figures, some mounted on ponies or donkeys, some afoot, began to dribble into the town; at noon they streamed, by sunset they poured; you would not have imagined there were so many grown men in the whole of Corfu, and, indeed, their ranks may have been swelled by visitors from the other islands or mainland. Wherever they came from, they filled the town and thronged the streets converging on the theatre by the time the drawing commenced, and it was with difficulty a party of us could force our way through the mass. The little theatre presented its usual brilliant appearance, all the accustomed company being in their boxes, the officers in uniform, the ladies in full dress, just the same as on an opera night; but there the likeness stopped: for the pit, whose customary occupants were a sergeant and two or three of the guard who were off sentry, a couple of guardianos, or native police (not Bobbies, but fellows in green, with double-barrelled carbines), and perhaps a stray Albanian dragoman, was crammed to overflowing; everybody in the house had a bit of paper in one hand and a pencil in the other; and on the stage, instead of the haughty Norma, the interesting Traviata, the punctilious Ernani, or the melodious Trovatore, there were but a lanky man, a dumpy boy, a long revolving box with a handle to it, and a large frame, somewhat similar to those on which the numbers of starting horses and winners are displayed on race-courses. The lanky man turned the handle of the long box smartly round two or three times, so as to mix the lots well up together, and then the dumpy boy put in his thumb and drew out, not a plum, but a piece of paper, which the lanky man took from him and unfolded with the solemnity befitting a high priest of the goddess Fortune. It was curious to gaze down upon that wild swarthy crowd in the pit, as with rigid faces and covetous eyes they stared up at him with the intensity of shipwrecked men catching the first glimpse of a sail. A whisper might have been heard over the whole house, so deep was the silence, which was at last broken by a click in the frame, one of the compartments of which turned round, revealing the figure 5. "Five! cinq! cinque !" cried the lanky man, in I don't know how many languages, and the cry ran along the lobbies, down the staircase, out into the streets, where it spread echoing through the town for the next five minutes, until it had permeated the entire crowd, causing every heart in that vast multitude to throb with hope or thrill with disappointment, according as the No. 5 was down on his paper or not; for if it was, he scratched it out, and he who first got all his figures thus obliterated would win the highest prize. Nor was there less excitement inside the theatre, though as the educated were better able to appreciate the immensity of the odds against each individual, it was of a less earnest and more jocose character; for the moment the high priest had done translating the number, folks began chattering and laughing, and rushing about from box to box, till the urn began once more to revolve, and they relapsed into pin-drop silence till the many-tongued proclamation of another number set them all going again. So little sanguine was I personally, that I forgot to watch the fluctuations of my own fortune, and allowed the bit of paper bearing my numbers to repose in a corner of my waistcoat-pocket, while I wandered about the lobbies, now looking into some box and sympathising with the feel ings of its fair occupants, now poking my head out of an open window commanding the street, and watching the dark masses which swayed to and fro in the moonlight. At last I disinterred my paper. On comparing my numbers with those marked upon the board, I found they had all been drawn but three. With the prospect of a chance of winning came hope, and with hope a vibration of the nerves, a rapid throbbing of the heart, a feeling of tension about the brain, increasing almost to vertigo as the man unfolded the next paper: 44." Another of my numbers. I had but two left! And in about seven draws I got rid of one of these, and if the remaining one should be drawn, the fabulous amount of dollars would be mine! I could not sit still for an instant, but ran about the house in a most excited state, unfolding my prospects to everybody. Hazard offered me five pounds for my chance, but I would not take it. An hour seemed to elapse between each drawing, and on each occasion of the lot being taken from the urn I had two throbs of intense excitement: one when the number first appeared on the board, and again, after seeing that it was not mine, listening for the cry which would show that some one else was out and my chance at an end. Still it went on, time after time, and the figure I wanted would not make its appearance. At last, after the drawing of a number, came a cry from one of the boxes. "Tomboli!" "Tomboli! Tomboli!" shouted everybody. The high priest bowed, and motioned the fortunate one to come forward. There was some confusion, and at last a voice cried, "No, it was a mistake." My pulse, which had nearly stopped, began to throb away harder than ever, and the proceedings were resumed. Once, twice, thrice, the dumpy boy drew numbers, not mine, from the urn, and again, but this time from the extremity of the crowd outside, "TOMBOLI!" A feeble distant cry at first, gathering breadth and strength as it approached, till it swelled up into a roar. After about a quarter of an hour's turbulence and wonderment what was to come next, a ragged young man, Spero from the tassel of his greasy cap to the soles of his shoes, was formally ushered on the stage. His face was white; his knees shook, his mouth was wide open. He looked like one in a dream when the high priest took his bit of paper from him and compared it with certain books. Excess of emotion made him quite interesting as he stood there in an agony, bewildered, dazzled by the light. All was correct, he was the winner! The man fell back at the word as if shot. "Happy fellow!" said Hazard, in my ear. "Fancy being able to coach up so much excitement as to faint under it!" They carried him off, and went on with the drawing, for there was a second prize, which some one won. Not I-worse luck! 497 : AGNÈS SOREL.* AGNÈS SOREL-a name as familiar to poetry and romance as to history was the daughter of Jean Soreau, seigneur de Codun, a noble family of Touraine, or "Tourangine." The name was variously pronounced in Anjou it was Soreau; in Orléanais, Sorel; and in Burgundy it was Soret. Agnès appears to have been born about 1409 or 1410, in the village of Fromenteau, in Touraine, and she went, when still young, into the service of Isabeau d'Anjou-Lorraine, at that time-Queen of Sicily, and it was in her company, and that of her husband, René d'Anjou, Count of Provence, one of the last princely trouvères and troubadours, and one of the last to keep a court of love and chivalry at Aix, that Agnès was first introduced at the court of Charles VII. The features of Agnès Sorel have been very imperfectly preserved; all that can be ascertained from an old engraving in the Bibliothèque Impériale, and from a bust still extant, is, that she had a high and open brow, and, from various descriptions, that her eyes were blue and expressive, her eyelashes long, her eyelids languishing, her nose perfect, her mouth small, her neck and shoulders incomparably fair. Agnès, la belle Agnès, deviendra le surnom, She was as clever as she was beautiful, and her mental gifts were such as to have led people to look upon her in the middle ages as a prodigy. The court of Charles VII. was at that epoch little more than that of any feudal chieftain. The English, who ruled in France, contemptuously designated him as the "roitelet." The treaty of Troyes, which placed the sceptre of France in the hands of Henry V. of England, had not only been signed by Isabeau of Bavaria, Charles's mother, and by the Duke of Burgundy, but it had been received by acclamation by the States-General, the University, and the "Halles," at that epoch a political institution in Paris. Charles had taken refuge in Bourges, where he was accompanied only by some seventeen knights, captains of companies of adventurers and gens d'armes," without money or lands. So hard up was the Dauphin, that he had not always wherewith to dine upon, as is recorded in an old couplet : Un jour que La Hire et Poton Charles could never have ventured to enter upon a struggle with the English and their allies, the Burgundians, with this small troop of adventurous knights, if he had not obtained powerful auxiliaries in the Bretons, who, ever since the times of Du Guesclin and the Combat of the Thirty, had never ceased to rival the Saxo-Norman race; in the Scotch, who came over, six thousand strong, under Douglas and Darnley, to combat the English; and, lastly, in the condottieri of the Sforzas, who, having established their rule Les Reines de la Main Gauche: Agnès Sorel. Par M. Capefigue. Paris: Amyot. in Lombardy, no longer wanted the aid of such troublesome gentry. Charles's entourage was not thus of the most respectable character; but it was admirably suited for the times. Charles had taken unto wife Marie of Anjou, a clever, lovely, and affectionate princess, who brought with her the alliance of all the south of France. The exact epoch when Agnès Sorel began to usurp the Dauphin's affections is not known; all we are told is, that "the subterranean vaults which lent their shadows to their nocturnal interviews are still shown in the ruins of Chinon." But whatever may have been the faults of Agnès and the wrongs of Marie of Anjou, it is now generally admitted that the part she played in the king's destinies was glorious to France. At no epoch were the fortunes of Charles at so low an ebb as when Agnès Sorel appeared like a predecessor to the Maid of Orleans. His great companies had been sorely defeated in various engagements, his towns taken from him; even his brave Scotchmen had been dispersed at Verneuil, and the English had actually advanced beyond the Loire. Here was a grand opportunity for reviving old Monstrelet's discussions as to the cause of the superiority of the English archers over the chivalry of France, and Capefigue avails himself of it at length. First, he says, they were not all English; there were also Gascons, Normans, and Flemings. The English armour was much superior to the French-the Flemish arms were the best then manufactured-and, lastly, the English had the best couleuvrines, by which great round stones were thrown to a distance. It was in this extremity that the Maid of Orleans made her appearance, and the miracles of the dark ages were re-enacted. The French were at this time under the regency of the Duke of Bedford, who was decidedly popular in Paris. Trade was prosperous, and the shops were ever full of strangers. The University of Paris had first instituted proceedings against Jeanne of Arc. The Duke of Bedford was busy erecting that grand central monument of Anglo-Norman architecture, the Church of St. Eustache, in the centre of Paris. Winchester was fortifying a château, now, alas! known by an easy transition of name, but by a less pleasant wandering of ideas, as Bicêtre. Parliament, clergy, prévôt of the trades, all alike were devoted to the regent. "Avec une fidélité," says M. Capefigue, "un peu étrange." The Parisians were not even satisfied till they could see "le petit roi d'Angleterre et de France." The Lords and Commons threw obstacles in the way, but the visit was ultimately effected. M. Capefigue says that persevering researches have enabled him to discover an act emanating from the young king Henry VI., sealed at Paris. He is represented seated on a throne, holding two sceptres, in the right hand that of France, in the left that of England. The king was consecrated and crowned at Notre-Dame. "The acclamations were unanimous." "If the domination of Henry VI. had been consolidated," says M. Capefigue, "there would have resulted from it a system of liberty and of corporations similar to that contained in the Magna Charta of England." The intervention of the Maid of Orleans had only left Charles VII. in the same condition of despair and indifference. The real awakening of the chivalry of France, the gallant M. Capefigue assures us, was due to Agnès Sorel. The proof is the couplet of Francis I. : Gentille Agnès, plus d'honneur tu mérite, Brantôme relates, that a fortune-teller having declared to the lady of Fromenteau (Agnès Sorel) that she would long be loved by a great king, the fair Agnès turned to Charles, and said, then she must ask permission to withdraw to the court of England, for it must be that king who was meant, since the King of France had lost his crown, and the King of England had placed it on his head. These remarks hurt the king so much that he at first wept, and then taking courage, he abandoned his hunting and gardening, and putting himself at the head of his troops, he succeeded in driving the English out of the kingdom. So much for love and poetry; but the influence of Agnès Sorel really attaches itself to the cause of the great vassals, especially of the Duke of Burgundy, who was led from a combination of circumstances to turn round and espouse the cause of the king. The Duchess of Lorraine was the prime mover in these negotiations, one of the essential preliminaries of which was that the king should dismiss the band of knightly adventurers who surrounded his person. But, above all, money was wanted, and this brought a new character on the stage in the person of Jacques Cœur, who had as a youth been employed in the mint of Bourges. His well-known house, built after the fashion of the Hôtels de Ville of Antwerp and Brussels, attests what he became. Charles VII. made him his master of the mint, his silversmith, and his treasurer, and he raised money from all quarters-from Genoa, from Milan, and from Venice. The Lombards had at that epoch succeeded to the Jews as money-lenders. Jacques Cœur also directed his particular attention to cutting and polishing precious stones, and he is said to have presented Agnès Sorel with the first set of diamonds worn in France. This set, mixed with pearls, is represented in her portrait encircling her waist and meeting on her bosom. Agnès Sorel is also said to have been the first to wear linen where fine wool or flannel was used before. The Parisians in the mean time had been irritated at the young King Henry's short stay in the metropolis. The jealousy of supremacy, so strong in Italy, was not unknown in the French capital, which dreaded seeing itself second to London or to Rouen-the city of predilection with the Anglo-Norman race. The spirit of discontent, once aroused, was fanned by the English parliament refusing the subsidies necessary to maintaining and consolidating a new government. The Parisians complained of poverty and of misery. Charles of Orleans, a prisoner in the Tower, had also a party in Paris. Isabeau of Bavaria had died abandoned and unprotected by the English, for whom she had made so many sacrifices. The Duke of Bedford, respected even by those who did not love him, had perished in Normandy. The last bonds that united France to England had one after another broken asunder. Charles VII. was preparing for war. His dependence was solely on the Bretons and the Scotch. In order to cement his alliance with the latter, he affianced the Dauphin, afterwards Louis XI., to Margaret, daughter of James I., and she arrived at the head of a new band of auxiliaries. Agnès Sorel, on her side, attracted to the court of Bourges and Chinon the |