But falsehood does not extinguish the facts it attempts to disguise. The

hostility between the houses of Orleans and Burgundy could not fail to

survive the treaty of Chartres, and cause search to be made for a man to

head the struggle so soon as it could be recommenced. The hour and the

man were not long waited for. In the very year of the treaty, Charles of

Orleans, eldest son of the murdered duke and Valentine of Milan, lost his

wife, Isabel of France, daughter of Charles VI.; and as early as the

following year (1410) the princes, his uncles, made him marry Bonne

d’Armagnac, daughter of Count Bernard d’Armagnac, one of the most

powerful, the most able, and the most ambitious lords of Southern France.

Forthwith, in concert with the Duke of Berry, the Duke of Brittany, and

several other lords, Count Bernard put himself at the head of the Orleans

party, and prepared to proceed against the Duke of Burgundy in the cause

of dominion combined with vengeance. From 1410 to 1415 France was a prey

to civil war between the Armagnacs and Burgundians, and to their

alternate successes and reverses brought about by the unscrupulous

employment of the most odious and desperate means. The Burgundians had

generally the advantage in the struggle, for Paris was chiefly the centre

of it, and their influence was predominant there. Their principal allies

there were the butchers, the boldest and most ambitious corporation in

the city. For a long time the butcher-trade of Paris had been in the

hands of a score of families the number had been repeatedly reduced, and

at the opening of the fifteenth century, three families, the Legoix, the

St. Yons, and the Thiberts, had exercised absolute mastery in the market

district, which in turn exercised mastery over nearly the whole city.

“One Caboche, a flayer of beasts in the shambles of Hotel-Dieu, and

Master John de Troyes, a surgeon with a talent for speaking, were their

most active associates. Their company consisted of ‘prentice-butchers,

medical students, skinners, tailors, and every kind of lewd fellows.

When anybody caused their displeasure they said, ‘Here’s an Armagnac,’

and despatched him on the spot, and plundered his house, or dragged him

off to prison to pay dear for his release. The rich burgesses lived in

fear and peril. More than three hundred of them went off to Melun with

the provost of tradesmen, who could no longer answer for the tranquillity

of the city.” The Armagnacs, in spite of their general inferiority,

sometimes got the upper hand, and did not then behave with much more

discretion than the others. They committed the mistake of asking aid

from the King of England, “promising him the immediate surrender of all

the cities, castles, and bailiwicks they still possessed in Guienne and

Poitou.” Their correspondence fell into the hands of the Burgundians,

and the Duke of Burgundy showed the king himself a letter stating that

“the Duke of Berry, the Duke of Orleans, and the Duke of Bourbon had

lately conspired together at Bourges for the destruction of the king, the

kingdom, and the good city of Paris.” “Ah!” cried the poor king with

tears, “we quite see their wickedness, and we do conjure you, who are of

our own blood, to aid and advise us against them.” The duke and his

partisans, kneeling on one knee, promised the king all the assistance

possible with their persons and their property. The civil war was

passionately carried on. The Burgundians went and besieged Bourges. The

siege continued a long while without success. Some of the besiegers grew

weary of it. Negotiations were opened with the besieged. An interview

took place before the walls between the Duke of Berry and the Duke of

Burgundy. “Nephew,” said the former, “I have acted ill, and you still

worse. It is for us to try and maintain the kingdom in peace and

prosperity.” “I will be no obstacle, uncle,” answered Duke John. Peace

was made. It was stipulated that the Duke of Berry and the Armagnac

lords should give up all alliance with the English, and all confederacy

against the Duke of Burgundy, who, on his side, should give up any that

he might have formed against them. An engagement was entered into

mutually to render aid, service, and obedience to the king against his

foe of England, as they were bound by right and reason to do; and lastly

a promise was made to observe the articles of the peace of Chartres, and

to swear them over again. There was a special prohibition against using,

for the future, the words Armagnacs and Burgundians, or any other term

reflecting upon either party. The pacification was solemnly celebrated

at Auxerre, on the 22d of August, 1412; and on the 29th of September

following, the _dauphin_ once more entered Paris, with the Duke of

Burgundy at his side. The king, queen, and Duke of Berry arrived a few

days afterwards. The people gave a hearty reception to them, even to the

Armagnacs, well known as such, in their train; but the butchers and the

men of their faction murmured loudly, and treated the peace as treason.

Outside, it was little more than nominal; the Count of Armagnac remained

under arms and the Duke of Orleans held aloof from Paris. A violent

ferment again began there. The butchers continued to hold the mastery.

The Duke of Burgundy, all the while finding them very much in the way,

did not cease to pay court to them, Many of his knights were highly

displeased at seeing themselves mixed up with such fellows. The honest

burgesses began to be less frightened at the threats and more angry at

the excesses of the butchers. The advocate-general, Juvenal des Ursins,

had several times called without being received at the Hotel d’Artois,

but one night the Duke of Burgundy sent for him, and asked him what he

thought of the position. “My lord,” said the magistrate, “do not persist

in always maintaining that you did well to have the Duke of Orleans

slain; enough mischief has come of it to make you agree that you were

wrong. It is not to your honor to let yourself be guided by flayers of

beasts and a lot of lewd fellows. I can guarantee that a hundred

burgesses of Paris, of the highest character, would undertake to attend

you everywhere, and do whatever you should bid them, and even lend you

money if you wanted it.” The duke listened patiently, but answered that

he had done no wrong in the case of the Duke of Orleans, and would never

confess that he had. “As to the fellows of whom you speak,” said he,

“I know my own business.” Juvenal returned home without much belief in

the duke’s firmness. He himself, full of courage as he was, durst not

yet declare himself openly. The thought of all this occupied his mind

incessantly, sleeping and waking. One night, when he had fallen asleep

towards morning, it seemed to him that a voice kept saying, _Surgite cum

sederitis, qui manducatis panem doloris_ (Rise up from your sitting, ye

who eat the bread of sorrow). When he awoke, his wife, a good and pious

woman, said to him, “My dear, this morning I heard some one saying to

you, or you pronouncing in a dream, some words that I have often read in

my Hours;” and she repeated them to him. “My dear,” answered Juvenal,

“we have eleven children, and consequently great cause to pray God to

grant us peace; let us hope in Him, and He will help us.” He often saw

the Duke of Berry. “Well, Juvenal,” the old prince would say to him,

“shall this last forever? Shall we be forever under the sway of these

lewd fellows?” “My lord,” Juvenal would answer, “hope we in God; yet a

little while and we shall see them confounded and destroyed.”

Nor was Juvenal mistaken. The opposition to the yoke of the Burgundians

was daily becoming more and more earnest and general. The butchers

attempted to stein the current; but the carpenters took sides against

them, saying, “We will see which are the stronger in Paris, the hewers of

wood or the fellers of oxen.” The parliament, the exchequer-chamber, and

the Hotel-de-Ville demanded peace; and the shouts of Peace! peace!

resounded in the streets. A great crowd of people assembled on the

Greve; and thither the butchers came with their company of about twelve

hundred persons, it is said. They began to speak against peace, but

could not get a hearing. “Let those who are for it go to the right,”

shouted a voice, “and those who are against it to the left!” But the

adversaries of peace durst not risk this test. The Duke of Burgundy

could not help seeing that he was declining rapidly; he was no longer

summoned to the king’s council; a watch was kept upon his house; and he

determined to go away. On the 23d of August, 1413, without a word said,

even to his household, he went away to the wood of Vincennes, prevailing

on the king to go hawking with him. There was a suspicion that the duke

meant to carry off the king. Juvenal des Ursins, with a company of armed

burgesses, hurried off to Vincennes, and going straight to the king,

said, “Sir, come away to Paris; it is too hot to be out.” The king

turned to go back to the city. The Duke of Burgundy was angry, saying

that the king was going a-hawking. “You would take him too far,”

rejoined Juvenal; “your people are in travelling dress, and you have

your trumpeters with you.”

[Illustration: John the Fearless----51]

The duke took leave of the king, said business required his presence in

Flanders, and went off as fast as he could.

When it was known that he had gone, there was a feeling of regret and

disquietude amongst the sensible and sober burgesses at Paris. What they

wanted was peace; and in order to have it the adherence of the Duke of

Burgundy was indispensable. Whilst he was present, there might be hope

of winning him or forcing him over to it; but, whilst he was absent,

headstrong as he was known to be, a renewal of war was the most probable

contingency. And this result appeared certain when it was seen how the

princes hostile to the Duke of Burgundy, above all, Duke Charles of

Orleans, the Count of Armagnac and their partisans hastened back to

Paris, and resumed their ascendency with the king and in his council.

The _dauphin_, Louis Duke of Aquitaine, united himself by the ties of

close friendship with the Duke of Orleans, and prevailed upon him to give

up the mourning he had worn since his father’s murder; the two princes

appeared everywhere dressed alike; the scarf of Armagnac re-placed that

of Burgundy; the feelings of the populace changed as the fashion of the

court; and when children sang in the streets the song but lately in

vogue, “Burgundy’s duke, God give thee joy!” they were struck and hurled

to the ground. Facts were before long in accordance with appearances.

After a few pretences of arrangement the Duke of Burgundy took up arms

and marched on Paris. Charles VI., on his side, annulled, in the

presence of Parliament, all acts adverse to the Duke of Orleans and his

adherents; and the king, the queen, and the _dauphin_ bound themselves by

oath not to treat with the duke of Burgundy until they had destroyed his

power. At the end of March, 1414, the king’s army was set in motion;

Compiegne, Soissons, and Bapaume, which held out for the Duke of

Burgundy, were successively taken by assault or surrendered; the royal

troops treated the people as vanquished rebels; and the four great

communes of Flanders sent a deputation to the king to make protestations

of their respect and an attempt to arrange matters between their lord and

his suzerain. Animosity was still too lively and too recent in the

king’s camp to admit of satisfaction with a victory as yet incomplete.

On the 28th of July began the siege of Arras; but after five weeks the

besiegers had made no impression; an epidemic came upon them; the Duke of

Bavaria and the constable, Charles d’Albret, were attacked by it;

weariness set in on both sides; the Duke of Burgundy’ himself began to be

anxious about his position; and he sent the Duke of Brabant, his brother,

and the Countess of Hainault, his sister, to the king and the _dauphin_,

with more submissive words than he had hitherto deigned to utter. The

Countess of Hainault, pleading the ties of family and royal interests,

managed to give the _dauphin_ a bias towards peace; and the _dauphin_ in

his turn worked upon the mind of the king, who was becoming more and more

feeble and accessible to the most opposite impressions. It was in vain

that the most intimate friends of the Duke of Orleans tried to keep the

king steadfast in his wrath from night to morning. One day, when he was

still in bed, one of them softly approaching and putting his hand under

the coverlet, said, plucking him by the foot, “My lord, are you asleep?”

“No, cousin,” answered the king; “you are quite welcome; is there

anything new?” “No, sir; only that your people report that if you would

assault Arras there would be good hope of effecting an entry.” “But if

my cousin of Burgundy listens to reason, and puts the town into my hands

without assault, we will make peace.” “What! sir; you would make peace

with this wicked, this disloyal man who so cruelly had your brother

slain?” “But all was forgiven him with the consent of my nephew of

Orleans,” said the king mournfully. “Alas! sir, you will never see that

brother again.” “Let me be, cousin,” said the king, impatiently; “I

shall see him again on the day of judgment.”

Notwithstanding this stubborn way of working up the irreconcilable

enmities which caused divisions in the royal family, peace was decided

upon and concluded at Arras, on the 4th of September, 1414, on conditions

as vague as ever, which really put no end to the causes of civil war, but

permitted the king on the one hand and the Duke of Burgundy on the other,

to call themselves and to wear an appearance of being reconciled. A

serious event which happened abroad at that time was heavily felt in

France, reawakened the spirit of nationality, and opened the eyes of all

parties a little to the necessity of suspending their own selfish

disagreements. Henry IV., King of England, died on the 20th of March,

1413. Having been chiefly occupied with the difficulties of his own

government at home, he, without renouncing the war with France, had not

prosecuted it vigorously, and had kept it in suspense or adjournment by a

repetition of truces. Henry V., his son and successor, a young prince of

five and twenty, active, ambitious, able, and popular, gave, from the

very moment of his accession, signs of having bolder views, which were

not long coming to maturity, in respect of his relations with France.

The Duke of Burgundy had undoubtedly anticipated them, for, as soon as he

was cognizant of Henry IV.’s death, he made overtures in London for the

marriage of his daughter Catherine with the new King of England, and he

received at Bruges an English embassy on the subject. When this was

known at Paris, the council of Charles VI. sent to the Duke of Burgundy

Sire de Dampierre and the Bishop of Evreux bearing letters to him from

the king “which forbade him, on pain of forfeiture and treason, to enter

into any treaty with the King of England, either for his daughter’s

marriage or for any other cause.” But the views of Henry V. soared

higher than a marriage with a daughter of the Duke of Burgundy. It was

to the hand of the King of France’s daughter, herself also named

Catherine, that he made pretension, flattering himself that he would find

in this union aid in support of his pretences to the crown of France.

These pretences he put forward, hardly a year after his accession to the

throne, basing them, as Edward III. had done, on the alleged right of

Isabel of France, wife of Edward II., to succeed King John. No reply was

vouchsafed from Paris to this demand. Only the Princess Catherine, who

was but thirteen, was presented to the envoys of the King of England, and

she struck them as being tall and beautiful. A month later, in August,

1414, Henry V. gave Charles VI. to understand that he would be content

with a strict execution of the treaty of Bretigny, with the addition of

Normandy, Anjou, and Maine, and the hand of the Princess Catherine with a

dowry of two million crowns. The war between Charles VI. and John the

Fearless caused a suspension of all negotiations on this subject; but,

after the peace of Arras, in January, 1415, a new and solemn embassy from

England arrived at Paris, and the late proposals were again brought

forward. The ambassadors had a magnificent reception; splendid presents

and entertainments were given them; but no answer was made to their

demands; they were only told that the King of France was about to send an

embassy to the King of England. It did not set out before the 27th of

the following April; the Archbishop of Bourges, the most eloquent prelate

in the council, was its spokesman; and it had orders to offer the King of

England the hand of the Princess Catherine with a dowry of eight hundred

and forty thousand golden crowns, besides fifteen towns in Aquitaine and

the seneschalty of Limoges. Henry V. rejected these offers, declaring

that, if he did not get Normandy and all the districts ceded by the

treaty of Bretigny, he would have recourse to war to recover a crown

which belonged to him. To this arrogant language the Archbishop of

Bourges replied, “O king, what canst thou be thinking of that thou

wouldst fain thus oust the King of the French, our lord, the most noble

and excellent of Christian kings, from the throne of so powerful a

kingdom? Thinkest thou that it is for fear of thee and of the English

that he hath made thee an offer of his daughter together with so great a

sum and a portion of his land? Nay, verily; he was moved by pity and the

love of peace; he would not that the innocent blood should be spilt and

Christian people destroyed in the hurly-burly of battle. He will invoke

the aid of God Almighty, of the blessed virgin Mary, and of all the

saints. Then by his own arms and those of his loyal subjects, vassals,

and allies, thou wilt be driven from his kingdom, and, peradventure, meet

with death or capture.”

On returning to Paris the ambassadors, in presence of the king’s council

and a numerous assembly of clergy, nobility, and people, gave an account

of their embassy and advised instant preparation for war without

listening to a single word of peace. “They loudly declared,” says the

monk of St. Denis, “that King Henry’s letters, though they were

apparently full of moderation, had lurking at the bottom of them a great

deal of perfidy, and that this king, all the time that he was offering

peace and union in the most honeyed terms, was thinking only how he might

destroy the kingdom, and was levying troops in all quarters.” Henry V.,

indeed, in November, 1414, demanded of his Parliament a large subsidy,

which was at once voted without any precise mention of the use to be made

of it, and merely in the terms following: “For the defence of the realm

of England and the security of the seas.” At the commencement of the

following year, Henry resumed negotiations with France, renouncing his

claims to Normandy, Anjou, and Maine; but Charles VI. and his council

adhered to their former offers. On the 16th of April, 1415, Henry

announced to a grand council of spiritual and temporal peers, assembled

at Westminster, his determination “of setting out in person to go and, by

God’s grace, recover his heritage.” He appointed one of his brothers,

the Duke of Bedford, to be regent in his absence, and the peers,

ecclesiastical and laical, applauded his design, promising him their

sincere co-operation. Thus France, under a poor mad king and amidst

civil dissensions of the most obstinate character, found the question

renewed for her of French versus English king-ship and national

independence versus foreign conquest.

On the 14th of August, 1415, an English fleet, having on board, together

with King Henry V., six thousand men-at-arms, twenty-four thousand

archers, powerful war-machines, and a multitude of artisans and “small

folk,” came to land near Harfleur, not far from the mouth of the Seine.

It was the most formidable expedition that had ever issued from the ports

of England. The English spent several days in effecting their landing

and setting up their siege-train around the walls of the city. “It would

have been easy,” says the monk of St. Denis, “to hinder their operations,

and the inhabitants of the town and neighborhood would have worked

thereat with zeal, if they had not counted that the nobility of the

district and the royal army commanded by the constable, Charles d’Albret,

would come to their aid.” No one came. The burgesses and the small

garrison of Harfleur made a gallant defence; but, on the 22d of

September, not receiving from Vernon, where the king and the _dauphin_

were massing their troops, any other assistance than the advice to “take

courage and trust to the king’s discretion,” they capitulated; and Henry

V., after taking possession of the place, advanced into the country with

an army already much reduced by sickness, looking for a favorable point

at which to cross the Somme and push his invasion still farther. It was

not until the 19th of October that he succeeded, at Bethencourt, near St.

Quentin. Charles VI., who at that time had a lucid interval, after

holding at Rouen a council of war, at which it was resolved to give the

English battle, wished to repair with the _dauphin_, his son, to Bapaume,

where the French army had taken position; but his uncle, the Duke of

Berry, having still quite a lively recollection of the battle of

Poitiers, fought fifty-nine’ years before, made opposition, saying,

“Better lose the battle than the king and the battle.” All the princes

of the royal blood and all the flower of the French nobility, except the

king and his three sons, and the Dukes of Berry, Brittany, and Burgundy,

joined the army. The Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, and the Constable

d’Albret, who was in command, sent to ask the King of England on what day

and at what place he would be pleased to give them battle. “I do not

shut myself up in walled towns,” replied Henry; “I shall be found at any

time and any where ready to fight, if any attempt be made to cut off my

march.” The French resolved to stop him between Agincourt and

Framecourt, a little north of St. Paul and Hesdin. The encounter took

place on the 25th of October, 1415. It was a monotonous and lamentable

repetition of the disasters of Crecy and Poitiers; disasters almost

inevitable, owing to the incapacity of the leaders and ever the same

defects on the part of the French nobility, defects which rendered their

valorous and generous qualities not only fruitless, but fatal. Never had

that nobility been more numerous and more brilliant than in this

premeditated struggle. On the eve of the battle, Marshal de Boucicaut

had armed five hundred new knights; the greater part passed the night on

horse-back, under arms, on ground soaked with rain; and men and horses

were already distressed in the morning, when the battle began. It were

tedious to describe the faulty manoeuvres of the French army and their

deplorable consequences on that day. Never was battle more stubborn or

defeat more complete and bloody. Eight thousand men of family, amongst

whom were a hundred and twenty lords bearing their own banners, were left

on the field of battle. The Duke of Brabant, the Count of Nevers, the

Duke of Bar, the Duke of Alencon, and the Constable d’Albret were killed.

The Duke of Orleans was dragged out wounded from under the dead. When

Henry V., after having spent several hours on the field of battle,

retired to his quarters, he was told that the Duke of Orleans would

neither eat nor drink. He went to see him. “What fare, cousin?” said

he. “Good, my lord.” “Why will you not eat or drink?” “I wish to fast.”

“Cousin,” said the king, gently, “make good cheer: if God has granted me

grace to gain the victory, I know it is not owing to my deserts; I

believe that God wished to punish the French; and, if all I have heard

is true, it is no wonder, for they say that never were seen disorder,

licentiousness, sins, and vices like what is going on in France just now.

Surely, God did well to be angry.” It appears that the King of England’s

feeling was that also of many amongst the people of France. “On

reflecting upon this cruel mishap,” says the monk of St. Denis, “all the

inhabitants of the kingdom, men and women, said, ‘In what evil days are

we come into this world that we should be witnesses of such confusion and

shame!’” During the battle the eldest son of Duke John the Fearless, the

young Count of Charolais (at that time nineteen), who was afterwards

Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, was at the castle of Aire, where his

governors kept him by his father’s orders and prevented him from joining

the king’s army. His servants were leaving him one after another to go

and defend the kingdom against the English.

[Illustration: Already distressed----57]

When he heard of the disaster at Agincourt he was seized with profound

despair at having failed in that patriotic duty; he would fain have

starved himself to death, and he spent three whole days in tears, none

being able to comfort him. When, four years afterwards, he became Duke

of Burgundy, and during his whole life, he continued to testify his keen

regret at not having fought in that cruel battle, though it should have

cost him his life, and he often talked with his servants about that event

of grievous memory. When his father, Duke John, received the news of the

disaster at Agincourt, he also exhibited great sorrow and irritation; he

had lost by it his two brothers, the Duke of Brabant and the Count of

Nevers; and he sent forthwith a herald to the King of England, who was

still at Calais, with orders to say, that in consequence of the death of

his brother, the Duke of Brabant, who was no vassal of France, and held

nothing in fief there, he, the Duke of Burgundy, did defy him mortally

(fire and sword) and sent him his gauntlet. “I will not accept the

gauntlet of so noble and puissant a prince as the Duke of Burgundy,” was

Henry V.’s soft answer; “I am of no account compared with him. If I have

had the victory over the nobles of France, it is by God’s grace. The

death of the Duke of Brabant hath been an affliction to me; but I do

assure thee that neither I nor my people did cause his death. Take back

to thy master his gauntlet; if he will be at Boulogne on the 15th of

January next, I will prove to him by the testimony of my prisoners and

two of my friends, that it was the French who accomplished his brother’s

destruction.”

The Duke of Burgundy, as a matter of course, let his quarrel with the

King of England drop, and occupied himself for the future only in

recovering his power in France. He set out on the march for Paris,

proclaiming everywhere that he was assembling his army solely for the

purpose of avenging the kingdom, chastising the English, and aiding the

king with his counsels and his forces. The sentiment of nationality was

so strongly aroused that politicians most anxious about their own

personal interests, and about them alone, found themselves obliged to pay

homage to it.

Unfortunately, it was, so far as Duke John was concerned, only a

superficial and transitory homage. There is no repentance so rarely seen

as that of selfishness in pride and power. The four years which elapsed

between the battle of Agincourt and the death of John the Fearless were

filled with nothing but fresh and still more tragic explosions of hatred

and strife between the two factions of the Burgundians and Armagnacs,

taking and losing, re-taking and re-losing, alternately, their ascendency

with the king and in the government of France. When, after the battle of

Agincourt, the Duke of Burgundy marched towards Paris, he heard almost

simultaneously that the king was issuing a prohibition against the entry

of his troops, and that his rival, the Count of Armagnac, had just

arrived and been put in possession of the military power, as constable,

and of the civil power, as superintendent-general of finance. The duke

then returned to Burgundy, and lost no time in recommencing hostilities

against the king’s government. At one time he let his troops make war on

the king’s and pillage the domains of the crown; at another he entered

into negotiations with the King of England, and showed a disposition to

admit his claims to such and such a province, and even perhaps to the

throne of France. He did not accede to the positive alliance offered him

by Henry; but he employed the fear entertained of it by the king’s

government as a weapon against his enemies. The Count of Armagnac, on

his side, made the most relentless use of power against the Duke of

Burgundy and his partisans; he pursued them everywhere, especially in

Paris, with dexterous and pitiless hatred. He abolished the whole

organization and the privileges of the Parisian butcherdom which had

shown so favorable a leaning towards Duke John; and the system he

established as a substitute was founded on excellent grounds appertaining

to the interests of the people and of good order in the heart of Paris;

but the violence of absolute power and of hatred robs the best measures

of the credit they would deserve if they were more disinterested and

dispassionate. A lively reaction set in at Paris in favor of the

persecuted Burgundians; even outside of Paris several towns of

importance, Rheims, Chalons, Troyes, Auxerre, Amiens, and Rouen itself,

showed a favorable disposition towards the Duke of Burgundy, and made a

sort of alliance with him, promising to aid him “in reinstating the king

in his freedom and lordship, and the realm in its freedom and just

rights.” The Count of Armagnac was no more tender with the court than

with the populace of Paris. He suspected, not without reason, that the

queen, Isabel of Bavaria, was in secret communication with and gave

information to Duke John. Moreover, she was leading a scandalously

licentious life at Vincennes; and one of her favorites, Louis de

Bosredon, a nobleman of Auvergne and her steward, meeting the king one

day on the road, greeted the king cavalierly and hastily went his way.

Charles VI. was plainly offended. The Count of Armagnac seized the

opportunity; and not only did he foment the king’s ill-humor, but talked

to him of all the irregularities of which the queen was the centre, and

in which Louis de Bosredon was, he said, at that time her principal

accomplice. Charles, in spite of the cloud upon his mind, could hardly

have been completely ignorant cf such facts; but it is not necessary to

be a king to experience extreme displeasure on learning that offensive

scandals are almost public, and on hearing the whole tale of them. The

king, carried away by his anger, went straight to Vincennes, had a

violent scene with his wife, and caused Bosredon to be arrested,

imprisoned, and put to the question; and he, on his own confession it is

said, was thrown into the Seine, sewn up in a leathern sack, on which

were inscribed the words, “Let the king’s justice run its course!”

Charles VI. and Armagnac did not stop there. Queen Isabel was first of

all removed from the council and stripped of all authority, and then

banished to Tours, where commissioners were appointed to watch over her

conduct, and not to let her even write a letter without their seeing it.

But royal personages can easily elude such strictness. A few months

after her banishment, whilst the despotism of Armagnac and the war

between the king and the Duke of Burgundy were still going on, Queen

Isabel managed to send to the duke, through one of her servants, her

golden seal, which John the Fearless well knew, with a message to the

effect that she would go with him if he would come to fetch her. On the

night of November 1, 1417, the Duke of Burgundy hurriedly raised the

siege of Corbeil, advanced with a body of troops to a position within two

leagues from Tours, and sent the queen notice that he was awaiting her.

Isabel ordered her three custodians to go with her to mass at the Convent

of Marmoutier, outside the city. Scarcely was she within the church when

a Burgundian captain, Hector de Saveuse, presented himself with sixty men

at the door. “Look to your safety, madame,” said her custodians to

Isabel; “here is a large company of Burgundians or English.” “Keep close

to me,” replied the queen. Hector de Saveuse at that moment entered and

saluted the queen on behalf of the Duke of Burgundy. “Where is he?”

asked the queen. “He will not be long coming.” Isabel ordered the

captain to arrest her three custodians; and two hours afterwards Duke

John arrived with his men-at-arms. “My dearest cousin,” said the queen

to him, “I ought to love you above every man in the realm; you have left

all at my bidding, and are come to deliver me from prison. Be assured

that I will never fail you. I quite see that you have always been

devoted to my lord, his family, the realm, and the common-weal.” The

duke carried the queen off to Chartres; and as soon as she was settled

there, on the 12th of November, 1417, she wrote to the good towns of the

kingdom,

“We, Isabel, by the grace of God Queen of France, having, by reason of my

lord the king’s seclusion, the government and administration of this

realm, by irrevocable grant made to us by the said my lord the king and

his council, are come to Chartres in company with our cousin, the Duke of

Burgundy, in order to advise and ordain whatsoever is necessary to

preserve and recover the supremacy of my lord the king, on advice taken

of the prud’hommes, vassals, and subjects.”

She at the same time ordered that Master Philip de Morvilliers,

heretofore councillor of the Duke of Burgundy, should go to Amiens,

accompanied by several clerics of note and by a registrar, and that there

should be held there, by the queen’s authority, for the bailiwicks of

Amiens, Vermandois, Tournai, and the countship of Ponthieu, a sovereign

court of justice, in the place of that which there was at Paris. Thus,

and by such a series of acts of violence and of falsehoods, the Duke of

Burgundy, all the while making war on the king, surrounded himself with

hollow forms of royal and legal government.

Whilst civil war was thus penetrating to the very core of the kingship,

foreign war was making its way again into the kingdom. Henry V., after

the battle of Agincourt, had returned to London, and had left his army to

repose and reorganize after its sufferings and its losses. It was not

until eighteen months afterwards, on the 1st of August, 1417, that he

landed at Touques, not far from Honfleur, with fresh troops, and resumed

his campaign in France. Between 1417 and 1419 he successively laid siege

to nearly all the towns of importance in Normandy, to Caen, Bayeux,

Falaise, Evreux, Coutances, Laigle, St. Lo, Cherbourg, &c., &c. Some

he occupied after a short resistance, others were sold to him by their

governors; but when, in the month of July, 1418, he undertook the siege

of Rouen, he encountered there a long and serious struggle. Rouen had at

that time, it is said, a population of one hundred and fifty thousand

souls, which was animated by ardent patriotism. The Rouennese, on the

approach of the English, had repaired their gates, their ramparts, and

their moats; had demanded re-enforcements from the King of France and the

Duke of Burgundy; and had ordered every person incapable of bearing arms

or procuring provisions for ten months, to leave the city. Twelve

thousand old men, women, and children were thus expelled, and died either

round the place or whilst roving in misery over the neighboring country;

“poor women gave birth unassisted beneath the walls, and good

compassionate people in the town drew up the new-born in baskets to have

them baptized, and afterwards lowered them down to their mothers to die

together.” Fifteen thousand men of city-militia, four thousand regular

soldiers, three hundred spearmen and as many archers from Paris, and it

is not quite known how many men-at-arms sent by the Duke of Burgundy,

defended Rouen for more than five months amidst all the usual sufferings

of strictly-besieged cities. “As early as the beginning of October,”

says Monstrelet, “they were forced to eat horses, dogs, cats, and other

things not fit for human beings;” but they nevertheless made frequent

sorties, “rushing furiously upon the enemy, to whom they caused many a

heavy loss.” Four gentlemen and four burgesses succeeded in escaping and

going to Beauvais, to tell the king and his council about the deplorable

condition of their city. The council replied that the king was not in a

condition to raise the siege, but that Rouen would be relieved “within”

on the fourth day after Christmas. It was now the middle of December.

The Rouennese resigned themselves to waiting a fortnight longer; but,

when that period was over, they found nothing arrive but a message from

the Duke of Burgundy recommending them “to treat for their preservation

with the King of England as best they could.” They asked to capitulate.

Henry V. demanded that “all the men of the town should place themselves

at his disposal.” “When the commonalty of Rouen heard this answer, they

all cried out that it were better to die all together sword in hand

against their enemies than place themselves at the disposal of yonder

king, and they were for shoring up with planks a loosened layer of the

wall inside the city, and, having armed themselves and joined all of them

together, men, women, and children, for setting fire to the city,

throwing down the said layer of wall into the moats, and getting them

gone by night whither it might please God to direct them.” Henry V. was

unwilling to confront such heroic despair; and on the 13th of January,

1419, he granted the Rouennese a capitulation, from which seven persons

only were excepted, Robert Delivet, the archbishop’s vicar-general, who

from the top of the ramparts had excommunicated the foreign conqueror;

D’Houdetot, baillie of the city; John Segneult, the mayor; Alan

Blanchard, the captain of the militia-crossbowmen, and three other

burgesses. The last-named, the hero of the siege, was the only one who

paid for his heroism with his life; the baillie, the mayor, and the vicar

bought themselves off. On the 19th of January, at midday, the English,

king and army, made their solemn entry into the city. It was two hundred

and fifteen years since Philip Augustus had won Rouen by conquest from

John Lackland, King of England; and happily his successors were not to be

condemned to deplore the loss of it very long.

These successes of the King of England were so many reverses and perils

for the Count of Armagnac. He had in his hands Paris, the king, and the

_dauphin_; in the people’s eyes the responsibility of government and of

events rested on his shoulders; and at one time he was doing nothing,

at another he was unsuccessful in what he did. Whilst Henry V. was

becoming master of nearly all the towns of Normandy, the constable, with

the king in his army, was besieging Senlis; and he was obliged to raise

the siege. The legates of Pope Martin V. had set about establishing

peace between the Burgundians and Armagnacs, as well as between France

and England; they had prepared, on the basis of the treaty of Arras, a

new treaty, with which a great part of the country, and even of the

burgesses of Paris, showed themselves well pleased; but the constable had

it rejected on the ground of its being adverse to the interests of the

king and of France; and his friend, the chancellor, Henry de Marle,

declared that, if the king were disposed to sign it, he would have to

seal it himself, for that, as for him, the chancellor, he certainly would

not seal it. Bernard of Armagnac and his confidential friend, Tanneguy

Duchatel, a Breton nobleman, provost of Paris, were hard and haughty.

When a complaint was made to them of any violent procedure, they would

answer, “What business had you there? If it were the Burgundians, you

would make no complaint.” The Parisian population was becoming every day

more Burgundian. In the latter days of May. 1418, a plot was contrived

for opening to the Burgundians one of the gates of Paris. Perrinet

Leclerc, son of a rich iron-merchant having influence in the quarter of

St. Germain des Pros, stole the keys from under the bolster of his

father’s bed; a troop of Burgundian men-at-arms came in, and they were

immediately joined by a troop of Parisians. They spread over the city,

shouting, “Our Lady of peace! Hurrah for the king! Hurrah for Burgundy!

Let all who wish for peace take arms and follow us!” The people swarmed

from the houses and followed them accordingly. The Armagnacs were

surprised and seized with alarm. Tanneguy Duchatel, a man of prompt and

resolute spirit, ran to the _dauphin_’s, wrapped him in his bed-clothes,

and carried him off to the Bastille, where he shut him up with several of

his partisans. The Count of Armagnac, towards whose house the multitude

thronged, left by a back-door, and took refuge at a mason’s, where he

believed himself secure. In a few hours the Burgundians were masters of

Paris. Their chief, the lord of Isle-Adam, had the doors of the hostel

of St. Paul broken in, and presented himself before the king. “How fares

my cousin of Burgundy?” said Charles VI.; “I have not seen him for some

time.” That was all he said. He was set on horseback and marched

through the streets. He showed no astonishment at anything; he had all

but lost memory as well as reason, and no longer knew the difference

between Armagnac and Burgundian. A devoted Burgundian, Sire Guy de Bar,

was named provost of Paris in the place of Tanneguy Duchatel. The mason

with whom Bernard of Armagnac had taken refuge went and told the new

provost that the constable was concealed at his house. Thither the

provost hurried, made the constable mount behind him, and carried him off

to prison at the Chatelet, at the same time making honorable exertions to

prevent massacre and plunder.

But factions do not so soon give up either their vengeance or their

hopes. On the 11th of June, 1418, hardly twelve days after Paris had

fallen into the hands of the Burgundians, a body of sixteen hundred men

issued from the Bastille, and rushed into the street St. Antoine,

shouting, “Hurrah for the king, the _dauphin_, and the Count of Armagnac!”

They were Tanneguy Duchatel and some of the chiefs of the Armagnacs who

were attempting to regain Paris, where they had observed that the

Burgundians were not numerous. Their attempt had no success, and merely

gave the Burgundians the opportunity and the signal for a massacre of

their enemies. The little band of Tanneguy Duchatel was instantly

repulsed, hemmed in, and forced to re-enter the Bastille with a loss of

four hundred men. Tanneguy saw that he could make no defence there; so

he hastily made his way out, taking the _dauphin_ with him to Melun. The

massacre of the Armagnacs had already commenced on the previous evening:

they were harried in the hostelries and houses; they were cut down with

axes in the streets. On the night between the 12th and 13th of June a

rumor spread about that there were bands of Armagnacs coming to deliver

their friends in prison. “They are at the St. Germain gate,” said some.

No, it is the St. Marceau gate,” said others. The mob assembled and made

a furious rush upon the prison-gates. “The city and burgesses will have

no peace,” was the general saying, “so long as there is one Armagnac

left! Hurrah for peace! Hurrah for the Duke of Burgundy!” The provost

of Paris, the lord of Isle-Adam, and the principal Burgundian chieftains,

galloped up with a thousand horse, and strove to pacify these madmen,

numbering, it is said, some forty thousand. They were received with a

stout of, “A plague of your justice and pity! Accursed be he whosoever

shall have pity on these traitors of Armagnacs. They are English; they

are hounds. They had already made banners for the King of England, and

would fain have planted them upon the gates of the city. They made us

work for nothing, and when we asked for our due they said, ‘You rascals,

haven’t ye a sou to buy a cord and go hang yourselves? In the devil’s

name speak no more of it; it will be no use, whatever you say.’” The

provost of Paris durst not oppose such fury as this. “Do what you

please,” said he. The mob ran to look for the constable Armagnac and the

chancellor de Marle in the Palace-tower, in which they had been shut up,

and they were at once torn to pieces amidst ferocious rejoicings. All

the prisons were ransacked and emptied; the prisoners who attempted

resistance were smoked out; they were hurled down from the windows upon

pikes held up to catch them. The massacre lasted from four o’clock in

the morning to eleven. The common report was, that fifteen hundred

persons had perished in it; the account rendered to parliament made the

number eight hundred. The servants of the Duke of Burgundy mentioned to

him no more than four hundred.

It was not before the 14th of July that he, with Queen Isabel, came back

to the city; and he came with a sincere design, if not of punishing the

cut-throats, at least of putting a stop to all massacre and pillage; but

there is nothing more difficult than to suppress the consequences of a

mischief of which you dare not attack the cause. One Bertrand, head of

one of the companies of butchers, had been elected captain of St. Denis

because he had saved the abbey from the rapacity of a noble Burgundian

chieftain, Hector de Saveuse. The lord, to avenge himself, had the

butcher assassinated. The burgesses went to the duke to demand that the

assassin should be punished; and the duke, who durst neither assent nor

refuse, could only partially cloak his weakness by imputing the crime to

some disorderly youngsters whom he enabled to get away. On the 20th of

August an angry mob collected in front of the Chatelet, shouting out that

nobody would bring the Armagnacs to justice, and that they were every day

being set at liberty on payment of money. The great and little Chatelet

were stormed, and the prisoners massacred. The mob would have liked to

serve the Bastille the same; but the duke told the rioters that he would

give the prisoners up to them if they would engage to conduct them to the

Chatelet without doing them any harm, and, to win them over, he grasped

the hand of their head man, who was no other than Capeluche, the city

executioner. Scarcely had they arrived at the court-yard of the little

Chatelet when the prisoners were massacred there without any regard for

the promise made to the duke. He sent for the most distinguished

burgesses, and consulted them as to what could be done to check such

excesses; but they confined themselves to joining him in deploring them.

He sent for the savages once more, and said to them, “You would do far

better to go and lay siege to Montlhery, to drive off the king’s enemies,

who have come ravaging everything up to the St. Jacques gate, and

preventing the harvest from being got in.” “Readily,” they answered,

“only give us leaders.” He gave them leaders, who led six thousand of

them to Montlhery. As soon as they were gone Duke John had Capeluche and

two of his chief accomplices brought to trial, and Capeluche was beheaded

in the market-place by his own apprentice. But the gentry sent to the

siege of Montlhery did not take the place; they accused their leaders of

having betrayed them, and returned to be a scourge to the neighborhood of

Paris, everywhere saying that the Duke of Burgundy was the most

irresolute man in the kingdom, and that if there were no nobles the war

would be ended in a couple of months. Duke John set about negotiating

with the _dauphin_ and getting him back to Paris. The _dauphin_ replied

that he was quite ready to obey and serve his mother as a good son

should, but that it would be more than he could stomach to go back to a

city where so many crimes and so much tyranny had but lately been

practised. Terms of reconciliation were drawn up and signed on the 16th

of September, 1418, at St. Maur, by the queen, the Duke of Burgundy, and

the pope’s legates; but the _dauphin_ refused to ratify them. The

unpunished and long-continued massacres in Paris had redoubled his

distrust towards the Duke of Burgundy; he had, moreover, just assumed the

title of regent of the kingdom; and he had established at Poitiers a

parliament, of which Juvenal des Ursins was a member. He had promised

the young Count of Armagnac to exact justice for his father’s cruel

death; and the old friends of the house of Orleans remained faithful to

their enmities. The Duke of Burgundy had at one time to fight, and at

another to negotiate with the _dauphin_ and the King of England, both at

once, and always without success. The _dauphin_ and his council, though

showing a little more discretion, were going on in the same alternative

and unsatisfactory condition. Clearly neither France and England nor the

factions in France had yet exhausted their passions or their powers; and

the day of summary vengeance was nearer than that of real reconciliation.

Nevertheless, complicated, disturbed and persistently resultless

situations always end by becoming irksome to those who are entangled in

them, and by inspiring a desire for extrication. The King of England, in

spite of his successes and his pride, determined upon sending the Earl of

Warwick to Provins, where the king and the Duke of Burgundy still were: a

truce was concluded between the English and the Burgundians, and it was

arranged that on the 30th of May, 1419, the two kings should meet between

Mantes and Melun, and hold a conference for the purpose of trying to

arrive at a peace. A few days before the time, Duke John set out from

Provins with the king, Queen Isabel, and Princess Catherine, and repaired

first of all to Pontoise, and then to the place fixed for the interview,

on the borders of the Seine, near Meulan, where two pavilions had been

prepared, one for the King of France and the other for the King of

England. Charles VI., being ill, remained at Pontoise. Queen Isabel,

Princess Catherine, and the Duke of Burgundy arrived at the appointed

spot. Henry V. was already there; he went to meet the queen, saluted

her, took her hand, and embraced her and Madame Catherine as well; Duke

John slightly bent his knee to the king, who raised him up and embraced

him likewise. This solemn interview was succeeded by several others to

which Princess Catherine did not come. The queen requested the King of

England to state exactly what he proposed; and he demanded the execution

of the treaty of Bretigny, the cession of Normandy, and the absolute

sovereignty, without any bond of vassalage, of whatever should be ceded

by the treaty. A short discussion ensued upon some secondary questions.

There appeared to be no distant probability of an understanding. The

English believed that they saw an inclination on the Duke of Burgundy’s

part not to hasten to a conclusion, and to obtain better conditions from

King Henry by making him apprehensive of a reconciliation with the

_dauphin_. Henry proposed to him, for the purpose of ending everything,

a conference between themselves alone; and it took place on the 3d of

June. “Cousin,” said the king to the duke, “we wish you to know that we

will have your king’s daughter, and all that we have demanded with her;

else we will thrust him out of his kingdom, and you too.” “Sir,”

answered the duke, “you speak according to your pleasure; but before

thrusting my lord and myself from the kingdom you will have what will

tire you, we make no doubt, and you will have enough to do to keep

yourself in your own island.” Between two princes so proud there was

little probability of an understanding; and they parted with no other

result than mutual displeasure.

Some days before, on the 14th of May, 1419, a truce of three months had

been concluded between the _dauphin_ and the Duke of Burgundy, and was to

lead to a conference also between these two princes. It did not commence

before the 8th of July. During this interval, Duke John had submitted

for the mature deliberation of his council the question whether it were

better to grant the English demands, or become reconciled to the

_dauphin_. Amongst his official councillors opinions were divided; but,

in his privacy, the lady of Giac, “whom he loved and trusted mightily,”

and Philip Jossequin, who had at first been his chamber attendant, and

afterwards custodian of his jewels and of his privy seal, strongly urged

him to make peace with the _dauphin_; and the pope’s fresh legate, the

Bishop of Laon, added his exhortations to these home influences. There

had been fitted up at a league’s distance from Melun, on the embankment

of the ponds of Vert, a summer-house of branches and leaves, hung with

drapery and silken stuffs; and there the first interview between the two

princes took place. The _dauphin_ left in displeasure; he had found the

Duke of Burgundy haughty and headstrong. Already the old servants of the

late Duke of Orleans, impelled by their thirst for vengeance, were saying

out loud that the matter should be decided by arms, when the lady of Giac

went after the _dauphin_, who from infancy had also been very much

attached to her, and she, going backwards and forwards between the two

princes, was so affectionate and persuasive with both that she prevailed

upon them to meet again, and to sincerely wish for an understanding. The

next day but one they returned to the place of meeting, attended, each of

them, by a large body of men-at-arms. They advanced towards one another

with ten men only, and dismounted. The Duke of Burgundy went on bended

knee. The _dauphin_ took him by the hand, embraced him, and would have

raised him up. “No, my lord,” said the duke; “I know how I ought to

address you.” The _dauphin_ assured him that he forgave every offence,

if indeed he had received any, and added, “Cousin, if in the proposed

treaty between us there be aught which is not to your liking, we desire

that you amend it, and henceforth we will desire all you shall desire;

make no doubt of it.” They conversed for some time with every appearance

of cordiality; and then the treaty was signed. It was really a treaty of

reconciliation, in which, without dwelling upon “the suspicions and

imaginings which have been engendered in the hearts of ourselves and many

of our officers, and have hindered us from acting with concord in the

great matters of my lord the king and his kingdom, and resisting the

damnable attempts of his and our old enemies,” the two princes made

mutual promises, each in language suitable to their rank and connection,

“to love one another, support one another, and serve one another

mutually, as good and loyal relatives, and bade all their servants, if

they saw any hinderance thereto, to give them notice thereof, according

to their bounden duty.” The treaty was signed by all the men of note

belonging to the houses of both princes; and the crowd which surrounded

them shouted “Noel!” and invoked curses on whosoever should be minded

henceforth to take up arms again in this damnable quarrel. When the

_dauphin_ went away, the duke insisted upon holding his stirrup, and they

parted with every demonstration of amity. The _dauphin_ returned to

Touraine, and the duke to Pontoise, to be near the king, who, by letters

of July 19, confirmed the treaty, enjoined general forgetfulness of the

past, and ordained that “all war should cease, save against the English.”

There was universal and sincere joy. The peace fulfilled the

requirements at the same time of the public welfare and of national

feeling; it was the only means of re-establishing order at home, and

driving from the kingdom the foreigner who aspired to conquer it. Only

the friends of the Duke of Orleans, and of the Count of Armagnac, one

assassinated twelve years before, and the other massacred but lately,

remained sad and angry at not having yet been able to obtain either

justice or vengeance; but they maintained reserve and silence. They were

not long in once more finding for mistrust and murmuring grounds or

pretexts which a portion of the public showed a disposition to take up.

The Duke of Burgundy had made haste to publish his ratification of the

treaty of reconciliation; the _dauphin_ had let his wait. The Parisians

were astounded not to see either the _dauphin_ or the Duke of Burgundy

coming back within their walls, and at being, as it were, forgotten and

deserted amidst the universal making-up. They complained that no armed

force was being collected to oppose the English, and that there was an

appearance of flying before them, leaving open to them Paris, in which at

this time there was no captain of renown. They were still more troubled

when, on the 29th of July, they saw the arrival at the St. Denis gate of

a multitude of disconsolate fugitives, some wounded, and others dropping

from hunger, thirst, and fatigue. When they were asked who they were,

and what was the reason of their desperate condition, “We are from

Pontoise,” they said; “the English took the town this morning; they

killed or wounded all before them; happy he whosoever could escape from

their hands; never were Saracens so cruel to Christians as yonder folk

are.” It was a real fact. The King of England, disquieted at the

reconciliation between the Duke of Burgundy and the _dauphin_, and at the

ill success of his own proposals at the conference of the 30th of May

preceding, had vigorously resumed the war, in order to give both the

reunited French factions a taste of his resolution and power. He had

suddenly attacked and carried Pontoise, where the command was in the

hands of the lord of Isle-Adam, one of the most valiant Burgundian

officers. Isle-Adam, surprised and lacking sufficient force, had made a

feeble resistance. There was no sign of an active union on the part of

the two French factions for the purpose of giving the English battle.

Duke John, who had fallen back upon Troyes, sent order upon order for his

vassals from Burgundy, but they did not come up. Public alarm and

distrust were day by day becoming stronger. Duke John, it was said, was

still keeping up secret communications with the seditious in Paris and

with the King of England; why did he not act with more energy against

this latter, the common enemy? The two princes in their conference of

July 9, near Melun, had promised to meet again; a fresh interview

appeared necessary in order to give efficacy to their reconciliation.

Duke John was very pressing for the _dauphin_ to go to Troyes, where the

king and queen happened to be. The _dauphin_ on his side was earnestly

solicited by the most considerable burgesses of Paris to get this

interview over in order to insure the execution of the treaty of peace

which had been sworn to with the Duke of Burgundy. The _dauphin_ showed

a disposition to listen to these entreaties. He advanced as far as

Montereau in order to be ready to meet Duke John as soon as a place of

meeting should be fixed.

Duke John hesitated, from irresolution even more than from distrust. It

was a serious matter for him to commit himself more and more, by his own

proper motion, against the King of England and his old allies amongst the

populace of Paris. Why should he be required to go in person to seek the

_dauphin_? It was far simpler, he said, for Charles to come to the king

his father. Tanneguy Duchatel went to Troyes to tell the duke that the

_dauphin_ had come to meet him as far as Montereau, and, with the help of

the lady of Giae, persuaded on his side, to Bray-sur-Seine, two leagues

from Montereau. When the two princes had drawn thus near, their agents

proposed that the interview should take place on the very bridge of

Montereau, with the precautions and according to the forms decided on.

In the duke’s household many of his most devoted servants were opposed

to this interview; the place, they said, had been chosen by and would be

under the ordering of the _dauphin_’s people, of the old servants of the

Duke of Orleans and the Count of Armagnac. At the same time four

successive messages came from Paris urging the duke to make the plunge;

and at last he took his resolution. “It is my duty,” said he, “to risk

my person in order to get at so great a blessing as peace. Whatever

happens, my wish is peace. If they kill me, I shall die a martyr. Peace

being made, I will take the men of my lord the _dauphin_ to go and fight

the English. He has some good men of war and some sagacious captains.

Tanneguy and Barbazan are valiant knights. Then we shall see which is

the better man, Jack (Hannotin) of Flanders or Henry of Lancaster.” He

set out for Bray on the 10th of September, 1419, and arrived about two

o’clock before Montereau. Tanneguy Duchatel came and met him there.

“Well,” said the duke, “on your assurance we are come to see my lord the

_dauphin_, supposing that he is quite willing to keep the peace between

himself and us, as we also will keep it, all ready to serve him according

to his wishes.” “My most dread lord,” answered Tanneguy, “have ye no

fear; my lord is well pleased with you, and desires henceforth to govern

himself according to your counsels. You have about him good friends who

serve you well.” It was agreed that the _dauphin_ and the duke should,

each from his own side, go upon the bridge of Montereau, each with ten

men-at-arms, of whom they should previously forward a list. The

_dauphin_’s people had caused to be constructed at the two ends of the

bridge strong barriers closed by a gate; about the centre of the bridge

was a sort of lodge made of planks, the entrance to which was, on either

side, through a pretty narrow passage; within the lodge there was no

barrier in the middle to separate the two parties. Whilst Duke John and

his confidants, in concert with the _dauphin_’s people, were regulating

these material arrangements, a chamber-attendant ran in quite scared,

shouting out, “My lord, look to yourself; without a doubt you will be

betrayed.” The duke turned towards Tanneguy, and said, “We trust

ourselves to your word; in God’s holy name, are you quite sure of what

you have told us? For you would do ill to betray us.” “My most dread

lord,” answered Tanneguy, “I would rather be dead than commit treason

against you or any other: have ye no fear; I certify you that my lord

meaneth you no evil.” “Very well, we will go then, trusting in God and

you,” re-joined the duke; and he set out walking to the bridge. On

arriving at the barrier on the castle side he found there to receive him

Sire de Beauveau and Tanneguy Duchatel. “Come to my lord,” said they;

“he is awaiting you.” “Gentlemen,” said the duke, “you see how I come;”

and he showed them that he and his people had only their swords; then

clapping Tanneguy on the shoulder, he said, “Here is he in whom I trust,”

and advanced towards the _dauphin_, who remained standing, on the town

side, at the end of the lodge constructed in the middle of the bridge.

On arriving at the prince’s presence Duke John took off his velvet cap

and bent his knee to the ground. “My lord,” said he, “after God, my duty

is to obey and serve you; I offer to apply thereto and employ therein my

body, my friends, my allies, and well-wishers. Say I well?” he added,

fixing his eyes on the _dauphin_. “Fair cousin,” answered the prince,

“you say so well that none could say better; rise and be covered.”

Conversation thereupon ensued between the two princes. The _dauphin_

complained of the duke’s delay in coming to see him: “For eighteen days,”

he said, “you have made us await your coming in this place of Montereau,

this place a prey to epidemic and mortality, at the risk of and probably

with an eye to our personal danger.” The duke, surprised and troubled,

resumed his haughty and exacting tone: “We can neither do nor advise

aught,” said he, “save in your father’s presence; you must come thither.”

“I shall go when I think proper,” said Charles, “and not at your will and

pleasure; it is well known that whatever we do, we two together, the king

will be content therewith.” Then he reproached the duke with his

inertness against the English, with the capture of Pontoise, and with his

alliances amongst the promoters of civil war. The conversation was

becoming more and more acrid and biting. “In so doing,” added the

_dauphin_, “you were wanting to your duty.” “My lord,” replied the duke,

“I did only what it was my duty to do.” “Yes, you were wanting,”

repeated Charles. “No,” replied the duke. It was probably at these

words that, the lookers-on also waxing wroth, Tanneguy Duchatel told the

duke that the time had come for expiating the murder of the Duke of

Orleans, which none of them had forgotten, and raised his battle-axe to

strike the duke. Sire de Navailles, who happened to be at his master’s

side, arrested the weapon; but, on the other hand, the Viscount of

Narbonne raised his over Navailles, saying, “Whoever stirs is a dead

man.” At this moment, it is said, the mob which was thronging before the

barriers at the end of the bridge heard cries of “Alarm! slay, slay.”

Tanneguy had struck and felled the duke; several others ran their swords

into him; and he expired. The _dauphin_ had withdrawn from the scene and

gone back into the town. After his departure his partisans forced the

barrier, charged the dumbfounded Burgundians, sent them flying along the

road to Bray, and returning on to the bridge would have cast the body of

Duke John, after stripping it, into the river; but the minister of

Montereau withstood them, and had it carried to a mill near the bridge.

“Next day he was put in a pauper’s shell, with nothing on but his shirt

and drawers, and was subsequently interred at the church of Notre-Dame de

Montereau, without winding-sheet and without pall over his grave.”

[Illustration: ‘“Into the River!”’----77]

The enmities of the Orleannese and the Armagnacs had obtained

satisfaction; but they were transferred to the hearts of the Burgundians.

After twelve years of public crime and misfortune the murder of Louis of

Orleans had been avenged; and should not that of John of Burgundy be, in

its turn? Wherever the direct power or the indirect influence of the

Duke of Burgundy was predominant, there was a burst of indignation and

vindictive passion. As soon as the Count of Charolais, Philip,

afterwards called the Good, heard at Ghent, where he happened at that

time to be, of his father’s murder, he was proclaimed Duke of Burgundy.

“Michelle,” said he to his wife, sister of the _dauphin_, Charles, “your

brother has murdered my father.” The princess burst into tears; but the

new duke calmed her by saying that nothing could alter the love and

confidence he felt towards her. At Troyes Queen Isabel showed more anger

than any one else against her son, the _dauphin_; and she got a letter

written by King Charles VI. to the dowager Duchess of Burgundy, begging

her, her and her children, “to set in motion all their relatives,

friends, and vassals to avenge Duke John.” At Paris, on the 12th of

September, the next day but one after the murder, the chancellor, the

parliament, the provost royal, the provost of tradesmen, and all the

councillors and officers of the king assembled, “together with great

number of nobles and burgesses and a great multitude of people,” who all

swore “to oppose with their bodies and all their might the enterprise of

the criminal breakers of the peace, and to prosecute the cause of

vengeance and reparation against those who were guilty of the death and

homicide of the late Duke of Burgundy.” Independently of party-passion,

such was, in Northern and Eastern France, the general and spontaneous

sentiment of the people. The _dauphin_ and his councillors, in order to

explain and justify their act, wrote in all directions to say that,

during the interview, Duke John had answered the _dauphin_ “with mad

words . . . He had felt for his sword in order to attack and outrage

our person, the which, as we have since found out, he aspired to place in

subjection . . . but, through his own madness, met death instead.”

But these assertions found little credence, and one of the two knights

who were singled out by the _dauphin_ to accompany him on to the bridge

of Montereau, Sire de Barbazan, who had been a friend of the Duke of

Orleans and of the Count of Armagnac, said vehemently to the authors of

the plot, “You have destroyed our master’s honor and heritage, and I

would rather have died than be present at this day’s work, even though I

had not been there to no purpose.” But it was not long before an event,

easy to foresee, counterbalanced this general impression and restored

credit and strength to the _dauphin_ and his party. Henry V., King of

England, as soon as he heard about the murder of Duke John, set himself

to work to derive from it all the advantages he anticipated. “A great

loss,” said he, “is the Duke of Burgundy; he was a good and true knight

and an honorable prince; but through his death we are by God’s help at

the summit of our wishes. We shall thus, in spite of all Frenchmen,

possess Dame Catherine, whom we have so much desired.” As early as the

24th of September, 1419, Henry V. gave full powers to certain of his

people to treat “with the illustrious city of Paris and the other towns

in adherence to the said city.” On the 17th of October was opened at

Arras a congress between the plenipotentiaries of England and those of

Burgundy. On the 20th of November a special truce was granted to the

Parisians, whilst Henry V., in concert with Duke Philip of Burgundy, was

prosecuting the war against the _dauphin_. On the 2d of December the

bases were laid of an agreement between the English and the Burgundians.

The preliminaries of the treaty, which was drawn up in accordance with

these bases, were signed on the 9th of April, 1420, by King Charles VI.,

and on the 20th communicated at Paris by the chancellor of France to the

parliament and to all the religious and civil, royal and municipal

authorities of the capital. After this communication, the chancellor and

the premier president of parliament went with these preliminaries to

Henry V. at Pontoise, where he set out with a division of his army for

Troyes, where the treaty, definitive and complete, was at last signed and

promulgated in the cathedral of Troyes, on the 21st of May, 1420.

Of the twenty-eight articles in this treaty, five contained its essential

points and fixed its character: 1st. The King of France, Charles VI.,

gave his daughter Catherine in marriage to Henry V., King of England.

2d. “Our son, King Henry, shall place no hinderance or trouble in the way

of our holding and possessing as long as we live, and as at the present

time, the crown, the kingly dignity of France, and all the revenues,

proceeds, and profits which are attached thereto for the maintenance of

our state and the charges of the kingdom. 3d. It is agreed that

immediately after our death, and from that time forward, the crown and

kingdom of France, with all their rights and appurtenances, shall belong

perpetually and shall be continued to our son King Henry and his heirs.

4th. Whereas we are, at most times, prevented from advising by ourselves

and from taking part in the disposal of the affairs of our kingdom, the

power and the practice of governing and ordering the commonweal shall

belong and shall be continued, during our life, to our son King Henry,

with the counsel of the nobles and sages of the kingdom who shall obey us

and shall desire the honor and advantage of the said kingdom. 5th. Our

son King Henry shall strive with all his might, and as soon as possible,

to bring back to their obedience to us, all and each of the towns,

cities, castles, places, districts, and persons in our kingdom that

belong to the party commonly called of the _dauphin_ or Armagnac.”

This substitution, in the near future, of an English for the French

kingship; this relinquishment, in the present, of the government of

France to the hands of an English prince nominated to become before long

her king; this authority given to the English prince to prosecute in

France, against the _dauphin_ of France, a civil war; this complete

abdication of all the rights and duties of the kingship, of paternity

and of national independence; and, to sum up all in one word, this

anti-French state-stroke accomplished by a king of France, with the

co-operation of him who was the greatest amongst French lords, to the

advantage of a foreign sovereign--there was surely in this enough to

excite the most ardent and most legitimate national feelings. They did

not show themselves promptly or with a blaze. The fourteenth and

fifteenth centuries, after so many military and civil troubles, had

great weaknesses and deep-seated corruption in mind and character.

Nevertheless the revulsion against the treaty of Troyes was real and

serious, even in the very heart of the party attached to the Duke of

Burgundy. He was obliged to lay upon several of his servants formal

injunctions to swear to this peace, which seemed to them treason. He had

great difficulty in winning John of Luxembourg and his brother Louis,

Bishop of Therouenne, over to it. “It is your will,” said they; “we will

take this oath; but if we do, we will keep it to the hour of death.”

Many less powerful lords, who had lived a long while in the household of

Duke John the Fearless, quitted his son, and sorrowfully returned to

their own homes. They were treated as Armagnacs, but they persisted in

calling themselves good and loyal Frenchmen. In the duchy of Burgundy

the majority of the towns refused to take the oath to the King of

England. The most decisive and the most helpful proof of this awakening

of national feeling was the ease experienced by the _dauphin_, who was

one day to be Charles VII., in maintaining the war which, after the

treaty of Troyes, was, in his father’s and his mother’s name, made upon

him by the King of England and the Duke of Burgundy. This war lasted

more than three years. Several towns, amongst others, Melun, Crotoy,

Meaux, and St. Riquier, offered an obstinate resistance to the attacks of

the English and Burgundians. On the 23d of March, 1421, the _dauphin_’s

troops, commanded by Sire de la Fayette, gained a signal victory over

those of Henry V., whose brother, the Duke of Clarence, was killed in

action. It was in Perche, Anjou, Maine, on the banks of the Loire, and

in Southern France, that the _dauphin_ found most of his enterprising and

devoted partisans. The sojourn made by Henry V. at Paris, in December,

1420, with his wife, Queen Catherine, King Charles VI., Queen Isabel, and

the Duke of Burgundy, was not, in spite of galas and acclamations, a

substantial and durable success for him. His dignified but haughty

manners did not please the French; and he either could not or would not

render them more easy and amiable, even with men of note who were

necessary to him. Marshal Isle-Adam one day went to see him in camp on

war-business. The king considered that he did not present himself with

sufficient ceremony. “Isle-Adam,” said he, “is that the robe of a

marshal of France?” “Sir, I had this whity-gray robe made to come hither

by water aboard of Seine-boats.” “Ha!” said the king, “look you a prince

in the face when you speak to him?” “Sir, it is the custom in France,

that when one man speaks to another, of whatever rank and puissance that

other may be, he passes for a sorry fellow, and but little honorable, if

he dares not look him in the face.” “It is not our fashion,” said the

king; and the subject dropped there. A popular poet of the time, Alan

Chattier, constituted himself censor of the moral corruption and

interpreter of the patriotic paroxysms caused by the cold and harsh

supremacy of this unbending foreigner, who set himself up for king of

France, and had not one feeling in sympathy with the French. Alan

Chartier’s _Quadriloge invectif_ is a lively and sometimes eloquent

allegory, in which France personified implores her three children, the

clergy, the chivalry, and the people, to forget their own quarrels and

unite to save their mother whilst saving themselves; and this political

pamphlet getting spread about amongst the provinces did good service to

the national cause against the foreign conqueror. An event more powerful

than any human eloquence occurred to give the _dauphin_ and his partisans

earlier hopes. Towards the end of August, 1422, Henry V. fell ill; and,

too stout-hearted to delude himself as to his condition, he thought no

longer of anything but preparing himself for death. He had himself

removed to Vincennes, called his councillors about him, and gave them his

last royal instructions. “I leave you the government of France,” said he

to his brother, the Duke of Bedford, “unless our brother of Burgundy have

a mind to undertake it; for, above all things, I conjure you not to have

any dissension with him. If that should happen God preserve you from it!

--the affairs of this kingdom, which seem well advanced for us, would

become bad.” As soon as he had done with politics he bade his doctors

tell him how long he had still to live. One of them knelt down before

his bed and said, “Sir, be thinking of your soul; it seemeth to us that,

saving the divine mercy, you have not more than two hours.” The king

summoned his confessor with the priests, and asked to have recited to him

the penitential psalms. When they came to the twentieth versicle of the

_Miserere,--Ut oedificentur muri Hierusalem_ (that the walls of Jerusalem

may be built up),--He made them stop. “Ah!” said he, “if God had been

pleased to let me live out my time, I would, after putting an end to the

war in France, reducing the _dauphin_ to submission or driving him out of

the kingdom in which I would have established a sound peace, have gone to

conquer Jerusalem. The wars I have undertaken have had the approval of

all the proper men and of the most holy personages; I commenced them and

have prosecuted them without offence to God or peril to my soul.” These

were his last words. The chanting of the psalms was resumed around him,

and he expired on the 31st of August, 1422, at the age of thirty-four. A

great soul and a great king; but a great example also of the boundless

errors which may be fallen into by the greatest men when they pursue with

arrogant confidence their own views, forgetting the laws of justice and

the rights of other men.

On the 22d of October, 1422, less than two months after the death of

Henry V., Charles VI., King of France, died at Paris in the forty-third

year of his reign. As soon as he had been buried at St. Denis, the Duke

of Bedford, regent of France according to the will of Henry V., caused a

herald to proclaim, “Long live Henry of Lancaster, King of England and of

France!” The people’s voice made very different proclamation. It had

always been said that the public evils proceeded from the state of

illness into which the unhappy King Charles had fallen. The goodness he

had given glimpses of in his lucid intervals had made him an object of

tender pity. Some weeks yet before his death, when he had entered Paris

again, the inhabitants, in the midst of their sufferings and under the

harsh government of the English, had seen with joy their poor mad king

coming back amongst them, and had greeted him with thousand-fold shouts

of “Noel!” His body lay in state for three days, with the face

uncovered, in a hall of the hostel of St. Paul, and the multitude went

thither to pray for him, saying, “Ah! dear prince, never shall we have

any so good as thou Wert; never shall we see thee more. Accursed be thy

death! Since thou dost leave us, we shall never have aught but wars and

troubles. As for thee, thou goest to thy rest; as for us, we remain in

tribulation and sorrow. We seem made to fall into the same distress as

the children of Israel during the captivity in Babylon.”

[Illustration: The Body of Charles VI. lying in State----84]

The people’s instinct was at the same time right and wrong. France had

yet many evil days to go through and cruel trials to endure; she was,

however, to be saved at last; Charles VI. was to be followed by Charles

VII. and Joan of Arc.