CHAPTER XXV.----LOUIS XI. (1461-1483.)

Louis XI. was thirty-eight years old, and had been living for five years

in voluntary exile at the castle of Genappe, in Hainault, beyond the

dominions of the king his father, and within those of Philip the Good,

Duke of Burgundy, when, on the 23d of July, 1461, the day after Charles

VII.’s death, he learned that he was King of France. He started at once

to return to his own country, and take possession of his kingdom. He

arrived at Rheims on the 14th of August, was solemnly crowned there on

the 18th, in presence of the two courts of France and Burgundy, and on

the 30th made his entry into Paris, within which he had not set foot for

six and twenty years. In 1482, twenty-one years afterwards, he, sick and

almost dying in his turn at his castle of Plessis-les-Tours, went,

nevertheless, to Amboise, where his son the _dauphin_, who was about to

become Charles VIII., and whom he had not seen for several years, was

living. “I do expressly enjoin upon you,” said the father to the son,

“as my last counsel and my last instructions, not to change a single one

of the chief officers of the crown. When my father. King Charles VII.,

went to God, and I myself came to the throne, I disappointed [i.e.,

deprived of their appointments] all the good and notable knights of the

kingdom who had aided and served my said father in conquering Normandy

and Guienne, in driving the English out of the kingdom, and in restoring

it to peace and good order, for so I found it, and right rich also.

Therefrom much mischief came to me, for thence I had the war called the

Common Weal, which all but cost me my crown.”

With the experience and paternal care of an old man, whom the near

prospect of death rendered perfectly disinterested, wholly selfish as his

own life had been, Louis’s heart was bent upon saving his son from the

first error which he himself had committed on mounting the throne.

“Gentlemen,” said Dunois on rising from table at the funeral-banquet held

at the abbey of St. Denis in honor of the obsequies of King Charles VII.,

“we have lost our master; let each look after himself.” The old warrior

foresaw that the new reign would not be like that which had just ended.

Charles VII. had been a prince of indolent disposition, more inclined to

pleasure than ambition, whom the long and severe trials of his life had

moulded to government without his having any passion for governing, and

who had become in a quiet way a wise and powerful king, without any eager

desire to be incessantly and everywhere chief actor and master. His son

Louis, on the contrary, was completely possessed with a craving for

doing, talking, agitating, domineering, and reaching, no matter by what

means, the different and manifold ends he proposed to himself. Anything

but prepossessing in appearance, supported on long and thin shanks,

vulgar in looks and often designedly ill-dressed, and undignified in his

manners though haughty in mind, he was powerful by the sheer force of a

mind marvellously lively, subtle, unerring, ready, and inventive, and of

a character indefatigably active, and pursuing success as a passion

without any scruple or embarrassment in the employment of means. His

contemporaries, after observing his reign for some time, gave him the

name of the universal spider, so relentlessly did he labor to weave a web

of which he himself occupied the centre and extended the filaments in all

directions.

As soon as he was king, he indulged himself with that first piece of

vindictive satisfaction of which he was in his last moments obliged to

acknowledge the mistake. At Rheims, at the time of his coronation, the

aged and judicious Duke Philip of Burgundy had begged him to forgive all

those who had offended him. Louis promised to do so, with the exception,

however, of seven persons whom he did not name. They were the most

faithful and most able advisers of the king his father, those who had

best served Charles VII. even in his embroilments with the _dauphin_, his

conspiring and rebellious son, viz., Anthony de Chabannes, Count of

Dampmartin, Peter de Breze, Andrew de Laval, Juvenal des Ursins, &c.

Some lost their places, and were even, for a while, subjected to

persecution; the others, remaining still at court, received there many

marks of the king’s disfavor. On the other hand, Louis made a show of

treating graciously the men who had most incurred and deserved disgrace

at his father’s hands, notably the Duke of Alencon and the Count of

Armagnac. Nor was it only in respect of persons that he departed from

paternal tradition; he rejected it openly in the case of one of the most

important acts of Charles VII.’s reign, the Pragmatic Sanction, issued by

that prince at Bourses, in 1438, touching the internal regulations of the

Church of France and its relations towards the papacy. The popes, and

especially Pius II., Louis XI.’s contemporary, had constantly and

vigorously protested against that act. Barely four months after his

accession, on the 27th of November, 1461, Louis, in order to gain favor

with the pope, abrogated the Pragmatic Sanction, and informed the pope of

the fact in a letter full of devotion. There was great joy at Rome, and

the pope replied to the king’s letter in the strongest terms of gratitude

and commendation. But Louis’s courtesy had not been so disinterested as

it was prompt. He had hoped that Pius II. would abandon the cause of

Ferdinand of Arragon, a claimant to the throne of Naples, and would

uphold that of his rival, the French prince, John of Anjou, Duke of

Calabria, whose champion Louis had declared himself. He bade his

ambassador at Rome to remind the pope of the royal hopes. “You know,”

said the ambassador to Pius II., “it is only on this condition that

the king my master abolished the Pragmatic; he was pleased to desire that

in his kingdom full obedience should be rendered to you; he demands, on

the other hand, that you should be pleased to be a friend to France;

otherwise I have orders to bid all the French cardinals withdraw, and you

cannot doubt but that they will obey.” But Pius II. was more proud than

Louis XI. dared to be imperious. He answered, “We are under very great

obligations to the King of France, but that gives him no right to exact

from us things contrary to justice and to our honor; we have sent aid to

Ferdinand by virtue of the treaties we have with him; let the king your

master compel the Duke of Anjou to lay down arms and prosecute his rights

by course of justice, and if Ferdinand refuse to submit thereto we will

declare against him; but we cannot promise more. If the French who are

at our court wish to withdraw, the gates are open to them.” The king, a

little ashamed at the fruitlessness of his concession and of his threat,

had for an instant some desire to re-establish the Pragmatic Sanction,

for which the parliament of Paris had taken up the cudgels; but, all

considered, he thought it better to put up in silence with his rebuff,

and pay the penalty for a rash concession, than to get involved with the

court of Rome in a struggle of which he could not measure the gravity;

and he contented himself with letting the parliament maintain in

principle and partially keep up the Pragmatic. This was his first

apprenticeship in that outward resignation and patience, amidst his own

mistakes, of which he was destined to be called upon more than once in

the course of his life to make a humble but skilful use.

At the same time that at the pinnacle of government and in his court

Louis was thus making his power felt, and was engaging a new set of

servants, he was zealously endeavoring to win over, everywhere, the

middle classes and the populace. He left Rouen in the hands of its own

inhabitants; in Guienne, in Auvergne, at Tours, he gave the burgesses

authority to assemble, and his orders to the royal agents were,

“Whatever is done see that it be answered for unto us by two of the most

notable burgesses of the principal cities.” At Rheims the rumor ran that

under King Louis there would be no more tax or talliage. When

deputations went before him to complain of the weight of imposts, he

would say, “I thank you, my dear and good friends, for making such

remonstrances to me; I have nothing more at heart than to put an end to

all sorts of exactions, and to re-establish my kingdom in its ancient

liberties. I have just been passing five years in the countries of my

uncle of Burgundy; and there I saw good cities mighty rich and full of

inhabitants, and folks well clad, well housed, well off, lacking nothing;

the commerce there is great, and the communes there have fine privileges.

When I came into my own kingdom I saw, on the contrary, houses in ruins,

fields without tillage, men and women in rags, faces pinched and pale.

It is a great pity, and my soul is filled with sorrow at it. All my

desire is to apply a remedy thereto, and, with God’s help, we will bring

it to pass.” The good folks departed, charmed with such familiarity, so

prodigal of hope; but facts before long gave the lie to words. “When the

time came for renewing at Rheims the claim for local taxes, the people

showed opposition, and all the papers were burned in the open street.

The king employed stratagem. In order not to encounter overt resistance,

he caused a large number of his folks to disguise themselves as tillers

or artisans; and so entering the town, they were masters of it before the

people could think of defending themselves. The ringleaders of the

rebellion were drawn and quartered, and about a hundred persons were

beheaded or hanged. At Angers, at Alencon, and at Aurillac, there were

similar outbursts similarly punished.” From that moment it was easy to

prognosticate that with the new king familiarity would not prevent

severity, or even cruelty. According to the requirements of the crisis

Louis had no more hesitation about violating than about making promises;

and, all the while that he was seeking after popularity, he intended to

make his power felt at any price.

How could he have done without heavy imposts and submission on the part

of the tax-payers? For it was not only at home in his own kingdom that

he desired to be chief actor and master. He pushed his ambition and his

activity abroad into divers European states. In Italy he had his own

claimant to the throne of Naples in opposition to the King of Arragon’s.

In Spain the Kings of Arragon and of Castile were in a state of rivalry

and war. A sedition broke out in Catalonia. Louis XI. lent the King of

Arragon three hundred and fifty thousand golden crowns to help him in

raising eleven hundred lances, and reducing the rebels. Civil war was

devastating England. The houses of York and Lancaster were disputing the

crown. Louis XI. kept up relations with both sides; and without

embroiling himself with the Duke of York, who became Edward IV., he

received at Chinon the heroic Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI., and

lent twenty thousand pounds sterling to that prince, then disthroned, who

undertook either to repay them within a year or to hand over Calais, when

he was re-established upon his throne, to the King of France. In the

same way John II., King of Arragon, had put Roussillon and Cerdagne into

the hands of Louis XI., as a security for the loan of three hundred and

fifty thousand crowns he had borrowed. Amidst all the plans and

enterprises of his personal ambition Louis was seriously concerned for

the greatness of France; but he drew upon her resources, and compromised

her far beyond what was compatible with her real interests, by mixing

himself up, at every opportunity and by every sort of intrigue, with the

affairs and quarrels of the kings and peoples around him.

In France itself he had quite enough of questions to be solved and perils

to be surmounted to absorb and satisfy the most vigilant and most active

of men. Four princes of very unequal power, but all eager for

independence and preponderance, viz., Charles, Duke of Berry, his

brother; Francis II., Duke of Brittany; Philip the Good, Duke of

Burgundy, his uncle; and John, Duke of Bourbon, his brother-in-law, were

vassals whom he found very troublesome, and ever on the point of becoming

dangerous. It was not long before he had a proof of it. In 1463, two

years after Louis’s accession, the Duke of Burgundy sent one of his most

trusty servants, John of Croy, Sire de Chimay, to complain of certain

royal acts, contrary, he said, to the treaty of Arras, which, in 1435,

had regulated the relations between Burgundy and the crown. The envoy

had great difficulty in getting audience of the king, who would not even

listen for more than a single moment, and that as he was going out of his

room, when, almost without heeding, he said abruptly, “What manner of

man, then, is this Duke of Burgundy? Is he of other metal than the other

lords of the realm?” “Yes, sir,” replied Chimay, “he is of other metal;

for he protected you and maintained you against the will of your father

King Charles, and against the opinion of all those who were opposed to

you in the kingdom, which no other prince or lord would have dared to

do.” Louis went back into his room without a word. “How dared you speak

so to the king,” said Dunois to Chimay. “Had I been fifty leagues away

from here,” said the Burgundian, “and had I thought that the king had an

idea only of addressing such words to me, I would have come back express

to speak to him as I have spoken.” The Duke of Brittany was less

puissant and less proudly served than the Duke of Burgundy; but, being

vain and inconsiderate, he was incessantly attempting to exalt himself

above his condition of vassal, and to raise his duchy into a sovereignty,

and when his pretensions were rejected he entered, at one time with the

King of England and at another with the Duke of Burgundy and the

malcontents of France, upon intrigues which amounted very nearly to

treason against the king his suzerain. Charles, Louis’s younger brother,

was a soft and mediocre but jealous and timidly ambitious prince; he

remembered, moreover, the preference and the wishes manifested on his

account by Charles VII., their common father, on his death-bed, and he

considered his position as Duke of Berry very inferior to the hopes he

believed himself entitled to nourish. Duke John of Bourbon, on espousing

a sister of Louis XI., had flattered himself that this marriage and the

remembrance of the valor he had displayed, in 1450, at the battle of

Formigny, would be worth to him at least the sword of constable; but

Louis had refused to give it him. When all these great malcontents saw

Louis’s popularity on the decline, and the king engaged abroad in divers

political designs full of onerousness or embarrassment, they considered

the moment to have come, and, at the end of 1464, formed together an

alliance “for to remonstrate with the king,” says Commynes, “upon the bad

order and injustice he kept up in his kingdom, considering themselves

strong enough to force him if he would not mend his ways; and this war

was called the common weal, because it was undertaken under color of

being for the _common weal_ of the kingdom, the which was soon converted

into private weal.” The aged Duke of Burgundy, sensible and weary as he

was, gave only a hesitating and slack adherence to the league; but his

son Charles, Count of Charolais, entered into it passionately, and the

father was no more in a condition to resist his son than he was inclined

to follow him. The number of the declared malcontents increased rapidly;

and the chiefs received at Paris itself, in the church of Notre Dame, the

adhesion and the signatures of those who wished to join them. They all

wore, for recognition’s sake, a band of red silk round their waists, and,

“there were more than five hundred,” says Oliver de la Marche, a

confidential servant of the Count of Charolais, “princes as well as

knights, dames, damsels, and esquires, who were well acquainted with this

alliance without the king’s knowing anything as yet about it.”

It is difficult to believe the chronicler’s last assertion. Louis XI.,

it is true, was more distrustful than far-sighted, and, though he placed

but little reliance in his advisers and servants, he had so much

confidence in himself, his own sagacity, and his own ability, that he

easily deluded himself about the perils of his position; but the facts

which have just been set forth were too serious and too patent to have

escaped his notice. However that may be, he had no sooner obtained a

clear insight into the league of the princes than he set to work with his

usual activity and knowledge of the world to checkmate it. To rally

together his own partisans and to separate his foes, such was the twofold

end he pursued, at first with some success. In a meeting of the princes

which was held at Tours, and in which friends and enemies were still

mingled together, he used language which could not fail to meet their

views. “He was powerless,” he said, “to remedy the evils of the kingdom

without the love and fealty of the princes of the blood and the other

lords; they were the pillars of the state; without their help one man

alone could not bear the weight of the crown.” Many of those present

declared their fealty. “You are our king, our sovereign lord,” said King

Rene, Duke of Anjou; “we thank you for the kind, gracious, and honest

words you have just used to us. I say to you, on behalf of all our lords

here present, that we will serve you in respect of and against every one,

according as it may please you to order us.” Louis, by a manifesto,

addressed himself also to the good towns and to all his kingdom. He

deplored therein the enticements which had been suffered to draw away

“his brother, the Duke of Berry and other princes, churchmen, and nobles,

who would never have consented to this league if they had borne in mind

the horrible calamities of the kingdom, and especially the English, those

ancient enemies, who might well come down again upon it as heretofore

. . . . They proclaim,” said he, “that they will abolish the imposts;

that is what has always been declared by the seditious and rebellious;

but, instead of relieving, they ruin the poor people. Had I been willing

to augment their pay, and permit them to trample their vassals under foot

as in time past, they would never have given a thought to the common

weal. They pretend that they desire to establish order everywhere, and

yet they cannot endure it anywhere; whilst I, without drawing from my

people more than was drawn by the late king, pay my men-at-arms well, and

keep them in a good state of discipline.”

Louis, in his latter words, was a little too boastful. He had very much

augmented the imposts without assembling the estates, and without caring

for the old public liberties. If he frequently repressed local tyranny

on the part of the lords, he did not deny himself the practice of it.

Amongst other tastes, he was passionately fond of the chase; and,

wherever he lived, he put it down amongst his neighbors, noble or other,

without any regard for rights of lordship. Hounds, hawking birds, nets,

snares, all the implements of hunting were forbidden. He even went so

far, it is said, on one occasion, as to have two gentlemen’s ears cut off

for killing a hare on their own property. Nevertheless, the publication

of his manifesto did him good service. Auvergne, Dauphiny, Languedoc,

Lyon and Bordeaux turned a deaf ear to all temptations from the league of

princes. Paris, above all, remained faithful to the king. Orders were

given at the Hotel de Ville that the principal gates of the city should

be walled up, and that there should be a night watch on the ramparts; and

the burgesses were warned to lay in provision of arms and victual.

Marshal Joachim Rouault, lord of Gamaches, arrived at Paris on the 30th

of June, 1465, at the head of a body of men-at-arms, to protect the city

against the Count of Charolais, who was coming up; and the king himself,

not content with despatching four of his chief officers to thank the

Parisians for their loyal zeal, wrote to them that he would send the

queen to lie in at Paris, “the city he loved most in the world.”

Louis would have been glad to have nothing to do but to negotiate and

talk. Though he was personally brave, he did not like war and its

unforeseen issues. He belonged to the class of ambitious despots who

prefer stratagem to force. But the very ablest speeches and artifices,

even if they do not remain entirely fruitless, are not sufficient to

reduce matters promptly to order when great interests are threatened,

passions violently excited, and factions let loose in the arena. Between

the League of the Common Neal and Louis XI. there was a question too

great to be, at the very outset, settled peacefully. It was feudalism in

decline at grips with the kingship, which had been growing greater and

greater for two centuries. The lords did not trust the king’s promises;

and one amongst those lords was too powerful to yield without a fight.

At the beginning Louis had, in Auvergne and in Berry, some successes,

which decided a few of the rebels, the most insignificant, to accept

truces and enter upon parleys; but the great princes, the Dukes of

Burgundy, Brittany, and Berry, waxed more and more angry. The aged Duke

of Burgundy, Philip the Good himself, sobered and wearied as he was,

threw himself passionately into the struggle. “Go,” said he to his son,

Count Charles of Charolais, “maintain thine honor well, and, if thou have

need of a hundred thousand more men to deliver thee from difficulty, I

myself will lead them to thee.” Charles marched promptly on Paris.

Louis, on his side, moved thither, with the design and in the hope of

getting in there without fighting. But the Burgundians, posted at St.

Denis and the environs, barred his approach. His seneschal, Peter de

Breze, advised him to first attack the Bretons, who were advancing to

join the Burgundians. Louis, looking at him somewhat mistrustfully,

said, “You, too, Sir Seneschal, have signed this League of the Common

Weal.” “Ay, sir,” answered Brez, with a laugh, “they have my signature,

but you have myself.” “Would you be afraid to try conclusions with the

Burgundians?” continued the king. “Nay, verily,” replied the seneschal;

“I will let that be seen in the first battle.” Louis continued his march

on Paris. The two armies met at Montlhery, on the 16th of July, 1465.

Breze, who commanded the king’s advance-guard, immediately went into

action, and was one of the first to be killed. Louis came up to his

assistance with troops in rather loose order; the affair became hot and

general; the French for a moment wavered, and a rumor ran through the

ranks that the king had just been killed.

“No, my friends,” said Louis, taking off his helmet, “no, I am not dead;

defend your king with good courage.” The wavering was transferred to the

Burgundians. Count Charles himself was so closely pressed that a French

man-at-arms laid his hand on him, saying, “Yield you, my lord; I know you

well; let not yourself be slain.” “A rescue!” cried Charles; “I’ll not

leave you, my friends, unless by death: I am here to live and die with

you.” He was wounded by a sword-thrust which entered his neck between

his helmet and his breastplate, badly fastened. Disorder set in on both

sides, without either’s being certain how things were, or being able to

consider itself victorious. Night came on; and French and Burgundians

encamped before Montlhery. The Count of Charolais sat down on two heaps

of straw, and had his wound dressed. Around him were the stripped

corpses of the slain. As they were being moved to make room for him, a

poor wounded creature, somewhat revived by the motion, recovered

consciousness and asked for a drink. The count made them pour down his

throat a drop of his own mixture, for he never drank wine. The wounded

man came completely to himself, and recovered. It was one of the archers

of his guard. Next day news was brought to Charles that the Bretons were

coming up, with their own duke, the Duke of Berry, and Count Dunois at

their head. He went as far as Etampes to meet them, and informed them of

what had just happened. The Duke of Berry was very much distressed; it

was a great pity, he said, that so many people had been killed; he

heartily wished that the war had never been begun. “Did you hear,” said

the Count of Charolais to his servants, “how yonder fellow talks? He is

upset at the sight of seven or eight hundred wounded men going about the

town, folks who are nothing to him, and whom he does not even know; he

would be still more upset if the matter touched him nearly; he is just

the sort of fellow to readily make his own terms and leave us stuck in

the mud; we must secure other friends.” And he forthwith made one of his

people post off to England, to draw closer the alliance between Burgundy

and Edward IV.

Louis, meanwhile, after passing a day at Corbeil, had once more, on the

18th of July, entered Paris, the object of his chief solicitude. He

dismounted at his lieutenant’s, the Sire de Meinn’s, and asked for some

supper. Several persons, burgesses and their wives, took supper with

him. He excited their lively interest by describing to them the battle

of Montlhery, the danger he had run there, and the scenes which had been

enacted, adopting at one time a pathetic and at another a bantering tone,

and exciting by turns the emotion and the laughter of his audience. In

three days, he said, he would return to fight his enemies, in order to

finish the war; but he had not enough of men-at-arms, and all had not at

that moment such good spirits as he. He passed a fortnight in Paris,

devoting himself solely to the task of winning the hearts of the

Parisians, reducing imposts, giving audience to everybody, lending a

favorable ear to every opinion offered him, making no inquiry as to who

had been more or less faithful to him, showing clemency without appearing

to be aware of it, and not punishing with severity even those who had

served as guides to the Burgundians in the pillaging of the villages

around Paris. A crier of the Chatelet, who had gone crying about the

streets the day on which the Burgundians attacked the gate of St. Denis,

was sentenced only to a month’s imprisonment, bread and water, and a

flogging. He was marched through the city in a night-man’s cart; and the

king, meeting the procession, called out, as he passed, to the

executioner, “Strike hard, and spare not that ribald; he has well

deserved it.”

Meanwhile the Burgundians were approaching Paris and pressing it more

closely every day. Their different allies in the League were coming up

with troops to join them, including even some of those who, after having

suffered reverses in Auvergne, had concluded truces with the king. The

forces scattered around Paris amounted, it is said, to fifty thousand

men, and occupied Charenton, Conflans, St. Maur, and St. Denis, making

ready for a serious attack upon the place. Louis, notwithstanding his

firm persuasion that things always went ill wherever he was not present

in person, left Paris for Rouen, to call out and bring up the regulars

and reserves of Normandy. In his absence, interviews and parleys took

place between besiegers and besieged. The former, found partisans

amongst the inhabitants of Paris, in the Hotel de Ville itself. The

Count de Dunois made capital of all the grievances of the League against

the king’s government, and declared that, if the city refused to receive

the princes, the authors of this refusal would have to answer for

whatever misery, loss, and damage might come of it; and, in spite of all

efforts on the part of the king’s officers and friends, some wavering was

manifested in certain quarters. But there arrived from Normandy

considerable re-enforcements, announcing the early return of the king.

And, in fact, he entered Paris on the 28th of August, the mass of the

people testifying their joy and singing “Noel.” Louis made as if he knew

nothing of what had happened in his absence, and gave nobody a black

look; only four or five burgesses, too much compromised by their

relations with the besiegers, were banished to Orleans. Sharp skirmishes

were frequent all round the place; there was cannonading on both sides;

and some balls from Paris came tumbling about the quarters of the Count

of Charolais, and killed a few of his people before his very door. But

Louis did not care to risk a battle. He was much impressed by the

enemy’s strength, and by the weakness of which glimpses had been seen in

Paris during his absence. Whilst his men-of-war were fighting here and

there, he opened negotiations. Local and temporary truces were accepted,

and agents of the king had conferences with others from the chiefs of the

League. The princes showed so exacting a spirit that there was no

treating on such conditions; and Louis determined to see whether he could

not succeed better than his agents. He had an interview of two hours’

duration in front of the St. Anthony gate, with the Count of St. Poi, a

confidant of the Count of Charolais. On his return he found before the

gate some burgesses waiting for news.

[Illustration: Louis XI. and Burgesses waiting for News----193]

“Well, my friends,” said he, “the Burgundians will not give you so much

trouble any more as they have given you in the past.” “That is all very

well, sir,” replied an attorney of the Chatelet, “but meanwhile they eat

our grapes and gather our vintage without any hinderance.” “Still,” said

the king, “that is better than if they were to come and drink your wine

in your cellars.” The month of September passed thus in parleys without

result. Bad news came from Rouen; the League had a party in that city.

Louis felt that the Count of Charolais was the real head of the

opposition, and the only one with whom anything definite could he arrived

at. He resolved to make a direct attempt upon him; for he had confidence

in the influence he could obtain over people when he chatted and treated

in person with them. One day he got aboard of a little boat with five of

his officers, and went over to the left bank of the Seine. There the

Count of Charolais was awaiting him. “Will you insure me, brother?” said

the king, as he stepped ashore. “Yes, my lord, as a brother,” said the

count. The king embraced him and went on; “I quite see, brother, that

you are a gentleman and of the house of France.” “How so, my lord?”

“When I sent my ambassadors lately [in 1464] to Lille on an errand to my

uncle, your father and yourself, and when my chancellor, that fool of a

Morvilliers, made you such a fine speech, you sent me word by the

Archbishop of Narbonne that I should repent me of the words spoken to you

by that Morvilliers, and that before a year was over. Piques-Dieu,

you’ve kept your promise, and before the end of the year has come. I

like to have to do with folks who hold to what they promise.” This he

said laughingly, knowing well that this language was just the sort of

flattery to touch the Count of Charolais. They walked for a long while

together on the river’s bank, to the great curiosity of their people, who

were surprised to see them conversing on such good terms. They talked of

possible conditions of peace, both of them displaying considerable

pliancy, save the king touching the duchy of Normandy, which he would not

at any price, he said, confer on his brother the Duke of Berry, and the

Count of Charolais touching his enmity towards the house of Croy, with

which he was determined not to be reconciled. At parting, the king

invited the count to Paris, where he would make him great cheer. “My

lord,” said Charles, “I have made a vow not to enter any good town until

my return.” The king smiled; gave fifty golden crowns for distribution,

to drink his health, amongst the count’s archers, and once more got

aboard of his boat. Shortly after getting back to Paris he learned that

Normandy was lost to him. The widow of the seneschal, De Breze, lately

killed at Montlhery, forgetful of all the king’s kindnesses and against

the will of her own son, whom Louis had appointed seneschal of Normandy

after his father’s death, had just handed over Rouen to the Duke of

Bourbon, one of the most determined chiefs of the League. Louis at once

took his course. He sent to demand an interview with the Count of

Charolais, and repaired to Conflans with a hundred Scots of his guard.

There was a second edition of the walk together. Charles knew nothing as

yet about the surrender of Rouen; and Louis lost no time in telling him

of it before he had leisure for reflection and for magnifying his

pretensions. “Since the Normans,” said he, “have of themselves felt

disposed for such a novelty, so be it! I should never of my own free

will have conferred such an appanage on my brother; but, as the thing is

done, I give my consent.” And he at the same time assented to all the

other conditions which had formed the subject of conversation.

In proportion to the resignation displayed by the king was the joy of the

Count of Charolais at seeing himself so near to peace. Everything was

going wrong with his army; provisions were short; murmurs and dissensions

were setting in; and the League of common weal was on the point of ending

in a shameful catastrophe. Whilst strolling and conversing with

cordiality the two princes kept advancing towards Paris. Without

noticing it, they passed within the entrance of a strong palisade which

the king had caused to be erected in front of the city-walls, and which

marked the boundary-line. All on a sudden they stopped, both of them

disconcerted. The Burgundian found himself within the hostile camp; but

he kept a good countenance, and simply continued the conversation.

Amongst his army, however, when he was observed to be away so long, there

was already a feeling of deep anxiety. The chieftains had met together.

“If this young prince,” said the marshal of Burgundy, “has gone to his

own ruin like a fool, let us not ruin his house. Let every man retire to

his quarters, and hold himself in readiness without disturbing himself

about what may happen. By keeping together we are in a condition to fall

back on the marches of Hainault, Picardy, or Burgundy.” The veteran

warrior mounted his horse and rode forward in the direction of Paris to

see whether Count Charles were coming back or not. It was not long

before he saw a troop of forty or fifty horse moving towards him. They

were the Burgundian prince and an escort of the king’s own guard.

Charles dismissed the escort, and came up to the marshal, saying, “Don’t

say a word; I acknowledge my folly; but I saw it too late; I was already

close to the works.” “Everybody can see that I was not there,” said the

marshal; “if I had been, it would never have happened. You know, your

highness, that I am only on loan to you, as long as your father lives.”

Charles made no reply, and returned to his own camp, where all

congratulated him and rendered homage to the king’s honorable conduct.

Negotiations for peace were opened forthwith. There was no difficulty

about them. Louis was ready to make sacrifices as soon as be recognized

the necessity for them, being quite determined, however, in his heart to

recall them as soon as fortune came back to him. Two distinct treaties

were concluded: one at Conflans on the 5th of October, 1465, between

Louis and the Count of Charolais; and the other at St. Maur on the 29th

of October, between Louis and the other princes of the League. By one or

the other of the treaties the king granted nearly every demand that had

been made upon him; to the Count of Charolais he gave up all the towns of

importance in Picardy; to the Duke of Berry he gave the duchy of

Normandy, with entire sovereignty; and the other princes, independently

of the different territories that had been conceded to them, all received

large sums in ready money. The conditions of peace had already been

agreed to, when the Burgundians went so far as to summon, into the

bargain, the strong place of Beauvais. Louis quietly complained to

Charles: “If you wanted this town,” said he, “you should have asked me

for it, and I would have given it to you; but peace is made, and it ought

to be observed.” Charles openly disavowed the deed. When peace was

proclaimed, on the 30th of October, the king went to Vincennes to receive

the homage of his brother Charles for the duchy of Normandy, and that of

the Count of Charolais for the lands of Picardy. The count asked the

king to give up to him “for that day the castle of Vincennes for the

security of all.” Louis made no objection; and the gate and apartments

of the castle were guarded by the count’s own people. But the Parisians,

whose favor Louis had won, were alarmed on his account. Twenty-two

thousand men of the city militia marched towards the outskirts of

Vincennes and obliged the king to return and sleep at Paris. He went

almost alone to the grand review which the Count of Charolais held of his

army before giving the word for marching away, and passed from rank to

rank speaking graciously to his late enemies. The king and the count, on

separating, embraced one another, the count saying in a loud voice,

“Gentlemen, you and I are at the command of the king my sovereign lord,

who is here present, to serve him whensoever there shall be need.”

When the treaties of Conflans and St. Maur were put before the parliament

to be registered, the parliament at first refused, and the exchequer-

chamber followed suit; but the king insisted in the name of necessity,

and the registration took place, subject to a declaration on the part of

the parliament that it was forced to obey. Louis, at bottom, was not

sorry for this resistance, and himself made a secret protest against the

treaties he had just signed.

At the outset of the negotiations it had been agreed that thirty-six

notables, twelve prelates, twelve knights, and twelve members of the

council, should assemble to inquire into the errors committed in the

government of the kingdom, and to apply remedies. They were to meet on

the 15th of December, and to have terminated their labors in two months

at the least, and in three months and ten days at the most. The king

promised on his word to abide firmly and stably by what they should

decree. But this commission was nearly a year behind time in assembling,

and, even when it was assembled, its labors were so slow and so futile,

that the Count de Dampmartin was quite justified in writing to the Count

of Charolais, become by his father’s death Duke of Burgundy, “The League

of common weal has become nothing but the League of common woe.”

Scarcely were the treaties signed and the princes returned each to his

own dominions when a quarrel arose between the Duke of Brittany and the

new Duke of Normandy. Louis, who was watching for dissensions between

his enemies, went at once to see the Duke of Brittany, and made with him

a private convention for mutual security. Then, having his movements

free, he suddenly entered Normandy to retake possession of it as a

province which, notwithstanding the cession of it just made to his

brother, the King of France could not dispense with. Evreux, Gisors,

Gournay, Louviers, and even Rouen fell, without much resistance, again

into his power. The Duke of Berry made a vigorous appeal for support to

his late ally, the Duke of Burgundy, in order to remain master of the new

duchy which had been conferred upon him under the late treaties. The

Count of Charolais was at that time taking up little by little the

government of the Burgundian dominions in the name of his father, the

aged Duke Philip, who was ill and near his end; but, by pleading his own

engagements, and especially his ever-renewed struggle with his Flemish

subjects, the Liegese, the count escaped from the necessity of satisfying

the Duke of Berry.

In order to be safe in the direction of Burgundy as well as that of

Brittany, Louis had entered into negotiations with Edward IV., King of

England, and had made him offers, perhaps even promises, which seemed to

trench upon the rights ceded by the treaty of Conflans to the Duke of

Burgundy, as to certain districts of Picardy. The Count of Charolais was

informed of it; and in his impetuous wrath he wrote to King Louis,

dubbing him simply Sir, instead of giving him, according to the usage

between vassal and suzerain, the title of My most dread lord, “May it

please you to wit, that some time ago I was apprised of a matter at which

I cannot be too much astounded. It is with great sorrow that I name it

to you, when I remember the fair expressions I have all through this year

had from you, both in writing and by word of mouth. It is certain that

parley has been held between your people and those of the King of

England, that you have thought proper to assign to them the district of

Caux and the city of Rouen; that you have promised to obtain from them

Abbeville and the count-ship of Ponthieu, and that you have concluded

with them certain alliances against me and my country, whilst making them

large offers to my prejudice. Of what is yours, sir, you may dispose

according to your pleasure; but it seems to me that you might do better

than wish to take from my hands what is mine, in order to give it to the

English or to any other foreign nation. I pray you, therefore, sir, if

such overtures have been made by your people, to be pleased not to

consent thereto in any way, but to put a stop to the whole, to the end

that I may remain your most humble servant, as I desire to be.”

Louis returned no answer to this letter. He contented him-self with

sending to the commission of thirty-six notables, then in session at

Etampes for the purpose of considering the reform of the kingdom, a

request to represent to the Count of Charolais the impropriety of such

language, and to appeal for the punishment of the persons who had

suggested it to him. The count made some awkward excuses, at the same

time that he persisted in complaining of the king’s obstinate pretensions

and underhand ways. A serious incident now happened, which for a while

distracted the attention of the two rivals from their mutual

recriminations. Duke Philip the Good, who had for some time past been

visibly declining in body and mind, was visited at Bruges by a stroke of

apoplexy, soon discovered to be fatal. His son, the Count of Charolais,

was at Ghent. At the first whisper of danger he mounted his horse, and

without a moment’s halt arrived at Bruges on the 15th of June, 1467, and

ran to his father’s room, who had already lost speech and consciousness.

“Father, father,” cried the count, on his knees and sobbing, “give me

your blessing; and if I have offended you, forgive me.” “My lord,” added

the Bishop of Bethlehem, the dying man’s confessor, “if you only hear us,

bear witness by some sign.” The duke turned his eyes a little towards

his son, and seemed to feebly press his hand. This was his last effort

of life; and in the evening, after some hours of passive agony, he died.

His son flung himself upon the bed: “He shrieked, he wept, he wrung his

hands,” says George Chatelain, one of the aged duke’s oldest and most

trusted servants, “and for many a long day tears were mingled with all

his words every time he spoke to those who had been in the service of the

dead, so much so that every one marvelled at his immeasurable grief; it

had never heretofore been thought that he could feel a quarter of the

sorrow he showed, for he was thought to have a sterner heart, whatever

cause there might have been; but nature overcame him.” Nor was it to his

son alone that Duke Philip had been so good and left so many grounds for

sorrow. “With you we lose,” was the saying amongst the crowd that

followed the procession through the streets, “with you we lose our good

old duke, the best, the gentlest, the friendliest of princes, our peace

and eke our joy! Amidst such fearful storms you at last brought us out

into tranquillity and good order; you set justice on her seat and gave

free course to commerce. And now you are dead, and we are orphans!”

Many voices, it is said, added in a lower tone, “You leave us in hands

whereof the weight is unknown to us; we know not into what perils we may

be brought by the power that is to be over us, over us so accustomed to

yours, under which we, most of us, were born and grew up.”

What the people were anxiously forecasting, Louis foresaw with certainty,

and took his measures accordingly. A few days after the death of Philip

the Good, several of the principal Flemish cities, Ghent first and then

Liege, rose against the new Duke of Burgundy in defence of their

liberties, already ignored or threatened. The intrigues of Louis were

not unconnected with these solicitations. He would undoubtedly have been

very glad to have seen his most formidable enemy beset, at the very

commencement of his ducal reign, by serious embarrassments, and obliged

to let the king of France settle without trouble his differences with his

brother Duke Charles of Berry, and with the Duke of Brittany. But the

new Duke of Burgundy was speedily triumphant over the Flemish

insurrections; and after these successes, at the close of the year 1467,

he was so powerful and so unfettered in his movements, that Louis might,

with good reason, fear the formation of a fresh league amongst his great

neighbors in coalition against him, and perhaps even in communication

with the English, who were ever ready to seek in France allies for the

furtherance of their attempts to regain there the fortunes wrested from

them by Joan of Arc and Charles VII. In view of such a position Louis

formed a resolution, unpalatable, no doubt, to one so jealous of his own

power, but indicative of intelligence and boldness; he confronted the

difficulties of home government in order to prevent perils from without.

The remembrance had not yet faded of the energy displayed and the

services rendered in the first part of Charles VII.’s reign by the

states-general; a wish was manifested for their resuscitation; and they

were spoken of, even in the popular doggerel, as the most effectual

remedy for the evils of the period.

“But what says Paris?”--“She is deaf and dumb.”

“Dares she not speak?”--“Nor she, nor parliament.”

“The clergy?”--“O! the clergy are kept mum.”

“Upon your oath?”--“Yes, on the sacrament.”

“The nobles, then?”--“The nobles are still worse.”

“And justice?”--“Hath nor balances nor weights.”

“Who, then, may hope to mitigate this curse?”

“Who? prithee, who?”--“Why, France’s three estates.”

“Be pleased, O prince, to grant alleviation . . .”

“To whom?”--“To the good citizen who waits . . .”

“For what?”--“The right of governing the nation . . .”

“Through whom? pray, whom?”--“Why, France’s three estates.”

In the face of the evil Louis felt no fear of the remedy. He summoned

the states-general to a meeting at Tours on the 1st of April, 1468.

Twenty-eight lords in person, besides representatives of several others

who were unable to be there themselves, and a hundred and ninety-two

deputies elected by sixty-four towns, met in session. The chancellor,

Juvenal des Ursins, explained, in presence of the king, the object of the

meeting: “It is to take cognizance of the differences which have arisen

between the king and Sir Charles, his brother, in respect of the duchy of

Normandy and the appanage of the said Sir Charles; likewise the great

excesses and encroachments which the Duke of Brittany hath committed

against the king by seizing his places and subjects, and making open war

upon him; and thirdly, the communication which is said to be kept up by

the Duke of Brittany with the English, in order to bring them down upon

this country, and hand over to them the places he doth hold in Normandy.

Whereupon we are of opinion that the people of the three estates should

give their good advice and council.” After this official programme, the

king and his councillors withdrew. The estates deliberated during seven

or eight sessions, and came to an agreement “without any opposition or

difficulty whatever, that as touching the duchy of Normandy it ought not

to and cannot be separated from the crown in any way whatsoever, but must

remain united, annexed, and conjoined thereto inseparably. Further, any

arrangement of the Duke of Brittany with the English is a thing damnable,

pernicious, and of most evil consequences, and one which is not to be

permitted, suffered, or tolerated in any way. Lastly, if Sir Charles,

the Duke of Brittany, or others, did make war on the king our sovereign

lord, or have any treaty or connection with his enemies, the king is

bound to proceed against them who should do so, according to what must be

done in such case for the tranquillity and security of the realm

. . . . And as often soever as the said cases may occur, the people

of the estates have agreed and consented, do agree and consent, that,

without waiting for other assemblage or congregation of the estates, the

king have power to do all that comports with order and justice; the said

estates promising and agreeing to serve and aid the king touching these

matters, to obey him with all their might, and to live and die with him

in this quarrel.”

Louis XI. himself could demand no more. Had they been more experienced

and far-sighted, the states-general of 1468 would not have been disposed

to resign, even temporarily, into the hands of the kingship, their rights

and their part in the government of the country; but they showed

patriotism and good sense in defending the integrity of the kingdom,

national unity, and public order against the selfish ambition and

disorderly violence of feudalism.

Fortified by their burst of attachment, Louis, by the treaty of Ancenis,

signed on the 10th of September, 1468, put an end to his differences with

Francis II., Duke of Brittany, who gave up his alliance with the house of

Burgundy, and undertook to prevail upon Duke Charles of France to accept

an arbitration for the purpose of settling, before two years were over,

the question of his territorial appanage in the place of Normandy. In

the meanwhile a pension of sixty thousand livres was to be paid by the

crown to that prince. Thus Louis was left with the new duke, Charles of

Burgundy, as the only adversary he had to face. His advisers were

divided as to the course to be taken with this formidable vassal. Was he

to be dealt with by war or by negotiation? Count de Dampmartin, Marshal

de Rouault, and nearly all the military men earnestly advised war.

“Leave it to us,” they said: “we will give the king a good account of

this Duke of Burgundy. Plague upon it! what do these Burgundians mean?

They have called in the English and made alliance with them in order to

give us battle; they have handed over the country to fire and sword; they

have driven the king from his lordship. We have suffered too much; we

must have revenge; down upon them, in the name of the devil, down upon

them. The king makes a sheep of himself and bargains for his wool and

his skin, as if he had not wherewithal to defend himself. ‘Sdeath! if

we were in his place, we would rather risk the whole kingdom than let

ourselves be treated in this fashion.” But the king did not like to risk

the kingdom; and he had more confidence in negotiation than in war. Two

of his principal advisers, the constable De St. Pol and the cardinal De

la Balue, Bishop of Evreux, were of his opinion, and urged him to the top

of his bent. Of them he especially made use in his more or less secret

relations with the Duke of Burgundy; and he charged them to sound him

with respect to a personal interview between himself and the duke. It

has been very well remarked by M. de Barante, in his _Histoire des Dues

de Bourgogne,_ that “Louis had a great idea of the influence he gained

over people by his wits and his language; he was always convinced that

people never said what ought to be said, and that they did not set to

work the right way.” It was a certain way of pleasing him to give him

promise of a success which he would owe to himself alone; and the

constable and the cardinal did not fail to do so. They found the Duke of

Burgundy very little disposed to accept the king’s overtures. “By St.

George,” said he, “I ask nothing but what is just and reasonable; I

desire the fulfilment of the treaties of Arras and of Conflans to which

the king has sworn. I make no war on him; it is he who is coming to make

it on me; but should he bring all the forces of his kingdom I will not

budge from here or recoil the length of my foot. My predecessors have

seen themselves in worse plight, and have not been dismayed.” Neither

the constable De St. Pol nor the cardinal De la Balue said anything to

the king about this rough disposition on the part of Duke Charles; they

both in their own personal interest desired the interview, and did not

care to bring to light anything that might be an obstacle to it. Louis

persisted in his desire, and sent to ask the duke for a letter of

safe-conduct. Charles wrote with his own hand, on the 8th of October,

1468, as follows:--

“My lord, if it is your pleasure to come to this town of Peronne for

to see us, I swear to you and promise you, by my faith and on my

honor, that you may come, remain, sojourn, and go back safely to the

places of Chauny and Noy on, at your pleasure, as many times as it

may please you, freely and frankly, without any hinderance to you or

to any of your folks from me or others in any case whatever and

whatsoever may happen.”

[Illustration: Charles the Rash----203]

When this letter arrived at Noyon, extreme surprise and alarm were

displayed about Louis; the interview appeared to be a mad idea; the

vicegerent (vidam) of Amiens came hurrying up with a countryman who

declared on his life that mylord of Burgundy wished for it only to make

an attempt upon the king’s person; the king’s greatest enemies, it was

said, were already, or soon would be, with the duke; and the captains

vehemently reiterated their objections. But Louis held to his purpose,

and started for Noyon on the 2d of October, taking with him the

constable, the cardinal, his confessor, and, for all his escort,

fourscore of his faithful Scots, and sixty men-at-arms. This knowing

gossip, as his contemporaries called him, had fits of rashness and

audacious vanity.

Duke Charles went to meet him outside the town. They embraced one

another, and returned on foot to Peronne, chatting familiarly, and the

king with his hand resting on the duke’s shoulder, in token of amity.

Louis had quarters at the house of the chamberlain of the town; the

castle of Peronne being, it was said, in too bad a state, and too ill

furnished, for his reception. On the very day that the king entered

Peronne, the duke’s army, commanded by the Marshal of Burgundy, arrived

from the opposite side, and encamped beneath the walls. Several former

servants of the king, now not on good terms with him, accompanied the

Burgundian army. “As soon as the king was apprised of the arrival of

these folks,” says Commynes, “he had a great fright, and sent to beg of

the Duke of Burgundy that he might be lodged at the castle, seeing that

all those who had come were evil disposed towards him. The duke was very

much rejoiced thereat, had him lodged there, and stoutly assured him that

he had no cause for doubt.” Next day parleys began between the

councillors of the two princes. They did not appear much disposed to

come to an understanding, and a little sourness of spirit was beginning

to show itself on both sides, when there came news which excited a grand

commotion. “King Louis, on coming to Peronne, had not considered,” says

Commynes, “that he had sent two ambassadors to the folks of Liege to

excite them against the duke. Nevertheless, the said ambassadors had

advanced matters so well that they had already made a great mass (of

rebels). The Liegese came and took by surprise the town of Tongres,

wherein were the Bishop of Liege and the Lord of Humbercourt, whom they

took also, slaying, moreover, some servants of the said bishop.” The

fugitives who reported this news at Peronne made the matter a great deal

worse than it was; they had no doubt, they said, but that the bishop and

Sire d’Humbercourt had also been murdered; and Charles had no more doubt

about it than they. His fury was extreme; he strode to and fro,

everywhere relating the news from Liege. “So the king,” said he, “came

here only to deceive me; it is he who, by his ambassadors, excited these

bad folks of Liege; but, by St. George, they shall be severely punished

for it, and he, himself, shall have cause to repent.” He gave immediate

orders to have the gates of the town and of the castle closed and guarded

by the archers; but being a little troubled, nevertheless, as to the

effect which would be produced by this order, he gave as his reason for

it that he was quite determined to have recovered a box full of gold and

jewels which had been stolen from him. “I verily believe,” says

Commynes, “that if just then the duke had found those whom he addressed

ready to encourage him, or advise him to do the king a bad turn, he would

have done it; but at that time I was still with the said duke; I served

him as chamberlain, and I slept in his room when I pleased, for such was

the usage of that house. With me was there none at this speech of the

duke’s, save two grooms of the chamber, one called Charles de Visen, a

native of Dijon, an honest man, and one who had great credit with his

master; and we exasperated nought, but assuaged according to our power.”

Whilst Duke Charles was thus abandoning himself to the first outburst of

his wrath, King Louis remained impassive in the castle of Peronne, quite

close to the great tower, wherein, about the year 925, King Charles the

Simple had been confined by Herbert, Count of Vermandois, and died a

prisoner in 929. None of Louis’s people had been removed from him; but

the gate of the castle was strictly guarded. There was no entering.

on his service, but by the wicket, and none of the duke’s people came to

visit him; he had no occasion to parley, explain himself, and guess what

it was expedient for him to say or do; he was alone, wrestling with his

imagination and his lively impressions, with the feeling upon him of the

recent mistakes he had committed, especially in exciting the Liegese to

rebellion, and forgetting the fact just when he was coming to place

himself in his enemy’s hands. Far, however, from losing his head, Louis

displayed in this perilous trial all the penetration, activity, and

shrewdness of his mind, together with all the suppleness of his

character; he sent by his own servants questions, offers, and promises to

all the duke’s servants from whom he could hope for any help or any good

advice. Fifteen thousand golden crowns, with which he had provided

himself at starting, were given by him to be distributed amongst the

household of the Duke of Burgundy; a liberality which was perhaps

useless, since it is said that he to whom he had intrusted the sum kept a

good portion of it for himself. The king passed two days in this state

of gloomy expectancy as to what was in preparation against him.

On the 11th of October, Duke Charles, having cooled down a little,

assembled his council. The sitting lasted all the day and part of the

night. Louis had sent to make an offer to swear a peace, such as, at the

moment of his arrival, had been proposed to him, without any reservation

or difficulty on his part. He engaged to join the duke in making war

upon the Liegese and chastising them for their rebellion. He would leave

as hostages his nearest relatives and his most intimate advisers. At the

beginning of the council his proposals were not even listened to; there

was no talk but of keeping the king a prisoner, and sending after his

brother, the Prince Charles, with whom the entire government of the

kingdom should be arranged; the messenger had orders to be in readiness

to start at once; his horse was in the court-yard; he was only waiting

for the letters which the duke was writing to Brittany. The chancellor

of Burgundy and some of the wiser councillors besought the duke to

reflect.

The king had come to Peronne on the faith of his safe-conduct; it would

be an eternal dishonor for the house of Burgundy if he broke his word to

his sovereign lord; and the conditions which the king was prepared to

grant would put an end, with advantage to Burgundy, to serious and

difficult business. The duke gave heed to these honest and prudent

counsels; the news from Liege turned out to be less serious than the

first rumors had represented; the bishop and Sire d’Humbercourt had been

set at liberty. Charles retired to his chamber; and there, without

thinking of undressing, he walked to and fro with long strides, threw

himself upon his bed, got up again, and soliloquized out loud, addressing

himself occasionally to Commynes, who lay close by him. Towards morning,

though he still showed signs of irritation, his language was less

threatening. “He has promised me,” said he, “to come with me to

reinstate the Bishop of Liege, who is my brother-in-law, and a relation

of his also; he shall certainly come; I shall not scruple to hold him to

his word that he gave me;” and he at once sent Sires de Crequi, de

Charni, and de la Roche to tell the king that he was about to come and

swear peace with him. Commynes had only just time to tell Louis in what

frame of mind the duke was, and in what danger he would place himself, if

he hesitated either to swear peace or to march against the Liegese.

As soon as it was broad day, the duke entered the apartment of the castle

where the king was a prisoner. His look was courteous, but his voice

trembled with choler; his words were short and bitter, his manner was

threatening. A little troubled at his aspect, Louis said, “Brother, I am

safe, am I not, in your house and your country?” “Yes, sir,” answered

the duke, “so safe that if I saw an arrow from a bow coming towards you I

would throw myself in the way to protect you. But will you not be

pleased to swear the treaty just as it is written?” “Yes,” said the

king, “and I thank you for your good will.” “And will you not be pleased

to come with me to Liege, to help me punish the treason committed against

me by these Lidgese, all through you and your journey hither? The bishop

is your near relative, of the house of Bourbon.” “Yes, Padues-Dieu,”

replied Louis, “and I am much astounded at their wickedness. But begin

we by swearing this treaty; and then I will start, with as many or as few

of my people as you please.”

Forthwith was taken out from the king’s boxes the wood of the so-called

true cross, which was named the cross of St. Laud, because it had been

preserved in the church of St. Laud, at Angers. It was supposed to have

formerly belonged to Charlemagne; and it was the relic which Louis

regarded as the most sacred. The treaty was immediately signed, without

any change being made in that of Conflans. The Duke of Burgundy merely

engaged to use his influence with Prince Charles of France to induce him

to be content with Brie and Champagne as appanage. The storm was

weathered; and Louis almost rejoiced at seeing himself called upon to

chastise in person the Liegese, who had made him commit such a mistake

and run such a risk.

Next day the two princes set out together, Charles with his army, and

Louis with his modest train increased by three hundred men-at-arms, whom

he had sent for from France. On the 27th of October they arrived before

Liege. Since Duke Charles’s late victories, the city had no longer any

ramparts or ditches; nothing seemed easier than to get into it; but the

besieged could not persuade themselves that Louis was sincerely allied

with the Duke of Burgundy, and they made a sortie, shouting, “Hurrah for

the king! Hurrah for France!” Great was their surprise when they saw

Louis advancing in person, wearing in his hat the cross of St. Andrew of

Burgundy, and shouting, “Hurrah for Burgundy!” Some even amongst the

French who surrounded the king were shocked; they could not reconcile

themselves to so little pride and such brazen falsehood. Louis took no

heed of their temper, and never ceased to repeat, “When pride rides

before, shame and hurt follow close after.” The surprise of the Liegese

was transformed into indignation.

[Illustration: Louis XI. and Charles the Rash at Peronne----209]

They made a more energetic and a longer resistance than had been

expected. The besiegers, confident in their strength, kept careless

watch, and the sorties of the besieged became more numerous. One night

Charles received notice that his men had just been attacked in a suburb

which they had held, and were flying. He mounted his horse, gave orders

not to awake the king, repaired by himself to the place where the fight

was, put everything to rights, and came back and told the whole affair to

Louis, who exhibited great joy. Another time, one dark and rainy night,

there was an alarm, about midnight, of a general attack upon the whole

Burgundian camp. The duke was soon up, and a moment afterwards the king

arrived. There was great disorder. “The Liegese sallied by this gate,”

said some; “No,” said others, “it was by that gate!” there was nothing

known for certain, and there were no orders given. Charles was impetuous

and brave, but he was easily disconcerted, and his servants were somewhat

vexed not to see him putting a better countenance on things before the

king. Louis, on the other hand, was cool and calm, giving commands

firmly, and ready to assume responsibility wherever he happened to be.

“Take what men you have,” said he to the constable St. Poi, who was at

his side, “and go in this direction; if they are really coming upon us,

they will pass that way.” It was discovered to be a false alarm. Two

days afterwards there was a more serious affair. The inhabitants of a

canton which was close to the city, and was called Franchemont, resolved

to make a desperate effort, and go and fall suddenly upon the very spot

where the two princes were quartered. One night, about ten P. M., six

hundred men sallied out by one of the breaches, all men of stout hearts

and well armed. The duke’s quarters were first attacked. Only twelve

archers were on guard below, and they were playing at dice. Charles was

in bed. Commynes put on him, as quickly as possible, his breastplate and

helmet, and they went down stairs. The archers were with great

difficulty defending the doorway, but help arrived, and the danger was

over. The quarters of King Louis had also been attacked; but at the

first sound the Scottish archers had hurried up, surrounded their master,

and repulsed the attack, without caring whether their arrows killed

Liegese or such Burgundians as had come up with assistance. The gallant

fellows from Franchemont fell, almost to a man. The duke and his

principal captains held a council the next day; and the duke was for

delivering the assault. The king was not present at this council, and

when he was informed of the resolution taken he was not in favor of an

assault. “You see,” said he, “the courage of these people; you know how

murderous and uncertain is street fighting; you will lose many brave men

to no purpose. Wait two or three days, and the Liegese will infallibly

come to terms.” Nearly all the Burgundian captains sided with the king.

The duke got angry. “He wishes to spare the Liegese,” said he; “what

danger is there in this assault? There are no walls; they can’t put a

single gun in position; I certainly will not give up the assault; if the

king is afraid, let him get him gone to Namur.” Such an insult shocked

even the Burgundians. Louis was informed of it, but said nothing. Next

day, the 30th of October, 1468, the assault was ordered; and the duke

marched at the head of his troops. Up came the king; but, “Bide,” said

Charles; “put not yourself uselessly in danger; I will send you word when

it is time.” “Lead on, brother,” replied Louis; “you are the most

fortunate prince alive; I will follow you.” And he continued marching

with him. But the assault was unnecessary. Discouragement had taken

possession of the Liegese, the bravest of whom had fallen. It was

Sunday, and the people who remained were not expecting an attack; “the

cloth was laid in every house, and all were preparing for dinner.” The

Burgundians moved forward through the empty streets; and Louis marched

quietly along, surrounded by his own escort, and shouting, “Hurrah for

Burgundy!” The duke turned back to meet him, and they went together to

give thanks to God in the cathedral of St. Lambert. It was the only

church which had escaped from the fury and the pillaging of the

Burgundians; by midday there was nothing left to take in the houses or in

the churches. Louis loaded Duke Charles with felicitations and

commendations: “He knew how to turn them in a fashion so courteous and

amiable that the duke was charmed and softened.” The next day, as they

were talking together, “Brother,” said the king to the duke, “if you

have still need of my help, do not spare me; but if you have nothing more

for me to do, it would be well for me to go back to Paris, to make public

in my court of parliament the arrangement we have come to together;

otherwise it would run a risk of becoming of no avail; you know that such

is the custom of France. Next summer we must meet again; you will come

into your duchy of Burgundy, and I will go and pay you a visit, and we

will pass a week joyously together in making good cheer.” Charles made

no answer, and sent for the treaty lately concluded between them at

Peronne, leaving it to the king’s choice to confirm or to renounce it,

and excusing himself in covert terms for having thus constrained him and

brought him away. The king made a show of being satisfied with the

treaty, and on the 2d of November, 1468, the day but one after the

capture of Liege, set out for France. The duke bore him company to

within half a league of the city. As they were taking leave of one

another, the king said to him, “If, peradventure, my brother Charles, who

is in Brittany, should be discontented with the assignment I make him for

love of you, what would you have me do?” “If he do not please to take

it,” answered the duke, “but would have you satisfy him, I leave it to

you two.” Louis desired no more: he returned home free and confident in

himself, “after having passed the most trying three weeks of his life.”

But Louis XI.’s deliverance after his quasi-captivity at Peronne, and the

new treaty he had concluded with Duke Charles, were and could be only a

temporary break in the struggle between these two princes, destined as

they were, both by character and position, to irremediable

incompatibility. They were too powerful and too different to live at

peace when they were such close neighbors, and when their relations were

so complicated. We find in the chronicle of George Chastelain, a Flemish

burgher, and a servant on familiar terms with Duke Charles, as he had

been with his father, Duke Philip, a judicious picture of this

incompatibility and the causes of it. “There had been,” he says, “at all

times a rancor between these two princes, and, whatever pacification

might have been effected to-day, everything returned to-morrow to the old

condition, and no real love could be established. They suffered from

incompatibility of temperament and perpetual discordance of will; and the

more they advanced in years the deeper they plunged into a state of

serious difference and hopeless bitterness. The king was a man of

subtlety and full of fence; he knew how to recoil for a better spring,

how to affect humility and gentleness in his deep designs, how to yield

and to give up in order to receive double, and how to bear and tolerate

for a time his own grievances in hopes of being able at last to have his

revenge. He was, therefore, very much to be feared for his practical

knowledge, showing the greatest skill and penetration in the world. Duke

Charles was to be feared for his great courage, which he evinced and

displayed in his actions, making no account of king or emperor. Thus,

whilst the king had great sense and great ability, which he used with

dissimulation and suppleness in order to succeed in his views, the duke,

on his side, had a great sense of another sort and to another purpose,

which he displayed by a public ostentation of his pride, without any fear

of putting himself in a false position.” Between 1468 and 1477, from the

incident at Peronne to the death of Charles at the siege of Nancy, the

history of the two princes was nothing but one constant alternation

between ruptures and re-adjustments, hostilities and truces, wherein both

were constantly changing their posture, their language, and their allies.

It was at one time the affairs of the Duke of Brittany or those of Prince

Charles of France, become Duke of Guienne; at another it was the

relations with the different claimants to the throne of England, or the

fate of the towns, in Picardy, handed over to the Duke of Burgundy by the

treaties of Conflans and Peronne, which served as a ground or pretext for

the frequent recurrences of war. In 1471 St. Quentin opened its gates to

Count Louis of St. Poi, constable of France; and Duke Charles complained

with threats about it to the Count of Dampmartin, who was in commend, on

that frontier, of Louis XI.’s army, and had a good understanding with the

constable. Dampmartin, “one of the bravest men of his time,” says Duclos

[Histoire de Louis XI in the (Enures completes of Duclos, t. ii. p. 429),

“sincere and faithful, a warm friend and an implacable foe, at once

replied to the duke, ‘Most high and puissant prince, I suppose your

letters to have been dictated by your council and highest clerics, who

are folks better at letter-making than I am, for I have not lived by

quill-driving. . . . If I write you matter that displeases you, and

you have a desire to revenge yourself upon me, you shall find me so near

to your army that you will know how little fear I have of you. . . .

Be assured that if it be your will to go on long making war upon the

king, it will at last be found out by all the world that as a soldier you

have mistaken your calling.” The next year (1472) war broke out. Duke

Charles went and laid siege to Beauvais, and on the 27th of June

delivered the first assault. The inhabitants were at this moment left

almost alone to defend their town. A young girl of eighteen, Joan

Fourquet, whom a burgher’s wife of Beauvais, Madame Laisne, her mother by

adoption, had bred up in the history, still so recent, of Joan of Arc,

threw herself into the midst of the throng, holding up her little axe

(hachette) before the image of St. Angadresme, patroness of the town, and

crying, “O glorious virgin, come to my aid; to arms! to arms!” The

assault was repulsed; re-enforcements came up from Noyon, Amiens, and

Paris, under the orders of the Marshal de Rouault; and the mayor of

Beauvais presented Joan to him. “Sir,” said the young girl to him, “you

have everywhere been victor, and you will be so with us.” On the 9th of

July the Duke of Burgundy delivered a second assault, which lasted four

hours. Some Burgundians had escaladed a part of the ramparts; Joan

Hachette arrived there just as one of them was planting his flag on the

spot; she pushed him over the side into the ditch, and went down in

pursuit of him; the man fell on one knee; Joan struck him down, took

possession of the flag, and mounted up to the ramparts again, crying,

“Victory!” The same cry resounded at all points of the wall; the assault

was everywhere repulsed. The vexation of Charles was great; the day

before he had been almost alone in advocating the assault; in the

evening, as he lay on his camp-bed, according to his custom, he had asked

several of his people whether they thought the townsmen were prepared for

it. “Yes, certainly,” was the answer; “there are a great number of

them.” “You will not find a soul there to-morrow,” said Charles with a

sneer. He remained for twelve days longer before the place, looking for

a better chance; but on the 12th of July he decided upon raising the

siege, and took the road to Normandy. Some days before attacking

Beauvais, he had taken, not without difficulty, Nesle in the Vermandois.

“There it was,” says Commynes, “that he first committed a horrible and

wicked deed of war, which had never been his wont; this was burning

everything everywhere; those who were taken alive were hanged; a pretty

large number had their hands cut off. It mislikes me to speak of such

cruelty; but I was on the spot, and must needs say something about it.”

Commynes undoubtedly said something about it to Charles himself, who

answered, “It is the fruit borne by the tree of war; it would have been

the fate of Beauvais if I could have taken the town.”

Between the two rivals in France, relations with England were a subject

of constant manoeuvring and strife. In spite of reverses on the

Continent and civil wars in their own island, the Kings of England had

not abandoned their claims to the crown of France; they were still in

possession of Calais; and the memory of the battles of Crecy, Poitiers,

and Agincourt was still a tower of strength to them. Between 1470 and

1472 the house of York had triumphed over the house of Lancaster; and

Edward IV. was undisputed king. In his views touching France he found a

natural ally in the Duke of Burgundy; and it was in concert with Charles

that Edward was incessantly concocting and attempting plots and campaigns

against Louis XI. In 1474 he, by a herald, called upon Louis to give up

to him Normandy and Guienne, else, he told him, he would cross over to

France with his army. “Tell your master,” answered Louis coolly, “that I

should not advise him to.” Next year the herald returned to tell Louis

that the King of England, on the point of embarking, called upon him to

give up to him the kingdom of France. Louis had a conversation with the

herald. “Your king,” said he, “is undertaking this war against his own

grain at the solicitation of the Duke of Burgundy; he would do much

better to live in peace with me, instead of devoting himself to allies

who cannot but compromise him without doing him any service;” and he had

three hundred golden crowns presented to the herald, with a promise of

considerably more if peace were made. The herald, thus won over,

promised, in his turn, to do all he could, saying that he believed that

his master would lend a willing ear, but that, before mentioning the

subject, they must wait until Edward had crossed the sea and formed some

idea of the difficulties in the way of his enterprise; and he advised

Louis to establish communications with my lord Howard and my lord

Stanley, who had great influence with King Edward. “Whilst the king was

parleying with the said herald, there were many folks in the hall,” says

Commynes, “who were waiting, and had great longing to know what the king

was saying to him, and what countenance he would wear when he came from

within. The king, when he had made an end, called me and told me to keep

the said herald talking, so that none might speak to him, and to have

delivered unto him a piece of crimson velvet containing thirty ells. So

did I, and the king was right joyous at that which he had got out of the

said herald.”

[Illustration: Philip de Commynes----217]

It was now three years since Philip de Commynes had left the Duke of

Burgundy’s service to enter that of Louis XI. In 1471 Charles had, none

knows why, rashly authorized an interview between Louis and De Commynes.

“The king’s speech,” says the chronicler Molinet, in the Duke of

Burgundy’s service, “was so sweet and full of virtue that it entranced,

siren-like, all those who gave ear to it.” “Of all princes,” says

Commynes himself, “he was the one who was at most pains to gain over a

man who was able to serve him, and able to injure him; and he was not put

out at being refused once by one whom he was working to gain over, but

continued thereat, making him large promises, and actually giving money

and estate when he made acquaintances that were pleasing to him.”

Commynes spoke according to his own experience. Louis, from the moment

of making his acquaintance, had guessed his value; and as early as 1468,

in the course of his disagreeable adventure at Peronne, he had found the

good offices of Commynes of great service to him. It was probably from

this very time that he applied himself assiduously to the task of gaining

him over. Commynes hesitated a long while; but Louis was even more

perseveringly persistent than Commynes was hesitating. The king backed

up his handsome offers by substantial and present gifts. In 1471,

according to what appears, he lent Commynes six thousand livres of Tours,

which the Duke of Burgundy’s councillor lodged with a banker at Tours.

The next year, the king, seeing that Commynes was still slow to decide,

bade one of his councillors to go to Tours, in his name, and seize at the

banker’s the six thousand livres intrusted to the latter by Commynes.

“This,” says the learned editor of the last edition of Commynes’

Memoires, “was an able and decisive blow. The effect of the seizure

could not but be, and indeed was, to put Commynes in the awkward dilemma

of seeing his practices (as the saying was at that time) divulged without

reaping the fruit of them, or of securing the advantages only by setting

aside the scruples which held him back. He chose the latter course,

which had become the safer; and during the night between the 7th and 8th

of August, 1472, he left Burgundy forever. The king was at that time at

Ponts-de-Ce, and there his new servant joined him.” The very day of his

departure, at six A. M., Duke Charles had a seizure made of all the goods

and all the rights belonging to the fugitive; “but what Commynes lost on

one side,” says his editor, “he was about to recover a hundred fold on

the other; scarcely had he arrived at the court of Louis XI. when he

received at once the title of councillor and chamberlain to the king;

soon afterwards a pension of six thousand livres of Tours was secured to

him, by way of giving him wherewithal to honorably maintain his position;

he was put into the place of captain of the castle and keep of the town

of Chinon; and lastly, a present was made to him of the rich principality

of Talmont.” Six months later, in January, 1473, Commynes married Helen

de Chambes, daughter of the lord of Montsoreau, who brought him as dowry

twenty-seven thousand five hundred livres of Tours, which enabled him to

purchase the castle, town, barony, land, and lordship of Argenton

[arrondissement of Bressuire, department of Deux-Sevres], the title of

which he thenceforward assumed.

Half a page or so can hardly be thought too much space to devote in a

History of France to the task of tracing to their origin the conduct and

fortunes of one of the most eminent French politicians, who, after having

taken a chief part in the affairs of their country and their epoch, have

dedicated themselves to the work of narrating them in a spirit of liberal

and admirable comprehension both of persons and events. But we will

return to Louis XI.