THE FEAST OF THE PHEASANT
1454
After the fatigues of this contest with Ghent, followed a period of
relaxation for the Burgundian nobles at Lille, where a notable
round of gay festivities was enjoyed by the court. Adolph of Cleves
inaugurated the series with an entertainment where, among other
things, he delighted his friends by a representation of the tale of
the miraculous swan,[1] famous in the annals of his house for bringing
the opportune knight down the Rhine to wed the forlorn heiress.
When his satisfied guests took their leave, Adolph placed a chaplet on
the head of one of the gentlemen, thus designating him to devise a new
amusement for the company; and under the invitation lurked a tacit
challenge to make the coming occasion more brilliant than the first.
Again and again was this process repeated. Entertainment followed
entertainment, all a mixture of repasts and vaudeville shows in whose
preparation the successive hosts vied with each other to attain
perfection.
The hard times, the stress of ready money, so eloquently painted when
the merchants were implored to take pity on their poverty-stricken
lord, were cast into utter oblivion. It was harvest tide for skilled
craftsmen and artisans. Any one blessed with a clever or fantastic
idea easily found a market for the product of his brain. He could see
his poetic or quaint conception presented to an applauding public with
a wealth of paraphernalia that a modern stage manager would not
scorn. How much the nobles spent can only be inferred from the ducal
accounts, which are eloquent with information about the creators of
all this mimic pomp. About six sous a day was the wage earned by a
painter, while the plumbers received eight. These latter were called
upon to coax pliable lead into all sorts of shapes, often more
grotesque than graceful.
One fête followed another from the early autumn of 1453 to February,
1454, when "The Feast of the Pheasant," as the ducal entertainment was
called, crowned the series with an elaborate magnificence that has
never been surpassed.
Undoubtedly Philip possessed a genius for dramatic effect and it is
more than possible that he instigated the progressive banquets for the
express purpose of leading up to the occasion with which he intended
to dazzle Europe.[2]
[Illustration: COUNT OF ST. POL AND HIS JESTER]
For the duke's thoughts were now turned from civic revolts to a great
international movement which he hoped to see set in motion. Almost
coincident with the capitulation of Ghent to Philip's will had been
the capitulation of Constantinople to the Turks. The event long
dreaded by pope and Christendom had happened at last (May 29, 1453).
Again and again was the necessity for a united opposition to the
inroads of the dangerous infidels urged by Rome. On the eve of St.
Martin, 1453, a legate arrived in Lille bringing an official letter
from the pope, setting forth the dire stress of the Christian Church,
and imploring the mightiest duke of the Occident to be her saviour,
and to assume the leadership of a crusade in her behalf against the
encroaching Turk.[2]
Philip was ready to give heed to the prayer. Whatever the exact
sequence of his plans in relation to the court revels, the result was
that his own banquet was utilised as a proper occasion for blazoning
forth to the world with a flourish of trumpets his august intention of
dislodging the invader from the ancient capital of the Eastern empire.
The superintendence of the arrangements for this all-eclipsing fête
was entrusted, as La Marche relates,
"to Messire Jehan, Seigneur de Lannoy, Knight of the Golden
Fleece, and a skilful ingenious gentleman, and to one Squire Jehan
Boudault, a notable and discreet man. And the duke honoured me so
far that he desired me to be consulted. Several councils were held
for the matter to which the chancellor and the first chamberlain
were invited. The latter had just returned from the war in
Luxemburg already described.
"These council meetings were very important and very private, and
after discussion it was decided what ceremonies and mysteries were
to be presented. The duke desired that I should personate the
character of Holy Church of which he wished to make use at this
assembly."
As in many half amateur affairs the preparations took more time than
was expected. At the first date set, all was not in readiness and the
performance was postponed until February 17th. This entailed serious
loss upon the provision merchants and they received compensation for
the spoiled birds and other perishable edibles.[4]
The gala-day opened with a tournament at which Adolph of Cleves again
sported as Knight of the Swan to the applause of the onlookers. After
the jousting, the guests adjourned to the banqueting hall, where fancy
had indeed, run riot, to make ready for their admiring eyes and their
sagacious palates. _Entremets_ is the term applied to the elaborate
set pieces and side-shows provided to entertain the feasters between
courses, and these were on an unprecedented scale.
Three tables stood prepared respectively for the duke and his suite,
for the Count of Charolais, his cousins, and their comrades, and for
the knights and ladies. The first table was decorated with marvellous
constructions, among which was a cruciform church whose mimic clock
tower was capacious enough to hold a whole chorus of singers. The
enormous pie in which twenty-eight musicians were discovered when the
crust was cut may have been the original of that pasty whose opening
revealed four-and-twenty blackbirds in a similar plight. Wild animals
wandered gravely at a machinist's will through deep forests, but in
the midst of the counterfeit brutes there was at least one live lion,
for Gilles le Cat[5] received twenty shillings from the duke for the
chain and locks he made to hold the savage beast fast "on the day of
the said banquet."
Again there was an anchored ship, manned with a full crew and rigged
completely. "I hardly think," observes La Marche, "that the greatest
ship in the world has a greater number of ropes and sails."
Before the guests seated themselves they wandered around the hall
and inspected the decorations one by one. Nor was their admiration
exhausted when they turned to the discussion of the toothsome dainties
provided for their delectation.
During the progress of the banquet, the story of Jason was enacted.
Time there certainly was for the play. La Marche estimated forty-eight
dishes to every course, though he qualifies his statement by the
admission that his memory might be inexact. These dishes were wheeled
over the tables in little chariots before each person in turn.
"Such were the mundane marvels that graced the fête," is the
conclusion of La Marche's[6] exhaustive enumeration of the
masterpieces from artists' workshops and ducal kitchen.
"I will leave them now to record a pity moving _entremets_ which
seemed to be more special than the others. Through the portal
whence the previous actors had made their entrance, came a giant
larger without artifice than any I had ever seen, clad in a long
green silk robe, a turban on his head like a Saracen in Granada.
His left hand held a great, old-fashioned two-bladed axe, his
right hand led an elephant covered with silk. On its back was a
castle wherein sat a lady looking like a nun, wearing a mantle of
black cloth and a white head-dress like a recluse.[7]
"Once within the hall and in sight of the noble company, like one
who had work before her, she said to the giant, her conductor:
"'Giant, prithee let me stay
For I spy a noble throng
To whom I wish to speak.'
"At these words her guide conducted his charge before the ducal
table and there she made a piteous appeal to all assembled to come
to rescue her, Holy Church, fallen into the hands of unbelieving
miscreants. As soon as she ceased speaking a body of officers
entered the hall, Toison d'Or, king-at-arms, bringing up the rear.
This last carried a live pheasant ornamented with a rich collar of
gold studded with jewels. Toison d'Or was followed by two maidens,
Mademoiselle Yolande, bastard daughter of the duke, and Isabelle
of Neufchâtel, escorted by two gentlemen of the Order. They all
proceeded to the host. After greetings, Toison d'Or then said:
"'High and puissant prince and my redoubtable lord, here are
ladies who recommend themselves very humbly to you because it is,
and has been, the custom at great feasts and noble assemblies to
present to the lords and nobles a peacock or some other noble bird
whereon useful and valid vows may be made. I am sent hither with
these two demoiselles to present to you this noble pheasant,
praying you to remember them.'
"When these words were said, Monseigneur the duke, who knew for
what purpose he had given the banquet, looked at the personified
Church, and then, as though in pity for her stress, drew from his
bosom a document containing his vow to succour Christianity, as
will appear later. The Church manifested her joy, and seeing that
my said seigneur had given his vow to Toison d'Or, she again burst
forth forth into rhyme:
"'God be praised and highly served
By thee, my son, the foremost peer in France.
Thy sumptuous bearing have I close observed
Until it seemed thou wert reserved
To bring me my deliverance.
Near and far I seek alliance
And pray to God to grant thee grace
To work His pleasure in thy place.
"'0 every prince and noble, man and knight,
Ye see your master pledged to worthy deed.
Abandon ease, abjure delight,
Lift up your hand, each in his right,
Offer God the savings from thy greed.
I take my leave, imploring each, indeed,
To risk his life for Christian gain,
To serve his God and 'suage my pain.'
"At this the giant led off the elephant and departed by the same
way in which he had entered.
"When I had seen this _entremets_, that is, the Church and a
castle on the back of such a strange beast, I pondered as to
whether I could understand what it meant and could not make it out
otherwise except that she had brought this beast, rare among us,
in sign that she toiled and laboured in great adversity in the
region of Constantinople, whose trials we know, and the castle in
which she was signified Faith. Moreover, because this lady was
conducted by this mighty giant, armed, I inferred that she wished
to denote her dread of the Turkish arms which had chased her away
and sought her destruction.
"As soon as this play was played out, the noble gentlemen, moved
by pity and compassion, hastened to make vows, each in his own
fashion."
The vow of the Count of Charolais was as follows: "I swear to God
my creator, and to His glorious mother, to the ladies and to the
pheasant, that, if my very redoubtable lord and father embark on
this holy journey, and if it be his pleasure that I accompany him,
I will go and will serve him as well as I can and know how to do."
Other vows were less simple: all kinds of fantastic conditions being
appended according to individual fancy. One gentleman decided never to
go to bed on a Saturday until his pledge were accomplished. Another
that he would eat nothing on Fridays that had ever lived until he
had had an opportunity of meeting the enemy hand to hand, and of
attacking, at peril of his life, the banner of the Grand Turk.
Philip Pot vowed never to sit at table on a Tuesday and to wear no
protection on his right arm. This last the duke refused to permit.
Hugues de Longueval vowed that when he had once turned his face to the
East he would abstain from wine until he had plunged his sword in an
infidel's blood, and that he would devote two years to the crusade
even if he had to remain all alone, provided Constantinople were not
recovered. Louis de Chevelast swore that no covering should protect
his head until he had come to within four leagues of the infidels,
and that he would fight a Turk on foot with nothing on his arm but a
glove. There was the same emulation in the vows as in the banquets and
many of the self-imposed penalties were as bizarre as the side-shows.
There were so many chevaliers eager to bind themselves to the
enterprise that the prolonged ceremony threatened to become tedious.
The duke, therefore, declared that the morrow would be equally valid
as the day.[8]
The Count of St. Pol was the only knight present who made his going
dependent on the consent of the King of France, a condition very
displeasing to his liege lord of Burgundy.]
"To abridge my tale [continues La Marche], the banquet was
finished and the cloth removed and every one began to walk
around the room. To me it seemed like a dream, for, of all the
decorations, soon nothing remained but the crystal fountain.
When there was no further spectacle to distract me, then my
understanding began to work and various considerations touching
this business came into my mind. First, I pondered upon the
outrageous excess and great expense incurred in a brief space by
these banquets, for this fashion of progressive entertainments,
with the hosts designated by chaplets, had lasted a long time. All
had tried to outshine their predecessors, and all, especially my
said lord, had spent so much that I considered the whole thing
outrageous and without any justification for the expense, except
as regarded the _entremets_ of the Church and the vows. Even that
seemed to me too lightly treated for an important enterprise.
"Meditating thus I found myself by chance near a gentleman,
councillor and chamberlain, who was in my lord's confidence and
with whom I had some acquaintance. To him I imparted my thoughts
in the course of a friendly chat and his comment was as follows:
"'My friend, I know positively that these chaplet entertainments
would never have occurred except by the secret desire of the duke
to lead up to this very banquet where he hoped to achieve a holy
purpose and to resist the enemies of our faith. It is three years
now since the distress of our Church was presented to the Knights
of the Golden Fleece at Mons. My lord there dedicated his person
and his wealth to her service. Since then occurred the rebellion
of Ghent, which entailed upon him a loss of time and money. Thanks
be to God, he has attained there a good and honourable peace, as
every one knows. Now it has chanced that, during this very period,
the Turks have encroached on Christianity still further in their
capture of Constantinople. The need of succour is very pressing
and all that you have witnessed to-day is proof that the good duke
is intent on the weal of Christendom.'"
During the progress of this conversation, a new company was ushered
into the hall, preceded by musicians. Here came _Grâce Dieu_, clad
as a nun followed by twelve knights dressed in grey and black velvet
ornamented with jewels. Not alone did they come. Each gentleman
escorted a dame wearing a coat of satin cramoisy over a fur-edged
round skirt _à la Portuguaise. Grâce Dieu_ declared in rhyme that God
had heard the pious resolution of Duke Philip of Burgundy. He had
forthwith sent her with her twelve attendants to promise him a happy
termination to his enterprise. Her ladies, Faith, Charity, Justice,
Reason, Prudence, and their sisters, were then presented to him.
_Grâce Dieu_ departs alone and no sooner has she disappeared than
Philip's new attributes begin to dance to add to the good cheer. Among
the knights was Charles and one of his half-brothers; among the ladies
was Margaret, Bastard of Burgundy, and the others were all of high
birth. Not until two o'clock did the revels finally cease.
It must be noted that La Marche's reflections upon the extravagance of
the entertainment occur also in Escouchy's memoirs. Probably both
drew their moralising from another author. It is stated by several
reputable chroniclers that Olivier de la Marche himself represented
the Church. That he merely wrote her lines is far more probable.
Female performers certainly appeared freely in these as in other
masques, and there was no reason for putting a handsome youth in this
rôle of the captive Church. In mentioning the plans that La Marche
claims to have heard discussed in the council meeting, he says plainly
that he was to play the rôle of Holy Church, but as he makes no
further allusion to the fact, it may be dismissed as one of his
careless statements.
This pompous announcement of big plans was the prelude to nothing! Yet
it was by no means a farce when enacted. Philip fully intended to
make this crusade the crowning event of his life, and his proceedings
immediately after the great fête were all to further that end. To
obtain allies abroad, to raise money at home, and to ensure a peaceful
succession for his son in case of his own death in the East--such were
the cares demanding the duke's attention.
The twenty-year-old Count of Charolais was entrusted with the regency
for the term of his father's sojourn abroad in quest of allies, and
he hastened to Holland to assume the reins of government, but he was
speedily recalled to Lille to submit once more to paternal authority
before being left to his own devices and to maternal bias.
For the ducal pair disagreed seriously on the subject of their son's
second marriage. Isabella wished that a bride should be sought in
England, and this wish was apparently echoed by Charles himself. The
important topic was discussed with more or less freedom among the
young courtiers, until the drift of the conversations, whose burden
was wholly adverse to his own fixed purpose, came to Philip's ears,
together with the information that one of his own children was among
those who incited the count to independent desires about his future
wife. Very stern was the duke in his reprimand to the two young men.
He acknowledged that force of circumstances had once led him into
friendly bonds with the foes of his own France, but never had he been
"English at heart." Charles must accept his father's decision on pain
of disinheritance. "As for this bastard," Philip added, turning to the
other son, destitute of status in the eyes of the law, "if I find that
he counsels you to oppose my will, I will have him tied up in a sack
and thrown into the sea."[9]
The bride selected for the heir was Isabella of Bourbon, daughter
of the duke's sister, and the betrothal was hastily made. Even the
approval of the bride's parents was dispensed with. This passed the
more easily as the young lady herself was conveniently present in the
Burgundian court under the guardianship of her aunt, the duchess,
who had superintended her education. A papal dispensation was more
necessary than paternal consent, but that, too, was waived as far as
the betrothal was concerned. To that extent was Philip obeyed. Then
Charles returned to Holland and his father proceeded to Germany to
obtain imperial co-operation in his Eastern enterprise.
The duke's departure from Lille was made very privately at five
o'clock in the morning. He was off before his courtiers were aware of
his last preparations. That was a surprise, but not the only one in
store for those left behind. In order to save every penny for his
journey, Philip ordered radical retrenchment in his household
expenses. The luxurious repasts served to his retainers were abolished
and all alike found themselves forced to restrict their appetites to
the dainties they could purchase with the table allowance accorded
them. "The court's leg is broken," said Michel, the rhetorician.[10]
In his own outlay there was no stinting; the duke's progress was
pompous and stately as was his wont. As he traversed Switzerland,
Berne, Zurich, and Constance asked and obtained permission to show
their friendship with ceremonious receptions. Loud were the cries of
"_Vive Bourgogne_." Equally hospitable were the German cities. Game,
wine, fodder, were offered for the traveller's use at every stage, as
he and his suite rode to the imperial diet.
At Ratisbon, disappointment greeted him. The emperor whom he had come
so far to see in person failed to appear. Unwilling to accede to the
plan of co-operation, afraid to give an open refusal, Frederic
simply avoided hearing the request. Essentially lazy, he shrank from
committing himself to a difficult enterprise, nor was his ambition
tempted by possible glory. It had cost no pang to refuse the crown
of Bohemia and Hungary. But even had he been personally ambitious
he might still have been slow to lend his adherence to the duke's
project, in the not unnatural dread lest the flashing renown of the
greatest duke of the Occident might throw a poor emperor as ally
into the shade. The very warmth of Philip's reception in Germany had
chilled Frederic. From a retreat in Austria, he sent his secretary,
Æneas Sylvius, to represent him at Ratisbon, a substitution far from
pleasing to the visitor.
There were other defections, too, from the diet. None of those present
was in a position to aid Philip in furthering his schemes. The matter
was brought forward and laid on the table to be discussed at the next
diet, appointed to meet in November at Frankfort. But Philip would
not wait for that. Germany did not agree with him. He was not well.
Rumours there were of various kinds about his reasons for returning
home. They do not seem to require much explanation, however. He had
not been met half way in Germany and was highly displeased at the
failure. Declining all further entertainment proffered by the cities,
he travelled back to Besançon by way of Stuttgart and Basel. In the
early autumn he was at Dijon.
During this summer, negotiations about Charles's marriage had
continued. The Duke of Bourbon was inclined to chaffer about the dowry
demanded by Philip. One of the estates asked for was Chinon, and it
was urged that it, a male fief, was not capable of alienation. Philip
was not inclined to accept this reason as final and the negotiations
hung fire, much to the distress of the Duchess of Bourbon, who feared
a breach between her husband and brother. Naïve are the phrases in one
of her letters as quoted by Chastellain[11]:
"MY VERY DEAR SEIGNEUR AND BROTHER,
"I have heard all Boudault's message from you ... To be brief,
Monseigneur is content and ready to accede the points that you
demand. It seems to me that you ought to give him easy terms and
that you ought to put aside any grudge you may cherish against
him. Monseigneur, since I consider the thing as done, I beg you to
celebrate the nuptials as soon as possible although not without me
as you have promised me."[12]
The king, too, was interested in the matter, and wrote as follows to
Duke Philip:
"DEAR AND MUCH LOVED BROTHER:
"Some time ago my cousin of Bourbon informed me of the
negotiations for the marriage of my cousin of Charolais, your son,
to my cousin Isabella of Bourbon, his daughter, which marriage
has been deferred, as he writes me, because he does not wish to
alienate to his daughter the seignory of Château-Chinon. It is not
possible for him to do this on account of the marriage agreement
of our daughter Jeanne and my cousin of Clermont, his son, wherein
it was stipulated that Château-Chinon should go to them and their
heirs. Moreover, it cannot descend in the female line, and in
default of heirs male it must return to the crown as a true
appanage of France.
"Lest, peradventure, you may doubt the truth of this, and imagine
that the point is urged by our cousin of Bourbon simply as an
excuse for not ceding the estate, we assure you that it is true,
and was considered in arranging the alliance of our daughter so
that it is beyond the power of our cousin of Bourbon to make any
alienation or transfer of the territory at the marriage of his
daughter. We never would have permitted the marriage of our
daughter without this express settlement. With this consideration
it seems to me that you ought not to block the marriage in
question, especially as my cousin says he is offering you an
equivalent. He cannot do more as we have charged our councillor,
the bailiff of Berry, to explain to you in full. So pray do not
postpone the marriage for the above cause or for any cause, if
by the permission of the Church and of our Holy Father it can be
lawfully completed.
"Given at Romorantin, Oct. 17.
"CHARLES.[13]
CHALIGAUT."
As the marriage was an event of importance, and the circumstances
are simple historic facts, it is strange that there should be any
uncertainty regarding the details of its solemnisation. But there is a
certain vagueness about the narratives. One version is so amusing that
it deserves a slight consideration.[14] The chronicler relates how
Charles VII. felt some uneasiness at the delay in the negotiations.
Conscious of the sentiments of the Duchess of Burgundy, he feared
lest her well-known sympathies for England might prevail in the final
decision.
When Philip had returned to Dijon, the bailiff of Berry came as the
king's special envoy to discuss some aspects of the subject with him.
The mission was gladly undertaken as the messenger had never seen
Philip nor his court and he was pleased at the chance of meeting a
personage whose fame rang through Europe. Very graciously was he
received by the duke, who read the king's letters attentively and
replied to the envoy's messages in general terms of courteous
recognition, without making his own intention manifest. The bailiff
waited for an answer, finding, in the meanwhile, that his days passed
very agreeably.
As a matter of fact, before his arrival at Dijon Philip Pot had set
out for the Netherlands, bearing the duke's orders to his son to
celebrate his nuptials without further delay. The duke did not intend
to be influenced by any one. It was his will that his son should
accept the bride selected and that was all sufficient. The reason why
the duke detained the king's messenger was that he "awaited news from
Messire Philip de Pot, whom he had sent in all speed to his son to
hasten the wedding."[15] The said gentleman found the count at Lille
with the duchess, his mother, and he was so diligent in the discharge
of his mission that he made all the arrangements himself and saw the
wedding rites solemnised immediately. The bridegroom did not even know
of the plan until the night preceding the important day. Then Philip
Pot rode back to Dijon.
When the duke was assured that the alliance was irrevocably sealed
he was quite ready to answer the king's messenger, whom he at once
invited to an audience. In a casual fashion Philip remarked:
"Now bailiff, the king sent you hither about a matter which I am
humbly grateful for his interest in. You know my opinion. I had no
desire to dissemble. Here is a gentleman fresh from Flanders; ask him
his news and note his reply."
"What tidings, Monsieur, do you bring us?
Prithee impart it" said the bailiff to the chevalier. And the
gentleman, laughing, replied: "By my faith, Monsieur bailiff, the
greatest news that I know is that Monseigneur de Charolais is
married!"
"Married! to whom?"
"To whom?" responded the chevalier, "why, to his first cousin,
Monseigneur's niece."
Merry was the duke over the Frenchman's blank amazement. Again the
latter had to be reassured of the truth of the statement. Philip Pot
told him that it was so true that the wedded pair had spent the night
together according to their lawful right.
The bailiff did not know which way to turn. "So he acted out his
two rôles. Returning thanks to the duke in the king's name with all
formality, he then joined in the general laugh over the unsuspected
trick. He was a man of the world and knew how to take advantage of
sense and of folly."
It was on the morrow of this hasty tying of the wedding knot that the
Countess of Charolais sent a messenger to announce the fact to her
parents. They seem to have been perfectly satisfied, made no further
objection to any point, and the mooted territory of Chinon made part
of the dower in spite of the reasons urged against it.
As to the bailiff, when he made his adieux at Dijon, Philip presented
him with a round dozen stirrup cups, each worth three silver marks,
and he went home a surprised and delighted man.
"About this time [says Alienor de Poictiers] Monsieur de Charolais
married Mademoiselle de Bourbon and he married her on the eve of
All Saints[16] at Lille, and there was no festival because Duke
Philip was then in Germany. Eight days after the nuptials the
duchess gave a splendid banquet where were all the ladies of
Lille, but they were seated all together, as is usually done at
an ordinary banquet, without mesdames holding state as would have
been proper for such an occasion."
It is evident from all the stories that Charles protested against his
father's orders as much as he dared and then obeyed simply because he
could not help himself.
Yet, strange to say, the unwilling bridegroom proved a faithful
husband in a court where marital fidelity was a rare trait.
Philip's plans for the international union against the Turk were less
easily completed than those for the union of his son and his niece. In
November, the diet met at Frankfort; the expedition was discussed and
some resolutions were passed, but nothing further was achieved.
Charles VII. would not even promise co-operation on paper. He had
gradually extended his own domain in French-speaking territory and had
dislodged the English from every stronghold except Guisnes and Calais.
Under him France was regaining her prestige. Charles had much to lose,
therefore, in joining the undertaking urged by Philip and he was
wholly unwilling to risk it. From him Philip obtained only expressions
of general interest in the repulse of the Turks, and more definite
suggestions of the dangers that would menace Western Europe if all her
natural defenders carried their arms and their fortunes to the East.
When the anniversary of the great fête came round not a vow was yet
fulfilled!
[Footnote 1: A performance repeated in our modern Lohengrin.]
[Footnote 2: The chroniclers are not at one on this point.]
[Footnote 3: DuClercq, _Mémoires_, ii., 159.]
[Footnote 4: This banquet at Lille was the subject of several
descriptions by spectators or at least contemporary authors.
The Royal Library at the Hague possesses a manuscript copied from an
older one which contains the order of proceedings together with the
text of all vows. There is a minute description in Mathieu d'Escouchy,
who claims to have been present, and in a manuscript coming from
Baluze, whose anonymous author might also have been an eye-witness. Of
the various versions, that of La Marche seems to be the most original.
One record shows that "a clerk living at Dijon, called Dion du Cret,
received, in 1455, a sum of five francs and a half for having, at the
order of the accountants, copied and written in parchment the history
of the banquet of my said seigneur, held at Lille, February 17, 1453,
containing fifty-six leaves of parchment" (La Marche, ii., 340 note).
It is possible that all the authors refreshed their memory with this
account, which seems to have been merely a copy.]
[Footnote 5: Laborde, i., 127.]
[Footnote 6: II., 361.]
[Footnote 7: The text says in the Burgundian or recluse fashion.
_Béguine_ is probably the right reading.]
[Footnote 8: Mathieu d'Escouchy (ii., 222) gives all the vows as
though made then, and differs in many unessential points from La
Marche's account.
[Footnote 9: Du Clerq, ii., 203.]
[Footnote 10:'"Michel dit que le gigot de la cour était rompu."--La
Marche, i., ch. xiv.]
[Footnote 11: Chastellain, iii., 20, note.]
[Footnote 12: "Toute fois que ce ne soit pas sans moy."]
[Footnote 13: The original, signed, is in the _Archives de la
Côte-d'Or,_ B. 200. _See_ Du Fresne de Beaucourt, _Histoire de Charles
VII_., v. 470.]
[Footnote 14: Chastellain, iii., 23, etc.]
[Footnote 15: Chastellain, iii., 24]
[Footnote 16: The chroniclers differ as to this date. Chastellain
(iii., 25) says the first Sunday in Lent. D'Escouchy (ii., 270, ch.
cxxii) the night of St. Martin. Alienor de Poictiers, Hallowe'en _(Les
Honneurs de la Cour_, p. 187). The last was one of Isabella's ladies
in waiting.]