The captive king was confined in an old castle, under a keeper whose formal austerity of manners rendered his vigilance still more disgusting. He was allowed no exercise but that of riding on a mule, surrounded with armed guards on horseback. Charles, on pretence of its being necessary to attend the Cortes assembled in Toledo, had one to reside in that city, and suffered several weeks to elapse without visiting Francis, though he solicited an interview with the most pressing and submissive importunity.

So many indignities made a deep impression on a high-spirited prince; he began to lose all relish for his usual amusements: his natural gayety of temper forsook him; and after languishing for some time, he was seized with a dangerous fever, during the violence of which he complained constantly of the unexpected and unprincely rigor with which he had been treated, often exclaiming, that now the emperor would have the satisfaction of his dying a prisoner in his hands, without having once deigned to see his face. The physicians, at last, despaired of his life, and informed the emperor that they saw no hope of his recovery, unless he were gratified with regard to that point on which he seemed to be so strongly bent.

Charles, solicitous to preserve a life with which all his prospects of farther advantage from the victory of Pavia must have termi­nated, immediately consulted his ministers concerning the course to be taken. In vain did the chancellor Gattinara, the most able among them, represent to him the indecency of his visiting Francis, if he did not intend to set him at liberty immediately upon equal terms; in vain did he point out the infamy to which he would be exposed, if avarice or ambition should prevail on him to give the captive monarch this mark of attention and sympathy, for which humanity and generosity had pleaded so long without effect.

The emperor, less delicate, or less solicitous about reputation than his minister, set out for Madrid to visit his prisoner [Sept. 28]. The interview was short; Francis being too weak to bear a long conversation, Charles accosted him in terms full of affection and respect, and gave him such promises of speedy deliverance and princely treatment, as would have reflected the greatest honor upon him if they had flowed from another source. Francis grasped at them with the eagerness natural in his situation; and cheered with this gleam of hope, began to revive from that moment, recovering rapidly his wonted health.

He had soon the mortification to find, that his confidence in the emperor was not better founded than formerly. Charles returned instantly to Toledo; all negotiations were carried on by his ministers; and Francis was kept in as strict custody as ever. A new indignity, and that very galling, was added to all those he had already suffered. Bourbon arriving in Spain about this time, Charles, who had so long refused to visit the king of France, received his rebellious subject with the most studied respect [Nov. 15].

He met him without the gates of Toledo, embraced him with the greatest affection, and placing him on his left hand, conducted him to his apartment. These marks of honor to him, were so many insults to the unfortunate monarch which he felt in a very sensible manner. It afforded him some consolation, however, to observe, that the sentiments of the Spaniards differed widely from those of their sovereign. That generous people detested Bourbon’s crime. Notwithstanding his great talents and important services, they shunned all intercourse with him, to such a degree, that Charles having desired the Marquis de Villena to permit Bourbon to reside in his palace while the court remained in Toledo, he politely replied, “That he could not refuse gratifying his sovereign in that request”; but added, with a Castilian dignity of mind, that “the emperor must not be surprised if, the moment the constable departed, he should burn to the ground a house which, having been polluted by the presence of a traitor, became an unfit habitation for a man of honour”.

Charles himself, nevertheless, seemed to have it much at heart to reward Bourbon’s services in a signal manner. But as he insisted, in the first place, on the accomplishment of the emperor’s promise of giving him in marriage his sister Eleanora, queen-dowager of Portugal, the honor of which alliance had been one of his chief inducements to rebel against his lawful sovereign; as Francis, in order to prevent such a dangerous union, had offered, before he left Italy, to marry that princess; and as Eleanora herself discovered an inclination rather to match with a powerful monarch, than with his exiled subject; all these interfering circumstances created great embarrassment to Charles, and left him hardly any hope of extricating himself with decency. But the death of Pescara, who, at the age of thirty-six, left behind him the reputation of being one of the greatest generals and ablest politicians of that century, happened opportunely at this juncture [December] for his relief. By that event, the command of the army in Italy became vacant, and Charles, always fertile in resources, persuaded Bourbon, who was in no condition to dispute his will, to accept the office of general in chief there, together with a grant of the duchy of Milan forfeited by Sforza; and in return for these to relinquish all hopes of marrying the queen of Portugal.

The chief obstacle that stood in the way of Francis’s liberty was the emperor’s continuing to insist so peremptorily on the restitution of Burgundy, as a preliminary to that event. Francis often declared, that he would never consent to dismember his kingdom; and that even if he should so far forget the duties of a monarch, as to come to such a resolution, the fundamental laws of the nation would prevent its taking effect On his part he was willing to make an absolute cession to the emperor of all his pretensions in Italy and the Low-Countries; he promised to restore to Bourbon all his lands which had been confiscated; he renewed his proposal of marrying the emperor’s sister, the queen-dowager of Portugal; and engaged to pay a great sum by way of ransom for his own person.

But all mutual esteem and confidence between the two monarchs were now entirely lost; there appeared, on the one hand, a rapacious ambition laboring to avail itself of every favorable circumstance; on the other, suspicion and resentment, standing perpetually on their guard; so that the prospect of bringing their negotiation to an issue seemed to be far distant. The duchess of Alençon, the French king’s sister, whom Charles permitted to visit her brother in his confinement, employed all her address, in order to procure his liberty on more reasonable terms. Henry of England interposed his good offices to the same purpose, but both with so little success, that Francis in despair took suddenly the resolution of resigning his crown, with all its rights and prerogatives, to his son the dauphin, determined rather to end his days in prison, than to purchase his freedom by concessions unworthy of a king. The deed for this purpose he signed with legal formality in Madrid, empowering his sister to carry it into France, that it might be registered in all the parliaments of the kingdom; and at the same time intimating his intention to the emperor, he desired him to name the place of his confinement, and to assign him a proper number of attendants during the remainder of his days.

This resolution of the French king had great effect, Charles began to be sensible that by pushing rigor to excess he might defeat his coin measures; and instead of the vast advantages which he hoped to draw from ransoming a powerful monarch, he might at last find in his hands a prince without dominions or revenues. About the same time, one of the king of Navarre’s domestics happened, by an extraordinary exertion of fidelity, courage, and address, to procure his master an opportunity of escaping from the prison in which he had been confined ever since the battle of Pavia. This convinced the emperor, that the most vigilant attention of his officers might be eluded by the ingenuity or boldness of Francis or his attendants, and one unlucky hour might deprive him of all the advantages which he had been so solicitous to obtain. By these considerations, he was induced to abate somewhat of his former demands. On the other hand, Francis’s impatience under confinement daily increased; and having received certain intelligence of a powerful league forming against his rival in Italy, he grew more compliant with regard to concessions, trusting that, if he could once obtain his liberty, he would soon be in a condition to resume whatever he had yielded.

1526.] Such being the views and sentiments of the two monarchs, the treaty which procured Francis his liberty was signed at Madrid on the fourteenth of January, one thousand five hundred and twenty-six. The article with regard to Burgundy, which had hitherto created the greatest difficulty, was compromised, Francis engaging to restore that duchy with all it dependencies in full sovereignty to the emperor; and Charles consenting that this restitution should not be made until the king was set at liberty; in order to secure the performance of this, as well as the other conditions in the treaty, Francis agreed that at the same instant when he himself should be released, he would deliver as hostages to the emperor, his eldest son the dauphin, his second son the duke of Orleans, or in lieu of the latter, twelve of his principal nobility, to be named by Charles.

The other articles swelled to a great number, and, though not of such importance, were extremely rigorous. Among these the most remarkable were, that Francis should renounce all his pretensions in Italy, that he should disclaim any title which he had to the sovereignty of Flanders and Artois; that, within six weeks after his release, he should restore to Bourbon, and his adherents, all their goods, moveable and immoveable, and make them full reparation for the damages which they had sustained by the confiscation of them; that he should use his interest with Henry d’Albret to relinquish his pretensions to the crown of Navarre, and should not for the future assist him in any attempt to recover it; that there should be established between the emperor and Francis a league of perpetual friendship and confederacy, with a promise of mutual assistance in every case of necessity; that, in corroboration of this union, Francis should marry the emperor’s sister, the queen-dowager of Portugal, that Francis should cause all the articles of this treaty to be ratified by the states, and registered in the parliaments of his kingdom; that upon the emperor’s receiving this ratification the hostages should be set at liberty; but in their place, the duke of Angouleme, the king’s third son, should be delivered to Charles, that, in order to manifest, as well as to strengthen the amity between the two monarchs, he might be educated at the Impe­rial court; and that if Francis did not, within the time limited, fulfill the stipulations in the treaty, he should promise, upon his honor and oath, to return into Spain, and to surrender himself again a prisoner to the emperor.

By this treaty, Charles flattered himself that he had not only effectually humbled his rival, but that he had taken such precautions as would forever prevent his re-attaining any formidable degree of power. The opinion, which the wisest politicians formed concerning it, was very different; they could not persuade themselves that Francis, after obtaining his liberty, would execute articles against which he had struggled so long, and to which, notwithstanding all that he felt during a long and rigorous confinement, he had consented with the utmost reluctance. Ambition and resentment, they knew, would conspire in prompting him to violate the hard conditions to which he had been constrained to submit; nor would arguments and casuistry he wanting to represent that which was so manifestly advantageous, to be necessary and just.

If one part of Francis’s conduct had been known at that time, this opinion might have been founded, not in conjecture, but in certainty. A few hours before he signed the treaty, he assembled such of his counselors as were then in Madrid, and having exacted from them a solemn oath of secrecy, he made a long enumeration in their presence of the dishonorable arts, as well as unprincely rigor, which the emperor had employed in order to ensnare or intimidate him. For that reason, he took a formal protest in the hands of notaries, that his consent to the treaty should be considered as an involuntary deed, and be deemed null and void. By this disingenuous artifice, for which even the treatment that he had met with was no apology, Francis endeavored to satisfy his honor and conscience in signing the treaty, and to provide at the same time a pretext on which to break it.

Great, meanwhile, were the outward demonstrations of love and confidence between the two monarchs; they appeared often together in public; they frequently had long conferences in private; they travelled in the same litter, and joined in the same amusements. But amidst these signs of peace and friendship, the emperor still harbored suspicion in his mind. Though the ceremonies of the marriage between Francis and the queen of Portugal were performed soon after the conclusion of the treaty, Charles would not permit him to consummate it until the return of the ratification from France. Even then Francis was not allowed to be at full liberty; his guards were still continued; though caressed as a brother-in-law, he was still watched like a prisoner; and it was obvious to attentive observers, that a union, in the very beginning of which there might be discerned such symptoms of jealousy and distrust, could not be cordial, or of long continuance.

About a month after the signing of the treaty, the regent’s ratification of it was brought from France; and that wise princess, preferring, on this occasion, the public good to domestic affection, informed her son, that, instead of the twelve noblemen named in the treaty, she had sent the duke of Orleans along with his brother the dauphin to the frontier, as the kingdom could suffer nothing by the absence of a child, but must be left almost incapable of defence, if deprived of its ablest statesmen and most experienced generals, whom Charles had artfully included in his nomination. At last Francis took leave of the emperor, whose suspicion of the king’s sincerity increasing, as the time of putting it to the proof approached, he endeavored to bind him still faster by exacting new promises, which, after those he had already made, the French monarch was not slow to grant. He set out from Madrid, a place which the remembrance of many afflicting circumstances rendered peculiarly odious to him, with the joy natural on such an occasion, and began the long-wished-for journey towards his own dominions. He was escorted by a body of horse under the command of Alarcon, who, as the king drew near the frontiers of France, guarded him with more scrupulous exactness than ever. When he arrived at the river Andaye, which separates the two kingdoms, Lautrec appealed on the opposite bank with a guard of horse equal in number to Alarcon’s. An empty bark was moored in the middle of the stream; the attendants drew up in order on the opposite banks; at the same instant, Lannoy with eight gentlemen put off from the Spanish, and Lautrec with the same number from the French side of the river; the former had the king in his boat; the latter, the dauphin and duke of Orleans; they met in the empty vessel; the exchange was made in a moment: Francis, after a short embrace of his children, leaped into Lautrec’s boat, and reached the French shore. He mounted at that instant a Turkish horse, waved his hand over his head, and with a joyful voice crying aloud several times, “I am yet a king”, galloped full speed to St. John de Luz, and from thence to Bayonne. This event, no less impatiently desired by the French nation than by their monarch, happened on the eighteenth of March, a year and twenty-two days after the fatal battle of Pavia.

 

THE HOLY LEAGUE