  and  device — around 
and  around  the  hall  they  went,  still  ringing  out  the 
chorus  : 

"  Sing  hey-trix,  trim-go-trix, 
Under  the  mistletoe  !  " 

Then,  standing  in  the  centre  of  his  court,  the 
Lord  of  Misrule  bade  his  herald  declare  that  from 
Christmas  Eve  to  Twelfth  Night  he  was  Lord  Su- 
preme ;  that,  with  his  magic  art,  he  transformed  all 


i-.r.r/.ABF.rn  or  TUDOK.  185 

there  into  children,  and  charged  them,  on  their 
fealty  to  act  only  as  such.  "  I  absolve  them  all 
from  wisdom,"  he  said  ;  "  I  bid  them  be  just  wise 
enough  to  make  fools  of  themselves,  and  do  decree 
that  none  shall  sit  apart  in  pride  and  eke  in  self- 
sufficiency  to  laugh  at  others  "  ;  and  then  the  fun 
commenced. 

Off  in  stately  Whitehall,  in  the  palace  of  the  boy 
king,  her  brother,  the  revels  were  grander  and 
showier  ;  but  to  the  young  Elizabeth,  not  yet  skilled 
in  all  the  stiffness  of  the  royal  court,  the  Yule-tide 
feast  at  Hatfield  House  brought  pleasure  enough  ; 
and  so,  seated  at  her  holly-trimmed  virginal — that 
great-great-grandfather  of  the  piano  of  to-day,— 
she,  whose  rare  skill  as  a  musician  has  come 
down  to  us,  would  —  when  wearied  with  her 
"prankes  and  japes  "-—"tap  through  "  some  fitting 
Christmas  carol,  or  that  older  lay  of  the  Yule-tide 
"  Mumming  "  : 

"  To  shorten  winter's  sadness  see  where  the  folks  with  gladness 
Disguised,  are  all  a-coming,  right  wantonly  a-mumming, 

Fa-la  ! 

"  Whilst  youthful  sports  are  lasting,  to  feasting  turn  our  fasting: 
With  revels  and  with  wassails  make  grief  and  care  our  vassals, 

Fa-la  !  " 

The  Yule-log  had  been  noisily  dragged  in  "  to 
the  firing,"  and  as  the  big  sparks  raced  up  the  wide 
chimney,  the  boar's  head  and  the  tankard  of  sack, 


I&6  tltSTORIC   GIRLS. 

the  great  Christmas  candle  and  the  Christmas  pie, 
were  escorted  around  the  room  to  the  flourish  of 
trumpets  and  welcoming  shouts  ;  the  Lord  of  Mis- 
rule, with  a  wave  of  his  staff,  was  about  to  give  the 
order  for  all  to  unmask,  when  suddenly  there 
appeared  in  the  circle  a  new  character — a  great 
green  dragon,  as  fierce  and  ferocious  as  well  could 
be,  from  his  pasteboard  jaws  to  his  curling  canvas 
tail.  The  green  dragon  of  Wantley  !  Terrified 
urchins  backed  hastily  away  from  his  horrible  jaws, 
and  the  Lord  of  Misrule  gave  a  sudden  and  visible 
start.  The  dragon  himself,  scarce  waiting  for  the 
surprise  to  subside,  waved  his  paw  for  silence,  and 
said,  in  a  hollow,  pasteboardy  voice  : 

"  Most  noble  Lord  of  Misrule,  before  your  feast 
commences  and  the  masks  are  doffd,  may  we  not, 
as  that  which  should  give  good  appetite  to  all,— 
with  your  lordship's  permit  and  that  of  my  lady's 
grace, — tell  each  some  wonder-filling  tale  as  suits 
the  goodly  time  of  Yule  ?  Here  be  stout  maskers 
can  tell  us  strange  tales  of  fairies  and  goblins,  or, 
perchance,  of  the  foreign  folk  with  whom  they  have 
trafficked  in  Calicute  and  Affrica,  Barbaria,  Perew, 
and  other  diverse  lands  and  countries  over-sea. 
And  after  they  have  ended,  then  will  I  essay  a 
tale  that  shall  cap  them  all,  so  past  belief  shall  it 
appear." 

The  close  of  the  dragon's  speech,  of  course,  made 


RLIZABETJt  01'  TUDOR.  187 

them  all  the  more  curious  ;  and  the  Lady  Elizabeth 
did  but  speak  for  all  when  she  said  :  "  I  pray  you, 
good  Sir  Dragon,  let  us  have  your  tale  first.  We 
have  had  enow  of  Barbaria  and  Perew.  If  that 
yours  may  be  so  wondrous,  let  us  hear  it  even  now, 
and  then  may  we  decide." 

"  As  your  lady's  grace  wishes,"  said  the  dragon. 
"  But  methinks  when  you  have  heard  me  through, 
you  would  that  it  had  been  the  last  or  else  not  told 
at  all." 

"  Your  lordship  of  Misrule  and  my  lady's  grace 
must  know,"  began  the  dragon,  "  that  my  story, 
though  a  short,  is  a  startling  one.  Once  on  a  time 
there  lived  a  king,  who,  though  but  a  boy,  did,  by 
God's  grace,  in  talent,  industry,  perseverance,  and 
knowledge,  surpass  both  his  own  years  and  the  be- 
lief of  men.  And  because  he  was  good  and  gentle 
alike  and  conditioned  beyond  the  measure  of  his 
years,  he  was  the  greater  prey  to  the  wicked  wiles 
of  traitorous  men.  And  one  such,  high  in  the 
king's  court,  thought  to  work  him  ill  ;  and  to  carry 
out  his  ends  did  wantonly  awaken  seditious  and 
rebellious  intent  even  among  the  king's  kith  and 
kin,  whom  he  traitorously  sought  to  wed, — his  royal 
and  younger  sister,  —  nay,  start  not,  my  lady's 
grace  !  "  exclaimed  the  dragon  quickly,  as  Elizabeth 
turned  upon  him  a  look  of  sudden  and  haughty 
surprise.  "  All  is  known  !  And  this  is  the  ending 


1 88  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

of  my  wondrous  tale.  My  Lord  Seymour  of  Sudleye 
is  this  day  taken  for  high  treason  and  haled*  to  the 
Tower.  They  of  your  own  household  are  held  as 
accomplice  to  the  Lord  Admiral's  wicked  intent, 
and  you,  Lady  Elizabeth  Tudor,  are  by  order  of  the 
council  to  be  restrained  in  prison  wards  in  this 
your  manor  of  Hatfield  until  such  time  as  the  king's 
Majesty  and  the  honorable  council  shall  decide. 
This  on  your  allegiance  !  " 

The  cry  of  terror  that  the  dragon's  words  awoke, 
died  into  silence  as  the  Lady  Elizabeth  rose  to  her 
feet,  flushed  with  anger. 

"Is  this  a  fable  or  the  posy  of  a  ring,  Sir 
Dragon?"  she  said,  sharply.  "Do  you  come  to 
try  or  tempt  me,  or  is  this  perchance  but  some  part 
of  my  Lord  of  Misrule's  Yule-tide  mumming  ? 
'Sblood,  sir  ;  only  cravens  sneak  behind  masks  to 
strike  and  threaten.  Have  off  your  disguise,  if  you 
be  a  true  man  ;  or,  by  my  word  as  Princess  of 
England,  he  shall  bitterly  rue  the  day  who  dares  to 
befool  the  daughter  of  Henry  Tudor !" 

"  As  you  will,  then,  my  lady,"  said  the  dragon. 
"  Do  you  doubt  me  now  ? "  and,  tearing  off  his 
pasteboard  wrapping,  he  stood  disclosed  before 
them  all  as  the  grim  Sir  Robert  Trywhitt,  chief  ex- 
aminer of  the  Lord  Protector's  council.  "  Move 
not  at  your  peril,"  he  said,  as  a  stir  in  the  throng 

*  Haled — dragged,  forcibly  conveyed. 


FJJ7.Anr.rn  OF  rrnoR.  189 

seemed  to  indicate  the  presence  of  some  brave  spir- 
its who  would  have  shielded  their  young  princess. 
"  Master  Feodary,  bid  your  varlets  stand  to  their 
arms." 

And  at  a  word  from  Master  Avery  Mitchell, 
late  Lord  of  Misrule,  there  flashed  from  beneath 
the  cloaks  of  certain  tall  figures  on  the  circle's  edge 
the  halberds  of  the  guard.  The  surprise  was  com- 
plete. The  Lady  Elizabeth  was  a  prisoner  in  her 
own  manor-house,  and  the  Yule-tide  revels  had 
reached  a  sudden  and  sorry  ending. 

And  yet;  once  again,  under  this  false  accusation, 
did  the  hot  spirit  of  the  Tudors  flame  in  the  face 
and  speech  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth. 

14  Sir  Robert  Trywhitt,"  cried  the  brave  young 
girl,  "  these  be  but  lying  rumors  that  do  go  against 
my  honor  and  my  fealty.  God  knoweth  they  be 
shameful  slanders,  sir ;  for  the  which,  besides  the 
desire  I  have  to  see  the  King's  Majesty,  I  pray  you 
let  me  also  be  brought  straight  before  the  court 
that  I  may  disprove  these  perjured  tongues." 

But  her  appeal  was  not  granted.  For  months 
she  was  kept  close  prisoner  at  Hatfield  House, 
subject  daily  to  most  rigid  cross-examination  by  Sir 
Robert  Trywhitt  for  the  purpose  of  implicating  her 
if  possible  in  the  Lord  Admiral's  plot.  But  all  in 
vain  ;  and  at  last  even  Sir  Robert  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt, and  wrote  to  the  council  that  "  the  Lady 


IQO  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

Elizabeth  hath  a  good  wit,  and  nothing  is  gotten 
of  her  but  by  great  policy." 

Lord  Seymour  of  Sudleye,  was  beheaded  for 
treason  on  Tower  Hill,  and  others,  implicated  in  his 
plots,  were  variously  punished;  but  even  " great 
policy  "  cannot  squeeze  a  lie  out  of  the  truth,  and 
Elizabeth  was  finally  declared  free  of  the  stain  of 
treason. 

Experience,  which  is  a  hard  teacher,  often  brings 
to  light  the  best  that  is  in  us.  It  was  so  in  this 
case.  For,  as  one  writer  says :  "  The  long  and  har- 
assing ordeal  disclosed  the  splendid  courage,  the 
reticence,  the  rare  discretion,  which  were  to  carry 
the  Princess  through  many  an  awful  peril  in  the 
years  to  come.  Probably  no  event  of  her  early 
girlhood  went  so  far  toward  making  a  woman  of 
Elizabeth  as  did  this  miserable  affair." 

Within  ten  years  thereafter  the  Lady  Elizabeth 
ascended  the  throne  of  England.  Those  ten  years 
covered  many  strange  events,  many  varying  for- 
tunes— the  death  of  her  brother,  the  boy  King  Ed- 
ward, the  sad  tragedy  of  Lady  Jane  Grey,  Wyatt's 
rebellion,  the  tanner's  revolt,  and  all  the  long  hor- 
ror of  the  reign  of  "  Bloody  Mary."  You  may  read 
of  all  this  in  history,  and  may  see  how,  through  it 
all,  the  young  princess  grew  still  more  firm  of  will, 
more  self-reliant,  wise,  and  strong,  developing  all 
those  peculiar  qualities  that  helped  to  make  her 


ELIZABETH  OF  TUDOR.  19! 

England's  greatest  queen,  and  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  women  in  history.  But  through  all  her 
long  and  most  historic  life, — a  life  of  over  seventy 
years,  forty-five  of  which  were  passed  as  England's 
queen, — scarce  any  incident  made  so  lasting  an  im- 
pression upon  her  as  when,  in  Hatfield  House,  the 
first  shock  of  the  false  charge  of  treason  fell  upon 
the  thoughtless  girl  of  fifteen  in  the  midst  of  the 
Christmas  revels. 


CHRISTINA    OF    SWEDEN  : 

THE    GIRL    OF    THE    NORTHERN    FIORDS. 

A.D.    1636. 

THERE  were  tears  and  trouble  in  Stockholm  ; 
there  was  sorrow  in  every  house  and   ham- 
let  in    Sweden ;      there    was    consternation 
throughout    Protestant  Europe.      Gustavus  Adol- 
phus  was  dead!     The  "  Lion  of  the  North"  had 
fallen  on  the  bloody  and  victorious  field  of  Lutzen, 
and  only  a  very  small  girl  of  six  stood  as  the  rep- 
resentative of  Sweden's  royalty. 

The  States  of  Sweden — that  is,  the  representa- 
•tives  of  the  different  sections  and  peoples  of  the 
kingdom — gathered  in  haste  within  the  Riddar- 
haus,  or  Hall  of  Assembly,  in  Stockholm.  There 
was  much  anxious  controversy  over  the  situation. 
The  nation  was  in  desperate  strait,  and  some  were 
for  one  thing  and  some  were  for  another.  There 
was  even  talk  of  making  the  government  a  repub- 
lic, like  the  state  of  Venice  ;  and  the  supporters  of 

192 


CHRISTINA    01'    SirJ'.DJ-'.N.  193 

the  king-  of  Poland,  cousin  to  the  dead  King  Gus- 
tavus,  openly  advocated  his  claim  to  the  throne. 

But  the  Grand  Chancellor,  Axel  Oxenstiern,  one 
of  Sweden's  greatest  statesmen,  acted  promptly. 

"  Let  there  be  no  talk  between  us,"  he  said,  "of 
Venetian  republics  or  of  Polish  kings.  We  have 
but  one  king — the  daughter  of  the  immortal  Gus- 
tavus  !" 

Then  up  spoke  one  of  the  leading  representatives 
of  the  peasant  class,  Lars  Larsson,  the  deputy  from 
the  western  fiords. 

"Who  is  this  daughter  of  Gustavus  ? "  he  de- 
manded. How  do  we  know  this  is  no  trick  of  yours, 
Axel  Oxenstiern  ?  How  do  we  know  that  King  Gus- 
tavus has  a  daughter  ?  We  have  never  seen  her." 

o 

"  You  shall  see  her  at  once,"  replied  the  Chan- 
cellor ;  and  leaving  the  Hall  for  an  instant,  he  re- 
turned speedily,  leading  a  little  girl  by  the  hand. 
With  a  sudden  movement  he  lifted  her  to  the 
seat  of  the  high  silver  throne  that  could  only  be  oc- 
cupied by  the  kings  of  Sweden. 

"  Swedes,  behold  your  king  ! " 

Lars  Larsson,  the  deputy,  pressed  close  to  the 
throne  on  which  the  small  figure  perched  silent, 
yet  with  a  defiant  little  look  upon  her  face. 

"  She  hath  the  face  of  the  Grand  Gustavus,"  he 
said.  Look,  brothers,  the  nose,  the  eyes,  the  very 
brows  are  his." 


194  HISTORIC  GIRLS, 

"  Aye,"  said  Oxenstiern  ;  "  and  she  is  a  soldier's 
daughter.  I  myself  did  see  her,  when  scarce  three 
years  old,  clap  her  tiny  hands  and  laugh  aloud 
when  the  guns  of  Calmar  fortress  thundered  a 
salute.  '  She  must  learn  to  bear  it,'  said  Gustavus 
our  king  ;  '  she  is  a  soldier's  daughter.' ' 

"  Hail,  Christina  ! "  shouted  the  assembly,  won 
by  the  proud  bearing  of  the  little  girl  and  by  her 
likeness  to  her  valiant  father.  "  We  will  have  her 
and  only  her  for  our  queen  ! " 

"  Better  yet,  brothers,"  cried  Lars  Larsson,  now 
her  most  loyal  supporter  ;  "  she  sits  upon  the 
throne  of  the  kings  ;  let  her  be  proclaimed  King  of 
Sweden." 

And  so  it  was  done.  And  with  their  wavering 
loyalty  kindled  into  a  sudden  flame,  the  States  of 
Sweden  "gave  a  mighty  shout"  and  cried  as  one 
man,  "  Hail,  Christina,  King  of  Sweden  !  " 

There  was  strong  objection  in  Sweden  to  the 
rule  of  a  woman  ;  and  the  education  of  this  little 
girl  was  rather  that  of  a  prince  than  of  a  princess. 
She  was  taught  to  ride  and  to  shoot,  to  hunt  and  to 
fence,  to  undertake  all  of  a  boy's  exercises,  and  to 
endure  all  a  boy's  privations.  She  could  bring 
down  a  hare,  at  the  first  shot,  from  the  back  of  a 
galloping  horse  ;  she  could  outride  the  most  expert 
huntsman  in  her  train. 

So  she  grew  from  childhood  into  girlhood,  and 


CHRISTINA    OF  SWEDEN.  19$ 

at  thirteen  was  as  bold  and  fearless,  as  wilful  and 
self-possessed  as  any  young  fellow  of  twenty-one. 
But  besides  all  this  she  was  a  wonderful  scholar ; 
indeed,  she  would  be  accounted  remarkable  even  in 
these  days  of  bright  girl-graduates.  At  thirteen 
she  was  a  thorough  Greek  scholar  ;  she  was  learned 
in  mathematics  and  astronomy,  the  classics,  history, 
and  philosophy  ;  and  she  acquired  of  her  own  ac- 
cord German,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  French. 

Altogether,  this  girl  Queen  of  the  North  was  as 
strange  a  compound  of  scholar  and  hoyden,  pride 
and  carelessness,  ambition  and  indifference,  culture 
and  rudeness,  as  ever,  before  her  time  or  since, 
were  combined  in  the  nature  of  a  girl  of  thirteen. 
And  it  is  thus  that  our  story  finds  her. 

One  raw  October  morning  in  the  year  1639, 
there  was  stir  and  excitement  at  the  palace  in 
Stockholm.  A  courier  had  arrived  bearing  impor- 
tant dispatches  to  the  Council  of  Regents  which 
governed  Sweden  during  the  minority  of  the  Queen, 
and  there  was  no  one  to  officially  meet  him. 

Closely  following  the  lackey  who  received  him, 
the  courier  strode  into  the  council-room  of  the 
palace.  But  the  council-room  was  vacant. 

It  was  not  a  very  elegant  apartment,  this  council- 
room  of  the  palace  of  the  kings  of  Sweden.  Al- 
though a  royal  apartment,  its  appearance  was  ample 
proof  that  the  art  of  decoration  was  as  yet  un- 


ig6  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

known  in  Sweden.  The  room  was  untidy  and  dis- 
ordered ;  the  council-table  was  strewn  with  the 
ungathered  litter  of  the  last  day's  council,  and 
even  the  remains  of  a  coarse  lunch  mino-led  with  all 

o 

this  clutter.  The  uncomfortable-looking  chairs  all 
were  out  of  place,  and  above  the  table  was  a  sort 
of  temporary  canopy  to  prevent  the  dust  and 
spiders'  webs  upon  the  ceiling  from  dropping  upon 
the  councillors. 

The  courier  gave  a  sneering  look  upon  this 
evidence  that  the  refinement  and  culture  which 
marked  at  least  the  palaces  and  castles  of  other 
European  countries  were  as  yet  little  considered 
in  Sweden.  Then,  important  and  impatient,  he 
turned  to  the  attendant.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  and  is 
there  none  here  to  receive  my  dispatches  ?  They 
call  for — houf !  so  !  what  manners  are  these  ? " 

What  manners  indeed  !  The  courier  might  well 
ask  this.  For,  plump  against  him,  as  he  spoke, 
dashed,  first  a  girl  and  then  a  boy  who  had  darted 
from  somewhere  into  the  council-chamber.  Too 
absorbed  in  their  own  concerns  to  notice  who,  if 
any  one,  was  in  the  room,  they  had  run  against  and 
very  nearly  upset  the  astonished  bearer  of  dis- 
patches. Still  more  astonished  was  he,  when  the 
girl,  using  his  body  as  a  barrier  against  her  pur- 
suer, danced  and  dodged  around  him  to  avoid 
being  caught  by  her  pursuer — a  fine-looking  young 


CHRISTINA    OF  SWEDEN.  1 97 

lad  of  about  her  own  age — Karl  Gustav,  her  cousin. 
The  scandalized  bearer  of  dispatches  to  the  Swed- 
ish Council  of  Regents  shook  himself  free  from  the 
girl's  strong  grasp  and  seizing  her  by  the  shoulder, 
demanded,  sternly  : 

"  How  now,  young  mistress !  Is  this  seemly 
conduct  toward  a  stranger  and  an  imperial 
courier?" 

The  girl  now  for  the  first  time  noticed  the  pres- 
ence of  a  stranger.  Too  excited  in  her  mad  dash 
into  the  room  to  distinguish  him  from  one  of  the 
palace  servants,  she  only  learned  the  truth  by  the 
courier's  harsh  words.  A  sudden  change  came 
over  her.  She  drew  herself  up  haughtily  and  said 
to  the  attendant : 

"  And  who  is  this  officious  stranger,  Klas  ?" 

The  tone  and  manner  of  the  question  again  sur- 
prised the  courier,  and  he  looked  at  the  speaker, 
amazed.  What  he  saw  was  an  attractive  young 
girl  of  thirteen,  short  of  stature,  with  bright  hazel 
eyes,  a  vivacious  face,  now  almost  stern  in  its  ex- 
pression of  pride  and  haughtiness.  A  man's  fur 
cap  rested  upon  the  mass  of  tangled  light-brown 
hair  which,  tied  imperfectly  with  a  simple  knot  of 
ribbon,  fell  down  upon  her  neck.  Her  short  dress 
of  plain  gray  stuff  hung  loosely  about  a  rather  trim 
figure ;  and  a  black  scarf,  carelessly  tied,  encircled 
her  neck.  In  short,  he  saw  a  rather  pretty,  care- 


198  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

lessly  dressed,  healthy,  and  just  now  very  haughty- 
looking  young  girl,  who  seemed  more  like  a  boy  in 
speech  and  manners, — and  one  who  needed  to  be 
disciplined  and  curbed. 

Again  the  question  came  :  "  Who  is  this  man, 
and  what  seeks  he  here,  Klas  ?  I  ask." 

"  'T  is  a  courier  with  dispatches  for  the  council, 
Madam,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Give  me  the  dispatches,"  said  the  girl ;  "  I  will 
attend  to  them." 

"  You,  indeed  !  "  The  courier  laughed  grimly. 
"  The  dispatches  from  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
are  for  no  hairbrained  maid  to  handle.  These  are 
to  be  delivered  to  the  Council  of  Regents  alone." 

"  I  will  have  naught  of  councils  or  regents, 
Sir  Courier,  save  when  it  pleases  me,"  said  the 
girl,  tapping  the  floor  with  an  angry  foot.  "  Give 
me  the  dispatches,  I  say, — I  am  the  King  of 
Sweden  ! " 

"  You — a  girl — king  ?  "  was  all  that  the  aston- 
ished courier  could  stammer  out.  Then,  as  the  real 
facts  dawned  upon  him,  he  knelt  at  the  feet  of  the 
young  queen  and  presented  his  dispatches. 

"  Withdraw,  sir  ! "  said  Christina,  taking  the 
papers  from  his  hand  with  but  the  scant  courtesy 
of  a  nod ;  "  we  will  read  these  and  return  a  suit- 
able answer  to  your  master." 

The  courier  withdrew,  still  dazed  at  this  strange 


199 


200  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

turn  of  affairs ;  and  Christina,  leaning  carelessly 
against  the  council-table,  opened  the  dispatches. 

Suddenly  she  burst  into  a  merry  but  scarcely 
lady-like  laugh.  "Ha,  ha,  ha  !  this  is  too  rare  a 
joke,  Karl,"  she  cried.  "  Lord  Chancellor,  Mathias, 
Torstenson  ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  these  members 
of  her  council  entered  the  apartment,  "what  think 
you  ?  Here  come  dispatches  from  the  Emperor  of 
Germany  begging  that  you,  my  council,  shall  con- 
sider the  wisdom  of  wedding  me  to  his  son  and 
thereby  closing  the  war  !  His  son,  indeed  !  Ferdi- 
nand the  Craven ! " 

"  And  yet,  Madam,"  suggested  the  wise  Oxen- 
stiern,  "it  is  a  matter  that  should  not  lightly  be 
cast  aside.  In  time  you  must  needs  be  married. 
The  constitution  of  the  kingdom  doth  oblige  you 
to." 

"  Oblige  ! "  and  the  young  girl  turned  upon  the 
gray-headed  chancellor  almost  savagely.  "  Oblige ! 
and  who,  Sir  Chancellor,  upon  earth  shall  oblige  me 
to  do  so,  if  I  do  it  not  of  mine  own  will  ?  Say  not 
oblige  to  me." 

This  was  vigorous  language  for  a  girl  of  scarce 
fourteen  ;  but  it  was  "  Christina's  way,"  one  with 
which  both  the  Council  and  the  people  soon  grew 
familiar.  It  was  the  Vasa*  nature  in  her,  and  it 

*Vasa   was   the  family  name  of    her  father  and   the   ancient   king   of 
Sweden. 


CHKISTJXA    OF   Sll'KDEN.  2OI 

was  always  prominent  in  this  spirited  young  girl— 
the  last  descendant  of  that  masterful  house. 

But  now  the  young  Prince  Karl  Gustavus  had 
something  to  say. 

"  Ah,  cousin  mine,"  and  he  laid  a  strong  though 
boyish  hand  upon  the  young  girl's  arm.  "  What 
need  for  couriers  or  dispatches  that  speak  of  suitors 
for  your  hand  ?  Am  not  I  to  be  your  husband  ? 
From  babyhood  you  have  so  promised  me." 

Christina  again  broke  into  a  loud  and  merry 
laugh. 

"  Hark  to  the  little  burgomaster,"  *  she  cried  ; 
"  much  travel  hath  made  him,  I  do  fear  me,  soft  in 
heart  and  head.  Childish  promises,  Kar4.  Let 
such  things  be  forgotten  now.  You  are  to  be  a 
soldier — I,  a  queen." 

"And  yet,  Madam,"  said  Mathias,  her  tutor,  "all 
Europe  hath  for  years  regarded  Prince  Karl  as  your 
future  husband." 

"  And  what  care  I  for  that  ? "  demanded  the  girl, 
hotly.  "  Have  done,  have  done,  sirs !  You  do 
weary  me  with  all  this.  Let  us  to  the  hunt.  Axel 
Daofpf  did  tell  me  of  a  fine  roebuck  in  the  Maelar 

oo 

woods.    See  you  to  the  courier  of  the  Emperor  and 

*  Prince  Charles  Gustavus,  afterword  Charles  XL,  King  of  Sweden,  and 
father  of  the  famous  Charles  XII.,  was  cousin  to  Christina.  He  was  short 
and  thick-set,  and  so  like  a  little  Dutchman  that  Christina  often  called  him 
"  the  little  burgomaster."  At  the  time  of  this  sketch  he  had  just  returned 
from  a  year  of  travel  through  Europe. 


2O2  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

to  his  dispatches,  Lord  Chancellor ;  I  care  not  what 
you  tell  him,  if  you  do  but  tell  him  no.  And,  stay ; 
where  is  that  round  little  Dutchman,  Van  Beunigen, 
whom  you  did  complain  but  yesterday  was  sent 
among  us  by  his  government  to  oppose  the  advices 
of  our  English  friends.  He  is  a  greater  scholar 
than  horseman,  or  I  mistake.  Let  us  take  him  in 
our  hunting-party,  Karl ;  and  see  to  it  that  he  doth 
have  one  of  our  choicest  horses." 

The  girl's  mischief  was  catching.  Her  cousin 
dropped  his  serious  look,  and,  seeking  the  Dutch 
envoy,  with  due  courtesy  invited  him  to  join  the 
Queen's  hunt. 

"  Give  him  black  Hannibal,  Jous,"  Christina  had 
said  to  her  groom  ;  and  when  the  Dutch  envoy, 
Van  Beunigen,  came  out  to  join  the  hunting-party, 
too  much  flattered  by  the  invitation  to  remember 
that  he  was  a  poor  horseman,  Jous,  the  groom,  held 
black  Hannibal  in  unsteady  check,  while  the  big 
horse  champed  and  fretted,  and  the  hunting-party 
awaited  the  new  member. 

But  Joiis,  the  groom,  noted  the  Dutchman's 
somewhat  alarmed  look  at  the  big  black  animal. 

"  Would  it  not  be  well,  good  sir,"  he  said,  "  that 
you  do  choose  some  steadier  animal  than  Hannibal 
here  ?  I  pray  you  let  me  give  you  one  less  restive. 
So,  Bror  Andersson,"  he  called  to  one  of  the  under- 
grooms,  "let  the  noble  envoy  have  your  cob,  and 
take  you  back  Hannibal  to  the  stables." 


CHRISTINA    OF  SWEDEN.  203 

But  no,  the  envoy  of  the  States  of  Holland  would 
submit  to  no  such  change.  He  ride  a  servant's 
horse,  indeed  ! 

"  Why,  sirrah  groom,"  he  said  to  good-hearted 
Jotis,  "  I  would  have  you  know  that  I  am  no  novice 
in  the  equestrian  art.  Far  from  it,  man.  •  I  have 
read  every  treatise  on  the  subject  from  Xenophon 
downward  ;  and  what  horse  can  know  more  than  I  ?  " 

So  friendly  Joiis  had  nothing  more  to  say,  but 
hoisted  the  puffed-up  Dutch  scholar  into  the  high 
saddle  ;  and  away  galloped  the  hunt  toward  the 
Maelar  woods. 

As  if  blind  to  his  own  folly,  Van  Beunigen,  the 
envoy,  placed  himself  near  to  the  young  Queen  ; 
and  Christina,  full  of  her  own  mischief,  began 
gravely  to  compliment  him  on  his  horsemanship, 
and  suggested  a  gallop. 

Alas,  fatal  moment.  For  while  he  yet  swayed 
and  jolted  upon  the  back  of  the  restive  Hannibal, 
and  even  endeavored  to  discuss  with  the  fair  young 
scholar  who  rode  beside  him,  the  "  Melanippe  "  of 
Euripides,  the  same  fair  scholar — who,  in  spite  of  all 
her  Greek  learning  was  only  a  mischievous  and 
sometimes  very  rude  young  girl — faced  him  with  a 
sober  countenance. 

"Good  Herr  Van  Beunigen,"  she  said,  "your 
Greek  is  truly  as  smooth  as  your  face.  But  it 
seems  to  me  you  do  not  sufficiently  catch  the  spirit 
of  the  poet's  lines  commmencing 


204  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

avSpcov  6s  TroAAoz  TOV  yeXojTo?  ovvena* 


I  should  rather  say  that  rou  yeXwroz  should  be  — 

Just  what  rov  yeXcoTos  should  be  she  never  de- 
clared, for,  as  the  envoy  of  Holland  turned  upon 
her  a  face  on  which  Greek  learning  and  anxious 
horsemanship  struggled  with  one  another,  Chris- 
tina slyly  touched  black  Hannibal  lightly  with  her 
riding-whip. 

Light  as  the  touch  was,  however,  it  was  enough. 
The  unruly  horse  reared  and  plunged.  The  star- 
tled scholar,  with  a  cry  of  terror,  flung  up  his  hands, 
and  then  clutched  black  Hannibal  around  the  neck. 
Thus,  in  the  manner  of  John  Gilpin, 

"  His  horse,  who  never  in  that  way 

Had  handled  been  before, 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got 
Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

"Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  nought  ; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig  ; 
He  never  dreamt  when  he  set  out, 
Of  running  such  a  rig." 

Minus  hat  and  wig,  too,  the  poor  envoy  dashed 
up  the  Maelar  highway,  while  Christina,  laughing 
loudly,  galloped  after  him  in  a  mad  race,  followed 
by  all  her  hunting-party. 

The  catastrophe  was  not  far  away.     The  black 

*  The  commencement  of  an  extract  from  the  "  Melanippe"  of  Euripides,. 
meaning,  "  To  raise  vain  laughter,  many  exercise  the  arts  of  satire." 


205 


206  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

horse,  like  the  ill-tempered  "  bronchos "  of  our 
western  plains,  "  bucked  "  suddenly,  and  over  his 
head  like  a  flash  went  the  discomfited  Dutchman. 
In  an  instant,  Greek  learning  and  Dutch  diplomacy 
lay  sprawling  in  a  Swedish  roadway,  from  which 
Jous,  the  groom,  speedily  lifted  the  groaning  would- 
be  horseman. 

Even  in  her  zeal  for  study,  really  remarkable  in 
so  young  a  girl,  Christina  could  not  forego  her 
misguided  love  of  power  and  her  tendency  to  prac- 
tical joking,  and  one  day  she  even  made  two  grave 
philosophers,  who  were  holding  a  profound  discus- 
sion in  her  presence  over  some  deep  philosophic 
subject,  suddenly  cease  their  arguments  to  play 
with  her  at  battledore  and  shuttlecock. 

A  girlhood  of  uncontrolled  power,  such  as  hers, 
could  lead  but  to  one  result.  Self-gratification  is 
the  worst  form  of  selfishness,  and  never  can  work 
good  to  any  one.  Although  she  was  a  girl  of  won- 
derful capabilities,  of  the  blood  of  famous  kings  and 
conquerors,  giving  such  promises  of  greatness  that 
scholars  and  statesmen  alike  prophesied  for  her  a 
splendid  future,  Christina,  Queen  of  Sweden,  made 
only  a  failure  of  her  life. 

At  eighteen  she  had  herself  formally  crowned  as 
King  of  Sweden.  But  at  twenty-five  she  declared 
herself  sick  and  tired  of  her  duties  as  queen,  and 
at  twenty-eight,  at  the  height  of  her  power  and 


CHRISTINA    OF  SWEDEN.  2O/ 

fame,  she  actually  did  resign  her  throne  in  favor  of 
her  cousin,  Prince  Karl, — publicly  abdicated,  and 
at  once  left  her  native  land  to  lead  the  life  of  a  dis- 
appointed wanderer. 

The  story  of  this  remarkable  woman  is  one  that 
holds  a  lesson  for  all.  Eccentric,  careless,  and  fear- 
less ;  handsome,  witty,  and  learned ;  ambitious, 
shrewd,  and  visionary, — she  was  one  of  the  strangest 
compounds  of  "  unlikes  "  to  be  met  with  in  history. 

She  deliberately  threw  away  a  crown,  wasted  a 
life  that  might  have  been  helpful  to  her  subjects, 
regarded  only  her  own  selfish  and  personal  desires, 
and  died  a  prematurely  old  woman  at  sixty-five,  un- 
loved and  unhonored. 

Her  story,  if  it  teaches  any  thing,  assures  us  that  it 
is  always  best  to  have  in  youth,  whether  as  girl  or 
boy,  the  guidance  and  direction  of  some  will  that  is 
acknowledged  and  respected.  Natures  unformed  or 
over-indulged,  with  none  to  counsel  or  command, 
generally  go  wrong.  A  mother's  love,  a  father's 
care,  these — though  young  people  may  not  always 
read  them  aright — are  needed  for  the  moulding  of 
character  ;  while  to  every  bright  young  girl,  historic 
or  unhistoric,  princess  or  peasant,  Swedish  queen  or 
modern  American  maiden,  will  it  at  last  be  apparent 
that  the  right  way  is  always  the  way  of  modesty 
and  gentleness,  of  high  ambitions,  perhaps,  but,  al- 
ways and  everywhere,  of  thoughtfulness  for  others 
.and  kindliness  to  all. 


MA-TA-OKA    OF    POW-HA-TAN  : 

THE  GIRL  OF  THE  VIRGINIA  FORESTS. 

[Generally  knorvn  as  "The  Princess  Pocahontas."] 
A.D.  1607. 

THROUGHOUT  that  portion  of  the  easterly 
United  States  where  the  noble  bay  called  the 
Chesapeake  cuts  Virginia  in  two,  and  where 
the  James,  broadest  of  all  the  rivers  of  the  "  Old 
Dominion,"  rolls  its  glittering  waters  toward  the 
sea,  there  lived,  years  ago,  a  notable  race  of  men. 

For  generations  they  had  held  the  land,  and, 
though  their  clothing  was  scanty  and  their  customs 
odd,  they  possessed  many  of  the  elements  of  charac- 
ter that  are  esteemed  noble,  and,  had  they  been  left 
to  themselves,  they  might  have  progressed — so 
people  who  have  studied  into  their  character  now 
believe — into  a  fairly  advanced  stage  of  what  is 
known  as  barbaric  civilization. 

They  lived  in  long,  low  houses  of  bark  and 
boughs,  each  house  large  enough  to  accommodate, 
perhaps,  from  eighty  to  a  hundred  persons — twenty 

208 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  POW-HA-TAN. 


209 


families  to  a  house.  These  "  long  houses  "  were, 
therefore,  much  the  same  in  purpose  as  are  the 
tenement-houses  of  to-day,  save  that  the  tene- 
ments of  that  far-off  time  were  all  on  the  same 
floor  and  were  open  closets  or  stalls,  about  eight 
feet  wide,  furnished  with  bunks  built  against  the 
wall  and  spread  with  deer-skin  robes  for  comfort 
and  covering.  These  "  flats "  or  stalls  were  ar- 
ranged on  either  side  of  a  broad,  central  passage- 
way, and  in  this  passage-way,  at  equal  distances 
apart,  fire  pits  were  constructed,  the  heat  from 
which  would  warm  the  bodies  and  cook  the  dinners 
of  the  occupants  of  the  "  long  house,"  each  fire 
serving  the  purpose  of  four  tenements  or  families. 

In  their  mode  of  life  these  people — tall,  well- 
made,  attractive,  and  coppery-colored  folk — were 
what  is  now  termed  communists,  that  is,  they  lived 
from  common  stores  and  had  all  an  equal  share  in 
the  land  and  its  yield — the  products  of  their  vege- 
table gardens,  their  hunting  and  fishing  expeditions, 
their  home  labors,  and  their  household  goods. 

Their  method  of  government  was  entirely  demo- 
cratic. No  one,  in  any  household,  was  better  off  or 
of  higher  rank  than  his  brothers  or  sisters.  Their 
chiefs  were  simply  men  (and  sometimes  women) 
who  had  been  raised  to  leadership  by  the  desire 
and  vote  of  their  associates,  but  who  possessed  no 
special  authority  or  power,  except  such  as  was  al- 


210  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

lowed  them  by  the  general  consent  of  their  com- 
rades, in  view  of  their  wisdom,  bravery,  or  ability. 
They  lived,  in  fact,  as  one  great  family  bound  in 
close  association  by  their  habits  of  life  and  their 
family  relationships,  and  they  knew  no  such  un- 
natural distinction  as  king  or  subject,  lord  or  vassal. 

Around  their  long  bark  tenements,  stretched  care- 
fully cultivated  fields  of  corn  and  pumpkins,  the 
trailing  bean,  the  full-bunched  grapevine,  the  juicy 
melon,  and  the  big-leafed  tabah,  or  tobacco. 

The  field  work  was  performed  by  the  women,  not 
from  any  necessity  of  a  slavish  condition  or  an  en- 
forced obedience,  but  because,  where  the  men  and 
boys  must  be  warriors  and  hunters,  the  women  and 
girls  felt  that  it  was  their  place  and  their  duty  to 
perform  such  menial  labor  as,  to  their  unenlightened 
nature,  seemed  hardly  suitable  to  those  who  were 
to  become  chiefs  and  heroes. 

These  sturdy  forest-folk  of  old  Virginia,  who 
had  reached  that  state  of  human  advance,  mid- 
way between  savagery  and  civilization,  that  is 
known  as  barbarism,  were  but  a  small  portion  of 
that  red-skinned,  vigorous,  and  most  interesting 
race  familiar  to  us  under  their  general  but  wrongly- 
used  name  of  "  Indians."  They  belonged  to  one  of 
the  largest  divisions  of  this  barbaric  race,  known  as 
the  Algonquin  family — a  division  created  solely  by 
a  similarity  of  language  and  of  blood-relationships 


MA-  TA-OK'A    OF  PO  W-HA-  TAN.  2  I  I 

— and  were,  therefore,  of  the  kindred  of  the  Indians 
of  Canada,  of  New  England,  and  of  Pennsylvania, 
of  the  valley  of  the  Ohio,  the  island  of  Manhattan, 
and  of  some  of  the  far-away  lands  beyond  the 
Mississippi. 

So,  for  generations,  they  lived,  with  their  simple 
home  customs  and  their  family  affections,  with 
their  games  and  sports,  their  legends  and  their 
songs,  their  dances,  fasts,  and  feasts,  their  hunting 
and  their  fishing,  their  tribal  feuds  and  wars.  They 
had  but  little  religious  belief,  save  that  founded 
upon  the  superstition  that  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
all  uncivilized  intelligence,  and  though  their  cus- 
toms show  a  certain  strain  of  cruelty  in  their  nature, 
this  was  not  a  savage  and  vindictive  cruelty,  but 
was,  rather,  the  result  of  what  was,  from  their  way 
of  looking  at  things,  an  entirely  justifiable  under- 
standing of  order  and  of  law. 

At  the  time  of  our  story,  certain  of  these  Algon- 
quin tribes  of  Virginia  were  joined  together  in  a 
sort  of  Indian  republic,  composed  of  thirty  tribes 
scattered  through  Central  and  Eastern  Virginia, 
and  known  to  their  neighbors  as  the  Confederacy 
of  the  Pow-ha-tans.  This  name  was  taken  from  the 
tribe  that  was  at  once  the  strongest  and  the  most 
energetic  one  in  this  tribal  union,  and  that  had  its 
fields  and  villages  along  the  broad  river  known  to  the 
Indians  as  the  Pow-ha-tan,  and  to  us  as  the  James. 


212  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

The  principal  chief  of  the  Pow-ha-tans  was  Wa- 
bun-so-na-cook,  called  by  the  white  men  Pow-ha- 
tan.  He  was  a  strongly  built  but  rather  stern- 
faced  old  gentleman  of  about  sixty,  and  possessed 
such  an  influence  over  his  tribesmen  that  he  was 
regarded  as  the  head  man  (president,  we  might 
say),  of  their  forest  republic,  which  comprised  the 
thirty  confederated  tribes  of  Pow-ha-tan.  The 
confederacy,  in  its  strongest  days,  never  numbered 
more  than  eight  or  nine  thousand  people,  and  yet 
it  was  considered  one  of  the  largest  Indian  unions 
in  America.  This,  therefore,  may  be  considered  as 
pretty  good  proof  that  there  was  never,  after  all,  a 
very  extensive  Indian  population  in  America,  even 
before  the  white  man  discovered  it. 

Into  one  of  the  Pow-ha-tan  villages  that  stood 
very  near  the  shores  of  Chesapeake  Bay,  and  al- 
most opposite  the  now  historic  site  of  Yorktown, 
came  one  biting  day,  in  the  winter  of  1607,  an 
Indian  runner,  .whose  name  was  Ra-bun-ta.  He 
came  as  one  that  had  important  news  to  tell,  but 
he  paused  not  for  shout  or  question  from  the  in- 
quisitive boys  who  were  tumbling  about  in  the  light 
snow,  in  their  favorite  sport  of  Ga-wd-sa  or  the 
11  snow-snake  "  game.  One  of  the  boys,  a  mischiev- 
ous and  sturdy  young  Indian  of  thirteen,  whose 
name  was  Nan-ta-qua-us,  even  tried  to  insert  the 
slender  knob-headed  stick,  which  was  the  "  snake  "  in 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  POW-HA-TAN.  21$ 

the  game,  between  the  runner's  legs,  and  trip  him 
up.  But  Ra-bun-ta  was  too  skilful  a  runner  to  be 
stopped  by  trifles ;  he  simply  kicked  the  "  snake  " 
out  of  his  way,  and  hurried  on  to  the  long  house  of 
the  chief. 

Now  this  Indian  settlement  into  which  the  run- 
ner had  come  was  the  Pow-ha-tan  village  of  Wero- 
woco-moco,  and  was  the  one  in  which  the  old  chief 
Wa-bun-so-na-cook  usually  resided.  Here  was  the 
long  council-house  in  which  the  chieftains  of  the 
various  tribes  in  the  confederacy  met  for  counsel 
and  for  action,  and  here,  too,  was  the  "  long  tene- 
ment-house "  in  which  the  old  chief  and  his  imme- 
diate family  lived. 

It  was  into  this  dwelling  that  the  runner  dashed. 
In  a  group  about  the  central  fire-pit  he  saw  the 
chief.  Even  before  he  could  himself  stop  his  head- 
long speed,  however,  his  race  with  news  came  to 
an  unexpected  end.  The  five  fires  were  all  sur- 
rounded by  lolling  Indians,  for  the  weather  in  that 
winter  of  1607  was  terribly  cold,  and  an  Indian, 
when  inside  his  house,  always  likes  to  get  as  near 
to  the  fire  as  possible.  But  down  the  long  passage- 
way the  children  were  noisily  playing  at  their 
games — at  gus-ka-eh,  or  "  peach-pits,"  at  gus-ga-e- 
sd-td,  or  "deer-buttons,"  and  some  of  the  younger 
boys  were  turning  wonderful  somersaults  up  and 
down  the  open  spaces  between  the  fire-pits.  Just 


214  HISTORIC   GIRLS. 

as  the  runner,  Ra-bun-ta,  sped  up  the  passage-way, 
one  of  these  youthful  gymnasts  with  a  dizzy  suc- 
cession of  hand-springs  came  whizzing  down  the 
passage-way  right  in  the  path  of  Ra-bun-ta. 

There  was  a  sudden  collision.  The  tumbler's 
stout  little  feet  came  plump  against  the  breast  of 
Ra-bun-ta,  and  so  sudden  and  unexpected  was  the 
shock  that  both  recoiled,  and  runner  and  gymnast 
alike  tumbled  over  in  a  writhing  heap  upon  the  very 
edge  of  one  of  the  big  bonfires,  Then  there  was 
a  great  shout  of  laughter,  for  the  Indians  dearly 
loved  a  joke,  and  such  a  rough  piece  of  uninten- 
tional pleasantry  was  especially  relished. 

"  Wa,  wa,  Ra-bun-ta,"  they  shouted,  pointing  at 
the  discomfited  runner  as  he  picked  himself  out  of 
the  fire,  "  knocked  over  by  a  girl ! " 

And  the  deep  voice  of  the  old  chief  said  half 
sternly,  half  tenderly  : 

"  My  daughter,  you  have  wellnigh  killed  our 
brother  Ra-bun-ta  with  your  foolery.  That  is 
scarce  girls'  play.  Why  will  you  be  such  a  po-ca- 
Jiun-tas  ?  "  * 

The  runner  joined  in  the  laugh  against  him  quite 
as  merrily  as  did  the  rest,  and  made  a  dash  at  the  lit- 
tle ten-year-old  tumbler,  which  she  as  nimbly  evaded. 

"  Ma-ma-no-to-wic"^  he  said,  "  the  feet  of  Ma-ta- 

* Po-ca-hun-tas,  Algonquin  for  a  little  "  tomboy." 

f  "  Great  man  "  or  "strong  one,"  a  title  by  which  Wa-bun-so-na-cook,  or 
Powhatan,  was  frequently  addressed. 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  r<JW-HA-TAN.  21  5 

oka  are  even  heavier  than  the  snake  of  Nun-ta-qua- 
us,  her  brother.  I  have  but  escaped  them  both 
with  my  life.  Ma-ma-no-to-wic,  I  have  news  for 
you.  The  braves,  with  your  brother  O-pe-chan-ca- 
nough,  have  taken  the  pale-face  chief  in  the  Chicka- 
hominy  swamps  and  are  bringing  him  to  the  coun- 
cil-house." 

"  Wa,"  said  the  old  chief,  "  it  is  well,  we  will  be 
ready  for  him." 

At  once  Ra-bun-ta  was  surrounded  and  plied 
with  questions.  The  earlier  American  Indians 
were  always  a  very  inquisitive  folk,  and  were  great 
gossips.  Ra-bun-ta's  news  would  furnish  fire-pit 
talk  for  months,  so  they  must  know  all  the  particu- 
lars. What  was  this  white  caii-co-roiisc,  (captain 
or  leader)  like  ?  What  had  he  on  ?  Did  he  use 
his  magic  against  the  braves  ?  Were  any  of  them 
killed  ? 

For  the  fame  of  "  the  white  cau-co-roiisc"  the 
"great  captain,"  as  the  Indians  called  the  cour- 
ageous and  intrepid  little  governor  of  the  Virginia 
colony,  Captain  John  Smith,  had  already  gone 
throughout  the  confederacy,  and  his  capture  was 
even  better  than  a  victory  over  their  deadliest  ene- 
mies, the  Manna-ho-acks. 

Ra-bun-ta  was  as  good  a  gossip  and  story-teller 
as  any  of  his  tribesmen,  and  as  he  squatted  before 
the  upper  fire-pit,  and  ate  a  hearty  meal  of  parched 


2l6  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

corn,  which  the  little  Ma-ta-oka  brought  him  as  a 
peace-offering,  he  gave  the  details  of  the  celebrated 
capture.  "  The  '  great  captain,'  "  he  said,  "  and  two 
of  his  men  had  been  surprised  in  the  Chicka-hom- 
iny  swamps  by  the  chief  O-pe-chan-ca-nough  and 
two  hundred  braves.  The  two  men  were  killed  by 
the  chief,  but  the  '  captain,'  seeing  himself  thus  en- 
trapped, seized  his  Indian  guide  and  fastened  him 
before  as  a  shield,  and  thus  sent  out  so  much  of  his 
magic  thunder  from  his  fire-tube  that  he  killed  or 
wounded  many  of  the  Indians,  and  yet  kept  him- 
self from  harm  though  his  clothes  were  torn  with 
arrow-shots.  At  last,  however,"  said  the  runner, 
"  the  '  captain  '  had  slipped  into  a  mud-hole  in  the 
swamps,  and,  being  there  surrounded,  was  dragged 
out  and  made  captive,  and  he,  Ra-bun-ta,  had  been 
sent  on  to  tell  the  great  news  to  the  chief. 

The  Indians  especially  admired  bravery  and  cun- 
ning. This  device  of  the  white  chieftain  and  his 
valor  when  attacked  appealed  to  their  admiration, 
and  there  was  great  desire  to  see  him  when  next 
day  he  was  brought  into  the  village  by  the  chief 
of  the  Pa-mun-kee,  or  York  River  Indians,  O-pe- 
chan-ca-nough,  brother  of  the  chief  of  the  Pow-ha- 
tans. 

The  renowned  prisoner  was  received  with  the 
customary  chorus  of  Indian  yells,  and  then,  acting 
upon  the  one  leading  Indian  custom,  the  law  of 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  POW-HA-TAN.  21? 

unlimited  hospitality,  a  bountiful  feast  was  set 
before  the  captive,  who,  like  the  valiant  man  he 
was,  ate  heartily  though  ignorant  what  his  fate 
might  be. 

The  Indians  seldom  wantonly  killed  their  cap- 
tives. When  a  sufficient  number  had  been  sacri- 
ficed to  avenge  the  memory  of  such  braves  as  had 
fallen  in  fight,  the  remaining  captives  were  either 
adopted  as  tribesmen  or  disposed  of  as  slaves. 

So  valiant  a  warrior  as  this  pale-faced  cau-co- 
rouse  was  too  important  a  personage  to  be  used  as 
a  slave,  and  Wa-bun-so-na-cook,  the  chief,  received 
him  as  an  honored  guest  *  rather  than  as  a  pris- 
oner, kept  him  in  his  own  house  for  two  days,  and 
adopting  him  as  his  own  son,  promised  him  a  large 
gift  of  land.  Then,  with  many  expressions  of 
friendship,  he  returned  him,  well  escorted  by  Indian 
guides,  to  the  trail  that  led  back  direct  to  the  Eng- 
lish colony  at  Jamestown. 

This  rather  destroys  the  long-familiar  romance 
of  the  doughty  captain's  life  being  saved  by  "  the 
king's  own  daughter,"  but  it  seems  to  be  the  only 
true  version  of  the  story,  based  upon  his  own 
original  report. 

But  though  the  oft-described  "  rescue "  did  not 
take  place,  the  valiant  Englishman's  attention  was 

"  Hee  kindly  .welcomed  me  with  good  wordes,"  says  Smith's  own 
narrative,  "  assuring  me  his  friendship  and  my  lihertie." 


2l8  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

speedily  drawn  to  the  agile  little  Indian  girl,  Ma- 
ta-oka,  whom  her  father  called  his  "  tomboy,"  or 
po-ca-hun-tas. 

She  was  as  inquisitive  as  any  young  girl,  savage 
or  civilized,  and  she  was  so  full  of  kindly  attentions 
to  the  captain,  and  bestowed  on  him  so  many 
smiles  and  looks  of  wondering  curiosity,  that  Smith 
made  much  of  her  in  return,  gave  her  some  trifling 
presents  and  asked  her  name. 

Now  it  was  one  of  the  many  singular  customs  of 
the  American  Indians  never  to  tell  their  own 
names,  nor  even  to  allow  them  to  be  spoken  to 
strangers  by  any  of  their  own  immediate  kindred. 
The  reason  for  this  lay  in  the  superstition  which 
held  that  the  speaking  of  one's  real  name  gave  to 
the  stranger  to  whom  it  was  spoken  a  magical  and 
harmful  influence  over  such  person.  For  the  In- 
dian religion  was  full  of  what  is  called  the  super- 
natural. 

So,  when  the  old  chief  of  the  Pow-ha-tans  (who, 
for  this  very  reason,  was  known  to  the  colonists  by 
the  name  of  his  tribe,  Pow-ha-tan,  rather  than  by 
his  real  name  of  Wa-bun-so-na-cook)  was  asked 
his  little  daughter's  name,  he  hesitated,  and  then 
gave  in  reply  the  nick-name  by  which  he  often 
called  her,  Po-ca-hun-tas,  the  "little  tomboy" — for 
this  agile  young  maiden,  by  reason  of  her  relation- 
ship to  the  head  chief,  was  allowed  much  more  free- 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  POW-IIA-TA  N.  2 19 

dom  and  fun  than  was  usually  the  lot  of  Indian 
girls,  who  were,  as  a  rule,  the  patient  and  uncom- 
plaining little  drudges  of  every  Indian  home  and 
village. 

So,  when  Captain  Smith  left  Wero-woco-moco, 
he  left  one  firm  friend  behind  him, — the  pretty  little 
Indian  girl,  Ma-ta-oka, — who  long  remembered  the 
white  man  and  his  presents,  and  determined,  after 
her  own  wilful  fashion,  to  go  into  the  white  man's 
village  and  see  all  their  wonders  for  herself. 

In  less  than  a  year  she  saw  the  captain  again, 
For  when,  in  the  fall  of  1608,  he  came  to  her 
father's  village  to  invite  the  old  chief  to  Jamestown 
to  be  crowned  by  the  English  as  "king"  of  the 
Pow-ha-tans,  this  bright  little  girl  of  twelve  gath- 
ered together  the  other  little  girls  of  the  village, 
and,  almost  upon  the  very  spot  where,  many  years 
after,  Cornwallis  was  to  surrender  the  armies  of 
England  to  the  "  rebel "  republic,  she  with  her 
companions  entertained  the  English  captain  with  a 
gay  Indian  dance  full  of  noise  and  frolic. 

Soon  after  this  second  interview,  Ma-ta-oka's  wish 
to  see  the  white  man's  village  was  gratified.  For 
in  that  same  autumn  of  1608  she  came  with  Ra-bun- 
ta  to  Jamestown.  She  sought  out  the  captain  who 
was  then  "  president "  of  the  colony,  and  "  entreated 
the  libertie  "  of  certain  of  her  tribesmen  who  had 
been  "  detained," — in  other  words,  treacherously 


220  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

made  prisoners  by  the  settlers  because  of  some  fear 
of  an  Indian  plot  against  them. 

Smith  was  a  shrewd  enough  man  to  know  when 
to  bluster  and  when  to  be  friendly.  He  released 
the  Indian  captives  at  Ma-ta-oka's  wish — well  know- 
ing that  the  little  girl  had  been  duly  "  coached  "  by 
her  wily  old  father,  but  feeling  that  even  the  friend- 
ship of  a  child  may  often  be  of  value  to  people  in  a 
strange  land. 

The  result  of  this  visit  to  Jamestown  was  the 
frequent  presence  in  the  town  of  the  chieftain's 
daughter.  She  would  come,  sometimes,  with  her 
brother,  Nan-ta-qua-us,  sometimes  with  the  runner, 
Ra-bun-ta,  and  sometimes  with  certain  of  her  girl 
followers.  For  even  little  Indian  girls  had  their 
"  dearest  friends,"  quite  as  much  as  have  our  own 
clannish  young  school-girls  of  to-day. 

I  am  afraid,  however,  that  this  twelve-year-old, 
Ma-ta-oka,  fully  deserved,  even  when  she  should 
have  been  on  her  good  behavior  among  the  white 
people,  the  nickname  of  "  little  tomboy  "  (po-ca-hun- 
tas)  that  her  father  had  given  her, — for  we  have  the 
assurance  of  sedate  Master  William  Strachey,  sec- 
retary of  the  colony,  that  "  the  before  remembered 
Pocahontas,  Powhatan's  daughter,  sometimes  resort- 
ing to  our  fort,  of  the  age  then  of  eleven  or  twelve 
years,  did  get  the  boyes  forth  with  her  into  the 
market-place,  and  make  them  wheele,  falling  on 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  POW-HA-TAN.  221 

their  hands,  turning  their  heeles  upward,  whome 
she  would  followe  and  wheele  so  herself,  all  the  fort 
over."  From  which  it  would  appear  that  she  could 
easily  "  stunt  "  the  English  boys  at  "  making  cart- 
wheels." 

But  there  came  a  time  very  soon  when  she  came 
into  Jamestown  for  other  purpose  than  turning 
somersaults. 

The  Indians  soon  learned  to  distrust  the  white 
men,  because  of  the  unfriendly  and  selfish  dealings, 
of  the  new-comers,  their  tyranny,  their  haughty  dis- 
regard of  the  Indians'  wishes  and  desires,  and  their 
impudent  meddling  alike  with  chieftains  and  with 
tribesmen.  Discontent  grew  into  hatred  and,  led 
on  by  certain  traitors  in  the  colony,  a  plot  was  ar- 
ranged for  the  murder  of  Captain  Smith  and  the 
destruction  of  the  colony. 

Three  times  they  attempted  to  entrap  and  de- 
stroy the  "  great  captain  "  and  his  people,  but  each 
time  the  little  Ma-ta-oka,  full  of  friendship  and 
pity  for  her  new  acquaintances,  stole  cautiously 
into  the  town,  or  found  some  means  of  misleading 
the  conspirators,  and  thus  warned  her  white  friends 
of  their  danger. 

One  dark  winter  night  in  January,  1609,  Captain 
Smith,  who  had  came  to  Wero-woco-moco  for  con- 
ference and  treaty  with  Wa-bun-so-na-cook  (whom 
he  always  called  Pow-ha-tan),  sat  in  the  York  River 


222  HISTORIC  GIRLS. 

woods  awaiting  some  provisions  that  the  chief  had 
promised  him, — for  eatables  were  scarce  that  win- 
ter in  the  Virginia  colony. 

There  was  a  light  step  beneath  which  the  dry 
twigs  on  the  ground  crackled  slightly,  and  the  wary 
captain  grasped  his  matchlock  and  bade  his  men  be 
on  their  guard.  Again  the  twigs  crackled,  and  now 
there  came  from  the  shadow  of  the  woods  not  a 
train  of  Indians,  but  one  little  girl — Ma-ta-oka,  or 
Pocahontas. 

"  Be  guarded,  my  father,"  she  said,  as  Smith 
drew  her  to  his  side.  "  The  corn  and  the  good 
cheer  will  come  as  promised,  but  even  now,  my 
father,  the  chief  of  the  Pow-ha-tans  is  gathering 
all  his  power  to  fall  upon  you  and  kill  you.  If  you 
would  live,  get  you  away  at  once." 

The  captain  prepared  to  act  upon  her  advice 
without  delay,  but  he  felt  so  grateful  at  this  latest 
and  most  hazardous  proof  of  the  little  Indian  girl's 
regard  that  he  desired  to  manifest  his  thankfulness 
by  presents — the  surest  way  to  reach  an  Indian's 
heart. 

"  My  daughter,"  he  said  kindly,  "  you  have  again 
saved  my  life,  coming  alone,  and  at  risk  of  your  own 
young  life,  through  the  irksome  woods  and  in  this 
gloomy  night  to  admonish  me.  Take  this,  I  pray 
you,  from  me,  and  let  it  always  tell  you  of  the  love 
of  Captain  Smith." 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  POW-HA-TAN.  22$ 

And  the  grateful  pioneer  handed  her  his  much- 
prized  pocket  compass — an  instrument  regarded 
with  awe  by  the  Indians,  and  esteemed  as  one  of 
the  instruments  of  the  white  man's  magic. 

But  Ma-ta-oka,  although  she  longed  to  possess 
this  wonderful  "  path-teller,"  shook  her  head. 

"  Not  so,  Cau-co-rouse,"  she  said,  "  if  it  should 
be  seen  by  my  tribesmen,  or  even  by  my  father, 
the  chief,  I  should  but  be  as  dead  to  them,  for 
they  would  know  that  I  have  warned  you  whom 
they  have  sworn  to  kill,  and  so  would  they  kill  me 
also.  Stay  not  to  parley,  my  father,  but  be  gone 
at  once." 

And  with  that,  says  the  record,  "  she  ran  away 
by  herself  as  she  came." 

So  the  captain  hurried  back  to  Jamestown,  and 
Ma-ta-oka  returned  to  her  people. 

Soon  after  Smith  left  the  colony,  sick  and  worn 
out  by  the  continual  worries  and  disputes  with  his 
fellow-colonists,  and  Ma-ta-oka  felt  that,  in  the 
absence  of  her  best  friend  and  the  increasing 
troubles  between  her  tribesmen  and  the  pale-faces, 
it  would  be  unwise  for  her  to  visit  Jamestown. 

Her  fears  seem  to  have  been  well  grounded,  for 
in  the  spring  of  1613,  Ma-ta-oka,  being  then  about 
sixteen,  was  treacherously  and  '  "  by  stratagem " 
kidnapped  by  the  bold  and  unscrupulous  Captain 
Argall — half  pirate,  half  trader, — and  was  held  by 


224  HISTORIC  GIRLS, 

the  colonists  as  hostage  for  the  "  friendship "  of 
Pow-ha-tan. 

Within  these  three  years,  however,  she  had  been 
married  to  the  chief  of  one  of  the  tributary  tribes, 
Ko-ko-um  by  name,  but,  as  was  the  Indian  marriage 
custom,  Ko-ko-um  had  come  to  live  among  the  kin- 
dred of  his  wife,  and  had  shortly  after  been  killed 
in  one  of  the  numerous  Indian  fights. 

It  was  during  the  captivity  of  the  young  widow 
at  Jamestown  that  she  became  acquainted  with 
Master  John  Rolfe,  an  industrious  young  English- 
man, and  the  man  who,  first  of  all  the  American 
colonists,  attempted  the  cultivation  of  tobacco. 

Master  Rolfe  was  a  widower  and  an  ardent  de- 
sirer  of  "  the  conversion  of  the  pagan  salvages." 
He  became  interested  in  the  young  Indian  widow, 
and  though  he  protests  that  he  married  her  for  the 
purpose  of  converting  her  to  Christianity,  and 
rather  ungallantly  calls  her  "  an  unbelieving  crea- 
ture," it  is  just  possible  that  if  she  had  not  been  a 
pretty  and  altogether  captivating  young  unbeliever 
he  would  have  found  less  personal  means  for  her 
conversion. 

Well,  the  Englishman  and  the  Indian  girl,  as  we 
all  know,  were  married,  lived  happily  together,  and 
finally  departed  for  England.  Here,  all  too  soon, 
in  1617,  when  she  was  about  twenty-one,  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  great  chieftain  of  the  Pow-ha-tans  died. 


MA-TA-OKA    OF  POW-HA-TAN.  22$ 

Her  story  is  both  a  pleasant  and  a  sad  one.  It 
needs  none  of  the  additional  romance  that  has  been 
thrown  about  it  to  render  it  more  interesting.  An 
Indian  girl,  free  as  her  native  forests,  made  friends 
with  the  race  that,  all  unnecessarily,  became  hostile 
to  her  own.  Brighter,  perhaps,  than  most  of  the 
girls  of  her  tribe,  she  recognized  and  desired  to 
avail  herself  of  the  refinements  of  civilization,  and 
so  gave  up  her  barbaric  surroundings,  cast  in  her 
lot  with  the  white  race,  and  sought  to  make  peace 
and  friendship  between  neighbors  take  the  place  of 
quarrel  and  of  war. 

The  white  race  has  nothing  to  be  proud  of  in  its 
conquest  of  the  people  who  once  owned  and  occu- 
pied the  vast  area  of  the  North  American  conti- 
nent. The  story  is  neither  an  agreeable  nor  a  chiv- 
alrous one.  But  out  of  the  gloom  which  surrounds 
it,  there  come  some  figures  that  relieve  the  darkness, 
the  treachery,  and  the  crime  that  make  it  so  sad. 
And  not  the  least  impressive  of  these  is  this  bright 
and  gentle  little  daughter  of  Wa-bun-so-na-cook, 
chief  of  the  Pow-ha-tans,  Ma-ta-oka,  friend  of  the 
white  strangers,  whom  we  of  this  later  day  know 
by  the  nickname  her  loving  old  father  gave  her — 
Po-ca-hun-tas,  the  Algonquin. 

THE    END. 


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