_Etienne Marcel--the English Invasions--The
Maillotins--Murder of the Duke of Orleans--Armagnacs and
Burgundians_
With the three sons of Philip who successively became kings of France,
the direct line of the Capetian dynasty ends: with the accession of
Philip VI. in 1328, the house of Valois opens the sad century of the
English wars--a period of humiliation and defeat, of rebellious and
treacherous princes, civil strife, famine and plague, illumined only
by the heroism of a peasant-girl, who, when king and nobles were sunk
in shameless apathy or sullen despair, saved France from utter
extinction. Pope after pope sought to make peace, but in vain: _Hui
sont en paix, demain en guerre_ ("to-day peace, to-morrow war") was
the normal and inevitable situation until the English had wholly
subjected France or the French driven the English to their natural
boundary of the Channel.
Never since the days of Charlemagne had the French Monarchy been so
powerful as when the Valois came to the throne: in less than a
generation Crecy and Poitiers had made the English name a terror in
France, and a French king, John the Good, was led captive to England.
In 1346 Paris saw her _faubourgs_ wasted, the palace of St. Germain
and the fortress of Montjoie St. Denis[82] spoiled and burnt, and the
English camp fires nightly glowing. Once again, as in the dark Norman
times, she rose and determined to save herself. Etienne Marcel, the
leader of the movement, whose statue now stands near the site of the
Maison aux Piliers was a rich merchant prince of old family, a member
of the great drapers' guild, and elected Provost of the _Marchands
d'Eau_ in 1355. He it was who bought for 2400 florins of gold the
Maison des Dauphins, better known as the Maison aux Piliers or Hotel
de Ville, on the Place de Greve and transferred thither the seat of
the civic administration from the old Parloir aux Bourgeois, enclosed
in the south wall of Paris. The Dauphin,[83] who had assumed the title
of Lieutenant-General, convoked the States-General at Paris, but he
was forced by Marcel and his party to grant some urgent reforms, and a
Committee of National Defence was organised by the trade guilds and
the provost, who became virtually dictator of Paris. Marcel's rule was
however stained by the butchery of the Marshal of Champagne and the
Duke of Normandy before the very eyes of the Dauphin in the palace of
the Cite, who, horrified, fled to Compiegne to rally the nobles.
During the ensuing anarchy the poor, dumb, starving serfs of France,
in their hopeless misery and despair, rose in insurrection and swept
like a flame over the land. Froissart, who writes from the distorted
stories told him by the seigneurs, has woefully exaggerated the
atrocities of the _Jacquerie_."[84] There was much arson and pillage,
but barely thirty of the nobles are known to have perished. Of the
merciless vengeance taken by the seigneurs there is ample
confirmation: the wretched peasants were easily out-manoeuvred and
killed like rats by the mail-clad nobles and their men-at-arms.
Meanwhile the Dauphin was marching on Paris: Marcel seized the Louvre
and set 3000 workmen to fortify the city. In less than a year the
greater part of the northern walls, with gates, bastilles and fosses,
was completed--the greatest feat, says Froissart, the provost ever
achieved. A citizen army was raised, whose hoods of red and blue, the
colours of Paris, distinguished them from the royal sympathisers.
Marcel turned for support to the _Jacques_, and on their suppression
essayed to win over Charles of Navarre. On 30th November 1357, Charles
stood on the royal stage on the walls of the abbey of St. Germain des
Pres, whence the kings of France were wont to witness the judicial
combats in the Pres aux Clercs, and addressed an assembly of 10,000
citizens. _Moult longuement_ he sermonised, says the _Grandes
Chroniques_, so that dinner was over in Paris before he finished.
After yet another harangue at the Maison aux Piliers on 15th June
1358, he was acclaimed by people with "Navarre! Navarre!" and elected
the Captain of Paris. An obscure period of plot and counterplot
followed which culminated in the ruin of Marcel and his followers.
Froissart accuses the provost of a treacherous intent to open the
gates of St. Honore and of St. Antoine to Navarre's English
mercenaries at midnight on 31st July, and gives a dramatic story of
the discovery of the plot and slaying of the provost by Jean Maillart,
his friend and associate. We supplement his version from the Chronicle
of St. Denis: on the last day of July, Marcel and his suite repaired
to the bastille of St. Denis and ordered the guards to surrender the
keys to Charles of Navarre's treasurer. Maillart, who had been won
over by the Dauphin, had preceded him. The guard refused to hand over
the keys and an angry altercation ensued between the former friends.
Maillart mounted horse, seized a royal banner, sped to the Halles and
to the cry of "Montjoie St. Denis!" called the royal partizans to
arms: a similar appeal was made by Pepin des Essards. Meanwhile Marcel
had reached the bastille of St. Antoine, where he was met by Maillart
and the royal partizans. "Stephen, Stephen!" cried the latter, "what
dost thou here at this hour?" "I am here," answered the provost, "to
guard the city whose governor I am." "_Par Dieu_," retorted Maillart,
"thou art here for no good," and turning to his followers, said,
"Behold the keys which he holds to the destruction of the city." Each
gave the other the lie. "Good people," protested Marcel, "why would
you do me ill? All I wrought was for your good as well as mine."
Maillart for answer smote at him, crying, "Traitor, _a mort, a mort_!"
There was a stubborn fight, and Maillart felled the provost by a blow
with his axe; six of the provost's companions were slain, and the
remainder haled to prison. Next day the Dauphin entered Paris in
triumph, and the popular leaders were executed on the Place de Greve.
The provost's body was dragged to the court of the church of St.
Catherine du Val des Ecoliers, naked, that it might be seen of all, on
the very spot where the bodies of the Marshal of Champagne and the
Duke of Normandy had been flung six months before: after a long
exposure it was cast into the Seine. All the reforms were revoked by
the king, but the remembrance of the time when the merchants and
people of Paris had dared to speak to their royal lord face to face of
justice and good government, was never obliterated.
[Footnote 82: The royal war-cry, "Montjoie St. Denis," was uttered
when the king took the Oriflamme from the altar at St. Denis.]
[Footnote 83: During John the Good's reign, the province of Dauphiny
had been added to the French crown, and the king's eldest son took the
title of Dauphin.]
[Footnote 84: So called from the familiar appellation "Jacques
Bonhomme," applied half in contempt, half in jest, by the seigneurs to
the peasants who served them in the wars.]
Next year the English peril again threatened Paris. The invasion of
1359 resembled a huge picnic or hunting expedition. The king of
England and his barons brought their hunters, falcons, dogs and
fishing tackle. They marched leisurely to Bourg la Reine, less than
two leagues from Paris, pillaged the surrounding country and turned to
Chartres, where tempest and sickness forced Edward III. to come to
terms. After the treaty of Bretigny, in 1360, the Parisians saw their
good King John again, who was ransomed for a sum equal to about ten
million pounds of present-day value. The memory of this and other
enormous ransoms exacted by the English, endured for centuries, and
when a Frenchman had paid his creditors he would say,--_j'ai paye mes
Anglais_.[85] ("I have paid my English.") A magnificent reception was
accorded to the four English barons who came to sign the Peace at
Paris. They were taken to the Sainte Chapelle and shown the fairest
relics and richest jewels in the world, and each was given a spine
from the crown of thorns, which he deemed the noblest jewel that could
be presented to him.
[Footnote 85: Howell mentions the locution in a letter dated 1654.]
The Dauphin, who on the death of good King John in London (1364)
became Charles V., by careful statesmanship succeeded in restoring
order to the kingdom and to its finances[86] and in winning some
successes against the English.
[Footnote 86: Charles taxed and borrowed heavily. Even the members of
his household were importuned for loans, however small. His cook lent
him frs. 67.50.]
In 1370 their camp fires were again seen outside Paris: but Marcel's
wall had now been completed. Charles refused battle and allowed them
to ravage the suburbs with impunity. Before the army left, an English
knight swore he would joust at the gates of the city, and spurred
lance in hand against them. As he turned to ride back, a big butcher
lifted his pole-axe, smote the knight on the neck and felled him; four
others battered him to death, "their blows," says Froissart, "falling
on his armour like strokes on an anvil."
By wise council rather than by war Charles won back much of his
dismembered country. He was a great builder and patron of the arts.
The Louvre, being now enclosed within the new wall and no longer part
of the defences of Paris, was handed over to Raymond of the Temple,
Charles' "beloved mason," to transform into a sumptuous palace with
apartments for himself and his queen, the princes of the blood and the
officers of the royal household. The rooms were decorated with
sculpture by Jean de St. Romain, _tailleur d'ymages_ and other carvers
in stone, and with paintings, by Jean d'Orleans. Each suite was
furnished with a private chapel, those of the king and queen being
carved with much "art and patience." A gallery was built for the
minstrels and players of instruments. A great garden was planted
towards the Rue St. Honore on the north and the old wall of Philip
Augustus on the east, in which were an "Hotel des Lions," or
collection of wild beasts, and a tennis court, where the king and
princes played. The palace accounts still exist, with details of
payments for "wine for the stone-cutters which the king our lord gave
them when he came to view the works." Jean Callow and Geoffrey le
Febre were paid for planting squares of strawberries, hyssop, sage,
lavender, balsam, violets, and for making paths, weeding and carrying
away stones and filth; others were paid for planting bulbs of lilies,
double red roses and other good herbs. Twenty francs were paid to
Gobin d'Ays, "who guards our nightingales of our chastel of the
Louvre." The first royal library was founded by Charles, and Peter the
Cage-maker was employed to protect the library windows of stained
glass from birds--it overlooked the falconry--and other beasts, by
trellises of wire. In order that scholars might work there at all
hours, thirty small chandeliers were provided and a silver lamp was
suspended from the vaulting. Solemn masters at _grants gages_ were
employed to translate the most notable books[87] from Latin into
French; scribes and bookbinders of the university were exempted from
the watch. An interesting payment of six francs in gold, made to
Jacqueline, widow of a mason "because she is poor and helpless and her
husband met his death in working for the king at the Louvre,"
demonstrates that royal custom had anticipated modern legislation.
[Footnote 87: This priceless collection of books, which at length
filled three rooms, was appropriated for a nominal sum by the Duke of
Bedford during the English occupation in Paris and sent to England. A
few, barely fifty, have survived, of which the greater number have
been acquired by the Bibliotheque Nationale.]
Charles surrendered the royal palace in the Cite, associated with
bitter memories of Marcel's dictatorship, to the Parlement, and partly
bought, partly erected an irregular group of exquisite Gothic mansions
and chapels which he furnished with sumptuous magnificence and
surrounded with tennis courts, falconries, menageries, delightful and
spacious gardens--a _hostel solennel des grands esbattements_,
"where," as the royal edict runs, "we have had many joys and with
God's grace have recovered from several great sicknesses, wherefore we
are moved to that hostel by love, pleasure and singular affection."
This royal city within a city, known as the Hotel St. Paul, covered
together with the monastery and church of the Celestins, a vast space,
now roughly bounded by the Rue St. Paul, the quai des Celestins and
the Rue de Sully, the Rue de l'Arsenal and the Rue St. Antoine.
Charles VII. was the last king who dwelt there; the buildings fell to
ruin, and between 1519 and 1551 were gradually sold. No vestige of
this palace of delight now remains, nothing but the memory of it in a
few street names,--the streets of the Fair Trellis, of the Lions of
St. Paul, of the Garden of St. Paul, and of the Cherry Orchard. To
Charles V. is also due the beautiful chapel of Vincennes and the
completion of Etienne Marcel's wall. This third enclosure, began at
the Tour de Billi, which stood at the angle formed by the Gare de
l'Arsenal and the Seine, extended north by the Boulevard Bourdon, the
Place de la Bastille, and the line of the inner Boulevards to the
Porte St. Denis; it then turned south-west by the old Porte
Montmartre, the Place des Victoires and across the garden of the
Palais Royal to the Tour du Bois, a little below the present Pont du
Carrousel. It was fortified by a double moat and square towers. The
south portion was never begun. In 1370, Charles' provost, Hugues
Aubriot, warned his royal master that the Hotel St. Paul would be
difficult to defend, and advised him to replace the Bastille[88] of
St. Antoine by a great stronghold which might serve as a state
prison[89] and as a defence from within and without. In 1380 the dread
Bastille of sinister fame, with its eight towers, was raised--ever a
hateful memory to the citizens, for it was completed by the royal
provost when the provost of the merchants had been suppressed by
Charles VI. in 1383.
[Footnote 88: Each gate of the new wall was defended by a kind of
fortress called a Bastide or Bastille.]
[Footnote 89: Aubriot is said to have been the first prisoner
incarcerated in the dungeon of his own Bastille.]
"Woe to thee O land, when thy king is a child!" During the minority
and reign of Charles VI. France lay prostrate under a hail of evils
that menaced her very existence, and Paris was reduced to the
profoundest misery and humiliation. The breath had not left the old
king's body before his elder brother, the Count of Anjou, who was
hiding in an adjacent room, hastened to seize the royal treasure and
the contents of the public exchequer. No regent had been appointed,
and the four royal dukes, the young king's uncles of Anjou, Burgundy,
Bourbon, and Berri, began to strive for power.
In 1382 Anjou, who had been suffered to hold the regency, sought to
enforce an unpopular tax on the merchants of Paris. A collector having
seized an old watercress seller at the Halles with much brutality, the
people revolted, armed themselves with the loaded clubs (_maillotins_)
stored in the Hotel de Ville for use against the English, attacked and
put to death with great cruelty some of the royal officers and opened
the prisons. The court temporised, promised to remit the tax and to
grant an amnesty; but with odious treachery caused the leaders of the
movement to be seized, put them in sacks and flung them at dead of
night into the Seine. The angry Parisians now barricaded their streets
and closed their gates against the king. Negotiations followed and by
payment of 100,000 francs to the Duke of Anjou the citizens were
promised immunity and the king and his uncles entered the city. But
the court nursed its vengeance, and after the victory over the
Flemings at Rosebecque, Charles and his uncles with a powerful force
marched on Paris. The Parisians, 20,000 strong, stood drawn up in arms
at Montmartre to meet him. They were asked who were their chiefs and
if the Constable de Clisson might enter Paris. "None other chiefs have
we," they answered, "than the king and his lords: we are ready to obey
their orders." "Good people of Paris," said the Constable on his
arrival at their camp, "what meaneth this? meseems you would fight
against your king." They replied that their purpose was but to show
the king the puissance of his good city of Paris. "'Tis well," said
the Constable, "if you would see the king return to your homes and
put aside your arms."
On the morrow, 11th January 1383, the king and his court, with 12,000
men-at-arms, appeared at the Porte St. Denis, and there stood the
provost of the merchants with the chief citizens in new robes, holding
a canopy of cloth of gold. Charles, with a fierce glance, ordered them
back; the gates were unhinged and flung down; the royal army entered
as in a conquered city. A terrible vengeance ensued. The President of
the Parlement and other civil officers, with three hundred prominent
citizens, were arrested and cast into prison. In vain was the royal
clemency entreated by the Duchess of Orleans, the rector of the
university and chief citizens all clothed in black. The bloody diurnal
work of the executioner began and continued until a general pardon was
granted on March 1st on payment of an enormous fine. The liberties of
the city met the same fate. The Maison aux Piliers reverted to the
crown, the provostship of the merchants, and all the privileges of the
Parisians, were suppressed, and the hateful taxes reimposed. Never had
the heel of despotism ground them down so mercilessly; yet was no
niggardly welcome given to Isabella of Bavaria, Charles' consort, on
her entry into Paris in 1389. "I, the author of this book," says
Froissart, after describing at length the usual incidents of a royal
procession--the fountains running with wines, aromatic with Orient
spices, the music, the ballets, the spectacles, the sumptuous
decorations--"I marvelled when I beheld such great foison, for all the
grant Rue St. Denis was as richly covered with cloth of camelot and of
silk like as were all the cloth had for nothing or that we were in
Alexandria or Damascus." A curious incident is related by the
chronicler of St. Denis; Charles, desirous of being present incognito
at the wondrous scene, bade Savoisy take horse and let him ride
behind _en croupe_. Thus mounted the pair rode to the Chatelet to see
the queen pass. There they found much people and a strong guard of
sergeants, armed with stout staves with which the officers smote amain
to keep back the press, and in the scuffle the king received many a
thwack on the shoulders, whereat was great merriment when the thing
was known at court in the evening. Three years later a royal progress
of far different nature was witnessed in Paris. The king, a poor
demented captive, was borne in by the Duke of Orleans to the Hotel St.
Paul. In 1393, when he had somewhat recovered from his madness, a
grand masked ball was given to celebrate the wedding of one of the
ladies of honour who was a widow. The marriage of a widow was always
the occasion of riotous mirth, and Charles disguised himself and five
of his courtiers as satyrs. They were sewed up in tight-fitting
vestments of linen, which were coated with resin and pitch and covered
with rough tow; on their heads they wore hideous masks. While the
ladies of the court were celebrating the marriage the king and his
companions rushed in howling like wolves and indulged in the most
uncouth gestures and jokes. The Duke of Orleans, drawing too near with
a torch to discover their identity, set fire to the tow and in a
second they were enveloped in so many shirts of Nessus. Unable to
fling off their blazing dresses they madly ran hither and thither,
suffering the most excruciating agony and uttering piteous cries. The
king happened to be near the young Duchess of Berri who, with
admirable presence of mind, flung her robe over him and rescued him
from the flames. One knight saved himself by plunging into a large tub
of water in the kitchen, one died on the spot, two died on the second
day, another lingered for three days in awful torment. The horror of
the scene[90] so affected Charles that his madness returned more
violently than ever. His queen abandoned him and he was left to wander
like some wild animal about his rooms in the Hotel St. Paul, untended,
unkempt, verminous, his only companion his low-born mistress Odette.
[Footnote 90: The scene is quaintly illustrated in an illuminated copy
of Froissart in the British Museum.]
The bitterness of the avuncular factions was now intensified. The
House of Burgundy by marriage and other means had grown to be one of
the most powerful in Europe and was at fierce enmity with the House of
Orleans. At the death of Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, his son
Jean sans Peur, sought to assume his father's supremacy as well as his
title: the Duke of Orleans, strong in the queen's support, determined
to foil his purpose. Each fortified his hotel in Paris and assembled
an army. Friends, however, intervened; they were reconciled, and in
November 1407 the two dukes attended mass at the Church of the Grands
Augustins, took the Holy Sacrament and dined together. As Jean rose
from table the Duke of Orleans placed the Order of the Porcupine round
his neck; swore _bonne amour et fraternite_, and they kissed each
other with tears of joy. On 23rd November a forged missive was handed
to the Duke of Orleans, requiring his attendance on the queen. He set
forth on a mule, accompanied by two squires and five servants carrying
torches. It was a sombre night, and as the unsuspecting prince rode up
the Rue Vieille du Temple behind his little escort, humming a tune and
playing with his glove, a band of assassins fell upon him from the
shadow of the postern La Barbette, crying "_a mort, a mort_" and he
was hacked to death. Then issued from a neighbouring house at the
sign of Our Lady, Jean sans Peur, a tall figure concealed in a red
cloak, lantern in hand, who gazed at the mutilated corpse. "_C'est
bien_," said he, "let's away." They set fire to the house to divert
attention and escaped. Four months before, the house had been hired on
the pretext of storing provisions, and for two weeks a score of
assassins had been concealed there, biding their time. On the morrow,
Burgundy with the other princes went to asperse the dead body with
holy water in the church of the Blancs Manteaux, and as he drew nigh,
exclaiming against the foul murder, blood is said to have issued from
the wounds. At the funeral he held a corner of the pall, but his guilt
was an open secret, and though he braved it out for a time he was
forced to flee to his lands in Flanders for safety. In a few months,
however, Jean was back in force at Paris, and a doctor of the Sorbonne
pleaded an elaborate justification of the deed before the assembled
princes, nobles, clergy and citizens at the Hotel St. Paul. The poor
crazy king was made to declare publicly that he bore no ill-will to
his dear cousin of Burgundy, and later, on the failure of a conspiracy
of revenge by the queen and the Orleans party, to grant full pardon
for a deed "committed for the welfare of the kingdom." The cutting of
the Rue Etienne Marcel has exposed the strong machicolated tower still
bearing the arms of Burgundy (two planes and a plumb line), which Jean
sans Peur built to fortify the Hotel de Bourgogne, as a defence and
refuge against the Orleans faction and the people of Paris. The
Orleans family had for arms a knotted stick, with the device "_Je
l'ennuis_": the Burgundian arms with the motto, "_Je le tiens_,"
implied that the knotted stick was to be planed and levelled.
The arrival of Jean sans Peur, and the fortification of his hotel were
the prelude to civil war, for the Orleanists and their allies had
rallied to the Count of Armagnac, whose daughter Anne, the new Duke
Louis of Orleans had married, and fortified themselves in their
stronghold on the site now occupied by the Palais Royal.
[Illustration: TOWER OF JEAN SANS PEUR.]
The Armagnacs, for so the Orleanists were now called, thirsted for
revenge, and for five years Paris was the scene of frightful
atrocities as each faction gained the upper hand and took a bloody
vengeance on its rivals. At length the infamous policy of an alliance
with the English was resorted to. The temptation was too great for the
English king, and in 1415 Henry V. met the French army, composed
almost entirely of the Armagnacs, at Agincourt, and inflicted on it a
defeat more disastrous than Crecy or Poitiers. The famous oriflamme of
St. Denis passed from history in that fatal year of 1415. The Count of
Armagnac hurried to Paris, seized the mad king and the dauphin, and
held the capital.
In 1417 the English returned under Henry V. The Burgundians had
promised neutrality, and the defeated Armagnacs were forced in their
need to "borrow[91] of the saints." But hateful memories clung to them
in Paris and they were betrayed. On the night of 29th May 1418, the
son of an ironmonger on the Petit Pont, who had charge of the wicket
of the Porte St. Germain, crept into his father's room and stole the
keys while he slept. The gate was then opened to the Burgundians, who
seized the person of the helpless and imbecile king. Some Armagnacs
escaped, bearing the dauphin with them, and the remainder were flung
into prison. The Burgundian partisans in the city, among whom was the
powerful corporation of the butchers and fleshers, now rose, and on
Sunday, 14th June, ran to the prisons. A night of terror ensued.
Before dawn, fifteen hundred Armagnacs were indiscriminately butchered
under the most revolting circumstances; the count himself perished,
and a strip of his skin was carried about Paris in mockery of the
white scarf of the Armagnacs. Jean sans Peur and Queen Isabella[92]
entered the city, amid the acclamation of the people, and soon after a
second massacre followed, in spite of Jean's efforts to prevent it.
Burgundy was now master of Paris, but the Armagnacs were swarming in
the country around and the English marching without let on the city.
In these straits he sought a reconciliation with the dauphin and his
Armagnac counsellors at Melun, on 11th July 1419. On 10th September a
second conference was arranged, and duke and dauphin, each with ten
attendants, met in a wicker enclosure on the bridge at Montereau. Jean
doffed his cap and knelt to the dauphin, but before he could rise was
felled by a blow from an axe and stabbed to death.
[Footnote 91: They melted down the reliquaries in the Paris churches.]
[Footnote 92: In 1417 Charles, returning from a visit to the queen at
the castle of Vincennes, met the Chevalier Bois-Burdon going thither.
He ordered his arrest, and under torture a confession reflecting on
the queen's honour was extorted. Bois-Burdon was delivered to the
provost at the Chatelet, and one night, _sans declarer la cause au
people_, sewn in a sack and dropped into the Seine. The queen was
banished to Tours, and her jewels and treasures confiscated. Furious
with the king and the Armagnac faction, she made common cause with the
Duke of Burgundy.]
In 1521 a monk at Dijon showed the skull of Jean sans Peur to Francis
I., and pointing to a hole made by the assassin's axe, said: "Sire, it
was through this hole that the English entered France." On receipt of
the news of his father's murder, the new Duke of Burgundy, Philip le
Bon, flung himself into the arms of the English, and by the treaty of
Troyes on May 20, 1420, Henry V. was given a French princess to wife
and the reversion of the crown of France, which, after Charles' death,
was to be united ever more to that of England. But the French crown
never circled Henry's brow: on August 31, 1422, he lay dead at
Vincennes. His body after being embalmed was exposed with great pomp
in the royal abbey of St. Denis before its translation to Westminster
Abbey and an infant son of nine months was left to inherit the dual
monarchy. Within a few weeks of Henry's death the hapless king of
France was entombed under the same roof; a royal herald cried "for
God's pity on the soul of the most high and most excellent Charles,
king of France, our natural sovereign lord," and in the next breath
hailed "Henry of Lancaster, by the grace of God, king of France and of
England, our sovereign lord." All the royal officers broke their
wands, flung them in the tomb and reversed their maces as a token that
their functions were at an end. The red rose of Lancaster was added to
the arms of Paris and at the next festival the Duke of Bedford was
seen in the Sainte Chapelle of St. Louis, exhibiting the crown of
thorns to the people as Regent of France, and a statue[93] of Henry V.
of England was raised in the great hall of the Palais de Justice,
following on the line of the kings of France from Pharamond to
Charles.
[Footnote 93: The statue was mutilated at the expulsion of the English
in 1446 and was destroyed in the fire of 1618.]