vancing with a hundred armed followers, and two hundred well mounted Albanians, fell into a trap which he had prepared for him. Bayard, with his little band of " brave devils who feared nought," cut off their retreat. Broad ditches on each side of the road precluded escape, and all save the duke and twenty or thirty of his men, more desperate than the rest, who leaped the ditches, after a fierce conflict, were forced to yield. One hundred and seventy were disarmed, and the chevalier had the glory of carrying back to the camp a greater number of prisoners than he had men to escort them. At the news of this triumph, one potentate is said to have exclaimed, "Happy is the king who has such a subject. Had I a dozen Bayards, Alexander the Great would be a baby to me." The faith which many of the French officers professed outwardly to reverence, did not prevent them from commonly falling into the most reprehensible excesses. Libertinism was thought to trench but little on the duties imposed by religion. Bayard could not altogether hold himself above the love of pleasure; but in one celebrated instance, he furnished a sublime example of the mastery which reflection and benevolence may gain over passion. Being at Grenoble, a young female of exquisite beauty attracted his attention, and circumstances favoured his views which, at first sight, he was led to entertain. It was made known to him that her mother would not be indisposed to second his advances to an acquaintance with this female, and, in fact, moved by poverty or avarice, she was content to sell her daughter's charms. The consent of the latter was thought of no moment, and the depraved parent actually forced her to suffer herself, after the bargain was concluded, to be taken to the abode of Bayard, and the wretched mother contentedly received the price of her child's dishonour. Left alone with the chevalier, coldly deserted by her natural protector, the poor girl, in her despair, appealed to the honour of the purchaser, and did not appeal in vain. Throwing herself on her knees before him, "You, sir,” said she, "I hope will not degrade yourself by injuring the unfortunate victim of misery. You will not seek to destroy that virtue of which your gallant nature and high character ought to make you the firm defender. I implore you to spare me." The appeal made a powerful impression on his heart. Though in that moment her beauty was more dazzling than ever, Bayard did not hesitate long on the course which it was the duty of a brave man to pursue. Having gazed on her for some moments, he replied in a soothing tone, "Rise, fair one. Dismiss your alarm. In me you will not find a destroyer. You shall leave my house as prudent, as virtuous, as you entered, and happier besides." He then conducted her to an apartment where she might remain for the night unmolested and alone, and on the following morning he sent for her mother, whom he sharply reproved for the unworthy part she had acted. He, however, was not content again to place her in hands so little to be trusted, and secured six hundred francs to the daughter as a marriage portion, having found that she had a lover who was willing to make her his wife. Nor was this all: he added the handsome donation of one hundred crowns to buy her dresses, and cover the expenses of celebrating her union with the man to whom she was attached. Thus," exclaims his biographer, "did the good chevalier change vice into virtue." In 1513, war raged between France and this country. After the victory gained at Guinegate, commonly called "the battle of Spurs," by the English, Bayard covered the retreat, and greatly served the cause of his king in very difficult circumstances, and against superior numbers. In the end, however, valour proved unavailing, and he, with his companions in arms, were compelled to surrender. Yet even in this extremity, he showed himself no common man. In becoming a prisoner, his conduct was marked by equal courage and policy. At some distance he perceived an English officer, whose costly armour proved him a person of consequence, who, seeing the enemy routed, cared not further to exert himself to make prisoners, and had, therefore, seated himself on the ground to rest, his arms thrown aside. Riding up to him, Bayard leaped from his horse, and presenting the point of his sword to his throat, called out in a menacing tone," Surrender instantly, or you are a dead man." In the confusion of the moment, the Englishman could not only suppose that Bayard was at the head of a reinforcement which had come to the assistance of the French, and, incapable of resistance, he gave up his sword, and desired to know the name of his captor. "Sir," said he, in a softened voice, "I am the Captain de Bayard. Your sword I beg now to return with my own, and make my. self your prisoner. The surprise of the officer was great, as well as the pleasure he experienced when the circumstance was explained. He courteously received the mark of submission tendered by the stranger, and took him to the English camp. Some days afterwards, the chevalier wished to be allowed to withdraw, that he might return to his countrymen. "But where," enquired the English officer, "is your ransom ?", "And where," demanded the chevalier, "is yours ? I made you my prisoner, and I had your word of surrender before you had mine.' This reasoning did not satisfy the officer to whom it was addressed, and the case was brought before the emperor and the king of England for adjudication, who, after hearing both sides, decided that neither was bound to give ransom to the other. In 1514, the chevalier became lieutenant-general of Dauphiny, and in the following year, at the battle of Marignano, he had the singular honour of conferring knighthood on his sovereign. The day had been marked by tremendous slaughter. Nothing could surpass the fury with which the Swiss fought, but the Bull of Uri, and the Cow of Underwalden, those martial instruments whose note had so often led them to victory, were that day sounded but to herald defeat. Overjoyed with the triumph he had won, the young king, Francis the First, who had now ascended the throne, desired to be knighted on the field of battle, and by the poor knight Bayard, then distinguished as the warrior sans peur and sans reproche. Such a distinction he shrunk from, and humbly begged to decline it, but the majesty of France would not be denied, and at length, drawing his sword, "Valiant as Roland, or Olivier, or Godfrey Baudouin his brother, certainly," the chevalier exclaimed, "You are the first prince who was ever thus admitted to the honour of knighthood. God grant that in war you may never be seen to fly." Then looking on his sword, be exultingly addressed the weapon in the enthusiasm of the moment, "You, my trusty blade, are most happy, since you have this day given to so powerful and virtuous a king the order of chivalry. Assuredly, my good sword, you shall be preserved as a treasured relic, and honoured above all others; nor shall you ever be drawn but against Saracens, Turks, or Moors." He then leaped for joy, and sheathed his weapon. To him the defence of Mezieres was subsequently confided. The fortifications were not what they ought to have been; but the chevalier successfully defended it for six weeks, against an enemy 40,000 strong, with 4,000 horse. It had at first been decided to burn the place, as it was not thought sufficiently strong to sustain a siege. Bayard opposed that resolution, telling the king that " no place could be weak, which was defended by men of courage." Court intrigues had alienated the Constable de Bourbon from the king, and induced him to listen to overtures made to him by the emperor, Charles V., in consequence of which he was soon found in the ranks of the enemies of France. Half Europe, including Austria, Spain, and England, combined against her. Prospero Colonna, Pescara, and the Constable de Bourbon, commanded the opposing host. The storm which threatened France seemed too great to be resisted. Bonnivet, who had invaded the Milanese territory, was compelled to retreat before the enemy. His rear-guard was defiling over the bridge of Romania, when he was fiercely attacked by De Bourbon, was himself wounded in the arm, and obliged to be carried from the field. The command of the army then devolved upon Bayard, and there he was fated to lose his life, and by that weapon which had always been the subject of his indignant murmurs-the arquebuse, which he disliked, as it interfered with the ancient practice of fighting hand to hand, which was dear to him, as a lover of chivalry. A shot from an arquebuse broke his vertebræ. He was soon aware of his inevitable fate, and prepared to meet it with the courage of a soldier, and the meekness of a Christian. He addressed his prayers to Heaven, and then being placed at the foot of a tree, he desired that his face might be turned towards the imperialists, "because," said he, "having never, in the course of my life, turned my back to an enemy, it would not be well that I should do so in my last moments." To the king he sent a message, that "the only regret he felt at leaving life, was, that it precluded him from longer having the honour to serve his Majesty." Then raising his sword before him, and regarding it as a crucifix, he abandoned all earthly cares, and desired but to fix his thoughts on eternity. The dying chevalier was thus engaged, when the victorious De Bourbon approached the spot where he reclined. For him the constable had always owned great respect, and he was really grieved to see his old companion in arms bleeding, and on the point of breathing his last, With this feeling he addressed him in a soothing tone, saying, "Bayard, I am deeply affected at seeing you in this hopeless state." "I," said Bayard, "am not to be pitied -as a good man I die on the field of honour, but you are to be pitied; you, a Frenchman, who wear upon your shoulders the livery of Spain, stained by French blood; false to your oath, your honour, and your king." He died a few moments afterwards. With him the courage of the French Army seemed to expire, and, though they were speedily reinforced, they could not be brought again to face the enemy. He fell in 1523, and in the forty-eighth year of his age. He was deeply regretted by all the army. Many officers and men went to the enemy's camp, to look on the remains, and in honour of their devotion for their distinguished captain, they were allowed to do so without being made prisoners. His corpse was embalmed and transported to Grenoble, his native city. Friends and enemies vied with each other to do him honour, that it might be presumed, if contemporary opinions are to be relied upon, "That ne'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed, |