Three of the craftiest royal rogues in Christendom strove hard to cozen and outwit each other in the last years of the fifteenth and the earlier years of the sixteenth century. No betrayal was too false, no trick too undignified, no hypocrisy too contemptible for Ferdinand of Aragon, Maximilian of Austria, and Henry Tudor if unfair advantage could be gained by them; and the details of their diplomacy convey to modern students less an impression of serious State negotiations than of the paltry dodges of three hucksters with a strong sense of humour. Of the three, Ferdinand excelled in unscrupulous falsity, Maximilian in bluff effrontery, and Henry VII. in close-fisted cunning: they were all equal in their cynical disregard for the happiness of their own children, whom they sought to use as instruments of their policy, and fate finally overreached them all. And yet by a strange chance, amongst the offspring of these three clever tricksters were some of the noblest characters of the age. John, Prince of Castile, and Arthur, Prince of Wales, both died too young to have proved their full worth, but they were beloved beyond the ordinary run of princes, and were unquestionably gentle, high-minded, and good; Katharine of Aragon stands for ever as an exalted type of steadfast faith and worthy womanhood, unscathed in surroundings and temptations of unequalled difficulty; and Margaret of Austria, as this book will show, was not only a great ruler but a cultured poet, a patron of art, a lover of children, a faithful wife, a pious widow, and, above all, a woman full of sweet feminine charm.

In an age when princesses of the great royal houses were from their infancy regarded as matrimonial pledges for the maintenance of international treaties, few were promised or sought so frequently as Margaret; for an alliance with her meant the support of the Empire and the States of Burgundy, whilst her two rich dowries from earlier marriages made her as desirable from a financial point of view as she was personally and politically. But with her second widowhood in her youthful prime came to her a distaste for further experiments in a field where, as she said, so much unhappiness had befallen her, and of political marriages she would have no more. Her one real love affair, to which reference will be made presently, is pathetic as showing the sad fate of such an exalted princess, who, being a true woman and in love with a gallant man, yet had to stifle the yearnings of her heart for a happy marriage, and fulfil the duty imposed upon her by the grandeur of her destiny.

There was little of love, indeed, in most of the matrimonial proposals made to her, though for two short periods she was an affectionate wife. From the time when as a proud little maiden of twelve, conscious of the slight put upon her, she was repudiated by the man whom she had looked upon as her future husband as long as she could remember, and was sent away from the country of which she had been taught she was to be the Queen, until her body was borne in state to the sumptuous fane which her piety had raised, but which she had never seen, Margaret of Austria knew that a princess of the imperial house must be a statesman first and a woman afterwards, at whatever sacrifice of her personal happiness.

In the great plot of Ferdinand, King of Aragon, to shut France in by a close ring of rivals, and so to stay her march eastward along the Mediterranean to the detriment of the little realm of his fathers, the first open move was made by the triumphant negotiations with Maximilian, King of the Romans, and future Emperor, for the marriage of Ferdinand's only son, John, the first heir of all Spain, to Maximilian's only daughter, Margaret; and that of Maximilian's only son, Philip, sovereign by right of his mother of the rich duchies of Burgundy, to Ferdinand's second daughter, Joanna. The matches were cleverly conceived, for in the ordinary course of events they seemed to ensure that a band of close kinsmen, all descended from the King of Aragon, should rule over Flanders, the Franche ComtÉ, Burgundy, the Empire, Spain, and Sicily, all banded together to prevent the expansion of France on any side, whilst the alliance which the marriages represented gave to Ferdinand the support of the Emperor as suzerain of Lombardy against the French pretensions in Italy generally, and especially in Naples, upon which the covetous eyes of the Aragonese were already firmly fixed. The marriage of Ferdinand's youngest daughter, Katharine, to the heir of England, at a somewhat later period, was another link in the chain which was intended to bind France, and give to Ferdinand a free hand in the Mediterranean. To Maximilian the marriages of his children with those of Ferdinand was also an advantage, since the only two enemies that the Empire and Burgundy had to fear, namely, France and the Turk, might always be diverted, when necessary, by the action of Aragon in the Mediterranean. Henry Tudor's interest in joining the combination against France is equally easy of explanation. He was a parvenu, anxious for the recognition of the legitimate sovereigns; and especially to secure that of Burgundy, which, under the influence of Margaret of York, the widowed Duchess of Burgundy, had hitherto supported and sheltered the pretenders to his throne. But from the very first each of the three clever players distrusted the others because he knew that he himself intended to cheat if he could, and throughout the whole series of transactions sharp practice is the gentlest term that can be applied to the action of the high contracting parties.

The young people who were used by their parents as pieces on the political chessboard were, of course, innocent, except the Archduke Philip, who, as soon as he was able to take an independent hand in the game, outdid his seniors in depravity; and, as usually happens in the world, it was the innocent—Joanna the Mad, Katharine of Aragon, and Margaret of Austria—who had to suffer the unhappiness caused by the ambition and unscrupulousness of others. Of the three, Margaret was by far the most fortunate, because she was stronger-minded and abler than her sisters-in-law, and, after her early inexperienced youth, she was worldly wise enough to look after her own interests. But even her life was full of pathos and sacrifice, nobly and cheerfully borne, and of heavy responsibility assumed serenely for the sake of the nephew whom she reared so worthily and served so well.

Mrs. Tremayne in the pages of this book has dwelt fully upon the busy later years of Margaret's life, drawing her information from many sources, in some cases not previously utilised, and there is little more to be told of these years than is here set forth. But it happens that since this book was in print a series of hitherto unknown documents of the highest interest have been printed for the first time in Spanish by the Duke of Berwick and Alba, which throw many sidelights upon Margaret's early widowhood, and upon her share in the intrigues by which her brother, Philip, endeavoured to deprive his father-in-law, Ferdinand, of the regency of Castile, after the death of Isabella the Catholic. It is fair to say that, although on one or two occasions Ferdinand's agents complained that Margaret favoured her brother as against his unhappy, distraught wife, which, if true, was quite natural, she generally appears throughout the documents in question as a kindly, gentle mediatress, endeavouring to reconcile the bitter feud that ended so tragically, and to safeguard the children whom she loved and cared for tenderly when their father's death and their mother's madness left them doubly orphaned.

The Fuensalida correspondence, to which reference has been made, opens at the end of 1495, when the treaty for alliance and the double marriages of Philip and Joanna, and John and Margaret, had just been signed, and the instructions given by Ferdinand to the new ambassador, Fuensalida, whom he sent to Germany to keep Maximilian up to the mark, even thus early show the profound distrust which underlay the ostensibly cordial alliance upon which double marriages were to set the seal. 'What you have to do,' run the instructions, 'is to take care to maintain the King of the Romans in his good will to carry through these marriages ... and to strive to get him to give in the Milanese such aid and support as may be needed, declaring war against the King of France, as we have done for his sake.'

Ferdinand knew that the surest pledge he could have of Maximilian's effective co-operation would be the presence of Margaret in Spain, especially if he could manage to get her into his possession before his own daughter Joanna was sent to Flanders. 'If it be managed without inconvenience we should like Madame Margaret to come hither as soon as the betrothal is effected, before the Infanta our daughter goes; immediately if the weather will permit.... It may be done as follows. If at the time of the formal betrothal there are any ships there belonging to our subjects, sufficient to bring the Archduchess safely, the weather being fair, Rojas (i.e. Ferdinand's envoy in Flanders) may take all such vessels at such freight as he can, to be paid on their arrival here in Spain, and bring her in the fleet with God's grace. Her coming thus would be safer, for she would arrive before the affair was publicly known, and if it can be done you will not delay for the Archduchess's trousseau, ornaments, and household baggage, which can be sent afterwards.' But, continues the King of Aragon, if it cannot be done, Joanna shall be sent in a Spanish fleet, and Margaret can embark in it on its return to Spain. The careful Ferdinand remarks in his instructions that he intended to send with his daughter only eight ladies and the other attendants strictly necessary, and although Maximilian was not to be told this in as many words, he was to be persuaded to limit his daughter's household to accompany her to Spain to the smallest possible proportions.

But Maximilian, who was as wary as Ferdinand, had no notion of allowing his daughter to be sent to Spain before the Spanish Infanta arrived in Flanders, and it was early in March of the year 1497 before Margaret first set her foot on Spanish soil at Santander. Seven months afterwards fate dealt its first crushing blow upon Ferdinand's plans, and the bride, not yet eighteen, found herself a widow. She had become greatly beloved in Spain, and Ferdinand and Isabel, especially the latter, in the midst of their own grief, cherished the daughter-in-law who might yet, they hoped, give them an heir to the crowns of Spain. Ferdinand, in conveying (in December 1497) the news of his son's death to his ambassador for the information of Maximilian, wrote: 'Tell him that our distress has prevented us from sending him the news earlier, and that our grief is increased by considerations for Princess Margaret, although she tries very hard, as befits her, to bear her trouble gently and wisely; and we try our best to console and please her, endeavouring to make her forget her loss. Her pregnancy, thanks be to God, goes on well, and we hope in His mercy that the result will be a reparation and consolation for our trouble. We do, and will, take as much care of the Princess as we would of her husband if he were alive, and she will always fill the same place as he did in our hearts.'

When this hope had fled, and Ferdinand and Isabella proclaimed their eldest daughter, the Queen of Portugal, as their heir, Maximilian took the matter very philosophically, as well he might, for it brought much nearer the probability which Ferdinand had, as he thought, so cleverly guarded against, that the House of Hapsburg might rule over the greatest empire that had existed since the days of Alexander, and poor little Aragon be swamped by its sovereign's larger interests. Margaret had written to tell her father the dolorous news of her child's still-birth, and Maximilian contented himself with sending a message by his secretary to the Spanish ambassador, saying that although such an event naturally caused him some sorrow, he, bearing in mind that it was sent by God, for some good purpose of His own, accepted it without complaint, and thanked the Almighty for all things. Bearing in mind, moreover, that since Prince John himself had died, nothing that happened could increase his grief, for his heart had no room for more sorrow, he had decided to make no demonstration of mourning for the present calamity, and not to suffer any to be made by others.

Margaret appears to have been really grateful to Isabella the Catholic for her goodness to her in her trouble, for she wrote to her father in February 1498, that the Queen had never left her, and had been so kind that, considering the danger she, Margaret, had been in, she would have died but for solicitude of Isabella. When Maximilian told this to Fuensalida, the ambassador, of course by Ferdinand's orders, said it was painful to speak yet of Margaret's remarriage, but as she was young it was but natural that she would marry again. 'There is no prince in Christendom whom she could marry,' replied Maximilian. 'The King of Naples has no son of marriageable age; the King of England has already betrothed his son to the daughter of the Catholic sovereigns; the King of Scotland is a poor thing; the Duke of York (i.e. Perkin Warbeck) is married, and not at liberty; the King of Hungary has a wife already; the King of Poland is a nobody; so that there is no fit husband for her. It is true that the King of France is talking of repudiating his wife (i.e. Anne of Brittany), and marrying her to Monsieur Louis with great dowries and states, whilst he keeps Brittany, since he has lost hope of having children by her, and he wants to marry my daughter Margaret. But I will not consent to this on any account, nor would my daughter, for she has a great objection to go to France. Besides, I know for a fact that the King of France caused something to be given to her to bring on her miscarriage, and tried to poison King Ferdinand as well; so that there is nothing to be said about my daughter's marriage yet awhile.'

We may be quite sure that this hint that a French alliance was possible for Margaret was intended to remind Ferdinand that he must be careful not to offend his ally, and the ambassador urged very earnestly in the name of his master that Margaret might be allowed to stay in Spain until her remarriage was arranged: 'because whilst she was with the King and Queen the King of France would be unable to work his will with her, as he would have no opportunity of dealing in the matter, he being on bad terms with the King and Queen; besides which they would, in any case, refuse to listen to anything so shameful. But if, on the other hand, the Princess (Margaret) were in any of these States (i.e. Germany), the King of France might be able to push the matter more warmly. Besides,' continued the ambassador, 'surely it would be best to avoid the risk of bringing the Princess home by sea, and the heavy expense that you (i.e. Maximilian) would have to incur in fitting out a fleet for the purpose.' To all this, and much more to the same effect, Maximilian replied but doubtfully. He knew full well that whilst Ferdinand held so valuable a pledge as Margaret in his hands he could always extort from his ally, her father, whatever he thought fit, and Maximilian, with the matrimonial value of his daughter in view, especially as the Spaniards knew that he was already in full negotiation for peace with France over Ferdinand's head, could only repeat that he must have his daughter back soon, though for the moment the question was dropped.

When some months afterwards, in August 1498, Maximilian had made a separate peace with France, much to Ferdinand's indignation, he determined to bring Margaret home at any cost. Why, asked Fuensalida of Maximilian, was he sending so important and unexpected an embassy to Spain? 'I am sending for my daughter,' replied the King of the Romans. 'If your Majesty means to bring her home at once,' exclaimed the ambassador, 'you ought to have sent notice to my King and Queen, and not bring away so great a princess as she is thus suddenly. In any case she could not come until December.' 'I cannot wait so long as that,' replied Maximilian. 'But,' objected the ambassador, 'she cannot come before. It will take until September for your ambassadors to reach Spain, and all October will be spent in getting ships ready, and then another month for the Princess to join them, and perhaps even two months; and then the season of the year will be unfit for any one to go to sea, and the King and Queen will not like to expose the Princess to such danger. Besides,' continued he, always ready to appeal to Maximilian's parsimony, 'if your Majesty had given due notice to my King and Queen you might have saved a great deal of money, for they would have fitted out a fleet in which the Princess might have come with all honour and safety; and even now, if your Majesty will wait until March, I will do my best to arrange it in this way, and you will not have to spend half so much money.'

But Maximilian knew the value of his daughter in his hands, and replied roughly that he would not wait. He would have her safe home, he said, before he began war again. 'If I send a single carrack from Genoa, and the King and Queen give her a convoy of four barks, she will come safe enough.' In vain the ambassador urged that corsairs and Frenchmen could not be trusted, and that it was a slight for such a princess to be sent home in so unceremonious a fashion. Maximilian was obstinate; he would have his daughter Margaret home at once, no matter at what risk. To add to his eagerness news came from Margaret herself, brought by special messengers of her household, who had much to say of the changed demeanour of the Spaniards, now that Maximilian had made a separate peace. Fuensalida did his best by underhand means, frightening the German ambassadors of the sea-voyage from Genoa to Spain and back in the winter, and of the dreadful corsairs who infested the Mediterranean, until they at last, really alarmed, begged Maximilian in Fuensalida's presence to let them have a very big carrack for their greater safety. Better send them by way of Flanders, interposed the artful Fuensalida, knowing the long delay which such a voyage would entail; but Maximilian angrily told him that he would do nothing of the sort.

So effectually had the Spaniard frightened the landsmen ambassadors of the sea that they themselves threw every possible obstacle in their master's way, and told Fuensalida that, even though King Maximilian ordered them to go and fetch the Princess Margaret before Christmas, they would not do so. Come what might, they said, they would not put to sea before Easter. They were not allowed, however, to delay quite so long as that, for Maximilian was determined to have his daughter out of the hands of Ferdinand, who he feared was making terms for himself by offering her in marriage to the new King of France, Louis XII. In writing to Margaret in September, her father, referring to his and her own desire that she should return to Flanders or Germany, says that 'no importunity nor pressure of any sort will move him from his resolve to bring her back at once,' and he urges her to insist upon her departure without loss of time.

Fortunately now, especially for the timid German ambassadors, the road overland through France was open, and Margaret travelled in comfort and safety to her home in Flanders early in 1499, to see Spain no more. Thither, too, went soon afterwards the Spanish ambassador Fuensalida, accredited especially to the Archduke Philip and his Spanish wife Joanna, whose conduct was already profoundly grieving Ferdinand and Isabella; and from Flanders the ambassador was to proceed to England and pin Henry VII. down irrevocably to the marriage of his son Arthur with Katharine. Already Ferdinand more than suspected that Maximilian was playing him false, and forming a league against him by negotiating Margaret's marriage with Arthur, Prince of Wales, already betrothed more than once to the Spanish princess. Fuensalida's mission was a delicate one; for Margaret's Flemish household had come back from Spain full of complaints, and the Court of Flanders was sharply divided by the partisans of Spain and Burgundy respectively, of the Archduchess Joanna and her dissolute husband, Philip. Margaret was to be conciliated as much as possible, and kept in the Spanish interest. 'You will visit our daughter the Princess Margaret,' wrote Ferdinand and Isabella to their envoy, 'and say that we beseech her to let us know how she is after her long journey; for we desire her health and welfare as that of our own daughter. For the love we bear her we will do everything in our power most willingly to aid and forward her settlement.' The envoy was also urged to counteract the efforts of those who wished to make bad blood between Flanders and Spain, and especially to enlist Margaret in favour of poor Joanna, her sister-in-law.

Fuensalida followed hard on the heels of Henry VII. from St. Omer and Calais to London, endeavouring by every means to discover how much truth there was in the assertion that an arrangement had been concluded to throw over Katharine of Aragon and marry the Prince of Wales to Margaret as a result of the mysterious foregathering of the King of England with the Archduke Philip. The story of Fuensalida's successful though turbulent mission to England is told elsewhere;[1] but on his return to Flanders he found Margaret in the deepest anxiety with regard to her own affairs. Neither she nor Maximilian desired to forward by her marriage in England the anti-Spanish combination of England, France, and Flanders which Philip was planning; her dowry from Spain was, as was natural with Ferdinand for a pay-master, in arrear; and the coming voyage to Spain of Philip and Joanna at the urgent summons of Ferdinand and Isabella, who hoped to win over the Archduke, if possible, from his alliance with their enemies, was a subject of the deepest concern to Margaret.

When Fuensalida first saw Margaret on his return to Brussels from England, in August 1500, she welcomed him eagerly in the belief that he brought some special message to her from Spain. He told her that his mission was simply one of affection towards her, and she made no attempt to hide her disappointment. The cause of her anxiety was soon apparent. Fuensalida reported in the same letter that the bastard of Savoy had been to see her secretly, and that she and her father, Maximilian, had looked with favour upon the proposal of the Duke of Savoy to marry her. Such a marriage was, of course, a blow, as it was intended to be, against her brother Philip's anti-Spanish projects, because not only did it leave Katharine of Aragon's marriage with the Prince of Wales undisturbed, but it secured Savoy to the imperial and Aragonese interests against France, which was of the highest importance as touching the French designs upon Italy. Her marriage in Savoy, moreover, was opposed strongly by Philip for another reason, namely, that he would, in case it was effected, be obliged to hand to his sister the domains belonging to Burgundy which had been bequeathed to her by her mother; and in order to frustrate it Philip brought forward the recently widowed King of Portugal as a fit husband for Margaret, which would have secured her residence in a distant country, and his continued occupation of her Burgundian inheritance.

Successive deaths had now made Philip and Joanna heirs of Spain, as well as of Burgundy, Flanders, and the Empire; the Archduke was already betrothing his infant son, Charles, the future King of Castile, to a French princess, and his open negotiations for the formation of a league against Ferdinand to assert Joanna's right to assume the crown of Castile on the death of her mother Isabella, who was in failing health, had fairly frightened Ferdinand, who knew not whom to trust; for Castilians generally disliked him, and were ready to acclaim Joanna and her foreign husband on the first opportunity—Joanna herself was unstable, violently jealous of her husband, and with strange notions as regarded religion. She would not go to Spain alone, and Philip was determined not to go except on his own terms, and at his own time, and Margaret, living in close contact with the inharmonious pair, struggled bravely to reconcile the clashing interests that surrounded her.

There was a talk of leaving her regent of Flanders in the absence of her brother in Spain, and against this Ferdinand's agents were instructed to work secretly; although Margaret lost no opportunity of professing to the ambassador her attachment to Spanish interests. From several remarks in Fuensalida's letters to Ferdinand it is, however, evident that her desire was less to rule Flanders than to enjoy the care of the infants whom her brother and sister-in-law were to leave behind. But even this natural desire was opposed by the Spaniards; apparently because the Princess was looked upon as being too ready to follow her brother's lead. Writing in March 1501 of Philip's dissolute life and his disaffection towards Spain, Fuensalida says: 'I am loath to say how much Madam Margaret's good-nature encourages this, for she simply follows her brother's fancies in all things.'

But the departure of Margaret from Flanders in August 1501 for her marriage with the Duke of Savoy put an end for a time to her pretensions to take charge of her brother's children; and when she returned as a young widow early in 1505, the issue between Ferdinand and his undutiful son-in-law was joined, for Isabella the Catholic was dead, and Philip in right of his wife was arrogantly claiming, not only the crown of Castile, but the entire control of its policy against the wish of the great Queen just dead, whose last hours were embittered by the dread that her beloved, her sacred, Castile, would be ruled by a foreigner of doubtful orthodoxy. Philip was abetted in his revolt against Ferdinand by the Castilian officers attached to him who were jealous of Aragon, Don Juan Manuel, the principal Spanish diplomatist of his time, being their leader and Philip's prime adviser. As soon as Margaret arrived in her brother's Court both factions tried to gain her. 'My lady,' Don Juan Manuel is represented to have said to her on one occasion (June 1505), 'I shall be able to serve you quite as effectively as Antonio de Fonseca when I am in Castile and Treasurer-General'; and at this time, when Philip and his friends were anticipating the rich booty they would gain in Castile, whither they were bound to take possession of mad Joanna's inheritance, Margaret was beset with offers of reward if she would throw in her influence against King Ferdinand.

It is abundantly clear that she grieved at the unhappy state of affairs. Ferdinand and his wife had been good to her in Spain, and easy-going as she may have been, she must have seen her brother's unworthiness and his bad treatment of Joanna; and yet it was neither prudent nor natural that she should oppose Philip violently. Fuensalida saw her in Bois le Duc in June 1505, whilst she was on her way to Bourg, and discussed matters with her. 'She told me that she had talked to her brother, and had asked him whether he would allow her to mediate between him and your Highness (Ferdinand), and he had answered, "No, you are still marriageable, and so is he, and I will not have any such third person interposing between us." She told me that her father and brother have made her swear that she will not entertain any marriage without their consent. She really believes that those who are around her brother have turned his head, and will not let him make terms with your Highness.... She bids me tell your Highness that she will continue to be as obedient a daughter to you as she was when she was with you in Spain; and that she is going to her own home now for no other reason than that she cannot bear to see in silence the things that are going on, whereas if she spoke of them or protested against them, evil would come of it. She prefers, therefore, to go away, so that she may not witness them personally; for she sees quite plainly that the destruction of her brother's and her father's house will ensue. She prays your Highness to make use of her services in any way you please, and she will do for you all that a good daughter may. "Why not speak to Queen Joanna?" I said. "Because they will not let me," she answered. I am told that Don Juan Manuel said to her (Margaret), what is the use of your going to speak to a stone? You might just as well speak to a stone as to the Queen.'

Margaret herself was determined not to be drawn into the shameful intrigue by which her brother sought to supplant his wife and her father in order to rule Castile himself and for his own pleasure; but it is evident that no stone was left unturned to gain her, directly or indirectly, by Don Juan Manuel and his friends. One of Margaret's officers was a certain Monsieur Louis, to whom Manuel offered, 'that if he would prevail upon his mistress to follow in all things the wishes of King Philip, her brother, he would get the King to give to Louis from the revenues of Castile an income equal to the highest officer of his household. Louis, he said, knew Castile: let him look about and choose any office or place he liked, and it should be granted to him. Louis succumbed to this temptation; but the Duchess (Margaret) heard of it, and never consented to speak to him again, although he had been her most trusted servant.'

Through this wretched business, which ended in the triumph of Ferdinand by the untimely death, probably by poison, of Philip in Spain, and the lifelong incarceration of crazy Joanna, Margaret is the only person who stands forth pure and unselfish. In the summer of 1505, when Philip and Joanna were about to start on their voyage to Spain, Margaret set out for her own castle of Pont d'Ain, full of her projects for building Brou; but just as she reached the frontier of her brother's dominions she was stopped by the news that her little nephew, Charles, was suffering from fever, and she determined to retrace her steps to see the children again, and bid farewell once more to unhappy Joanna.

From her quiet retreat in Bresse Margaret was summoned, on the death of her brother, to rule the States, and care for the children whom he had left behind, bereft of a mother's care by the lunacy of Joanna. How nobly and self-sacrificingly she fulfilled her trust this book to some extent will tell; but of all the sacrifices she made in her wise and gentle life none was greater than the renunciation of her love, perhaps the only love she ever experienced, for the handsome Englishman who appears to have treated her so shabbily. For Charles Brandon, though his King's first favourite and brother-in-law, hardly played the game of love very fairly with Margaret. Kneeling at her feet in sweet dalliance after the banquet at Tournai, he drew from her finger, as lovers will, a ring, and placed it upon his own hand. In gentle chiding she told him in French, and then in Flemish so like English that he understood, that he was a thief. But soon she became alarmed when she saw he meant to keep it for a pledge; for it was well known and might compromise her; and she prayed him to restore it. 'But he understood me not,' and only the intervention of Henry the King, and a promise of a bracelet of hers in exchange, made Charles Brandon give up his capture. But not for long; for again on his knees before the Princess at Lille soon afterwards, he took the ring a second time, and all the entreaties of the lady were unavailing to obtain its restoration, though a ring of far greater value was given to her in exchange, with all sorts of imprudent, perhaps not more than half-serious, promises on both sides never to marry without the consent of the other. Margaret, as she pathetically says, had never any intention of marrying at all, so unhappy had she been in her previous marriages: but at all events she hid Brandon's ring in her bosom, unseen by the world, and cherished the secret of her little love passage. Not so King Henry's flamboyant favourite, who made no concealment of his conquest, and vaunted the possession of the jewel, though faithful Margaret could not believe it of him: 'for I esteem him much a man of virtue and wise.'

The sad little romance presents Margaret as a dignified great lady, who for one short space allowed herself to be simply a trustful woman in love, only to find that to such as she duty must be paramount over the promptings of the heart, and that a wooer, though he may be a duke, is not always a gentleman. Thenceforward, for many years, Margaret's life was that of a wise Vice-Regent for the Emperor whom she had reared from his childhood; until death relieved her from the task to which she devoted the best of her life. She died in harness, defrauded of an old age of refined leisure, to which she had looked forward, deprived even of a sight of the splendid church which is her own worthy tomb and monument; but it was perhaps most fitting that she should fall in the plenitude of her powers, leaving her beloved nephew the undisputed sovereign of the greatest dominion in the world, at peace with all Christendom, thanks largely to her efforts; and that she should go down to posterity remembered mainly as the first and noblest of the women of her imperial race who bore the title of Governess of the Netherlands.

Martin Hume