1389-1392
State entry of Isabeau into Paris--Magnificent fêtes--Southern
tour of Charles and Louis--Bad health of Charles--Bonne
d’Artois and Jean de Clermont--Dreadful storm--Birth of
Dauphin--Death of Blanche, Duchesse d’Orléans--Pierre de Craon
and the Constable de Clisson--Madness of the King.
Although it was now four years since her marriage with Charles VI.,
Isabeau had never been crowned; and although she had of course often
been in Paris, she had not made any ceremonial entry into that city.
But she had no idea of giving up the honours usually conferred on the
Queens of France; and the King, always delighted at the idea of any
new festival, made inquiries as to how these state entries had been
arranged in the times of his predecessors, so that nothing might be
wanting in magnificence on the present occasion.
There was one member of the royal family who was considered a great
authority on these and many other matters. The famous Blanche de
Navarre, although she had been Queen-dowager for forty-one years and
was the widow of the King’s great-grandfather, Philippe de Valois, was
only about fifty-nine years old, had been in her youth the brightest
star of the Valois court, and all her life one of the most brilliant,
powerful, and popular women of her century.[121] To her Charles applied
for advice, and into her hands he gave authority to regulate every
detail of the whole ceremony. She consulted the records kept at St.
Denis, and from those and her own recollections she arranged one of the
most splendid pageants known to history.
{1389}
The Queen went from Melun to St. Denis, where she stayed two days until
the royal family and court were assembled. On Sunday, August 17th, at
midday, the procession started for Paris. Isabeau, dressed in a silk
robe covered with golden _fleur-de-lis_, was in a gorgeous open litter,
followed by Queen Blanche, the Duchesses of Burgundy, Berry, and Bar,
the Comtesse de Nevers, and the Dame de Coucy, all in their litters.
The royal dukes on horseback surrounded the Queen’s litter, and among
them rode Valentine, Duchesse de Touraine, on a horse covered with
trappings embroidered with gold. Each litter was escorted by a troop of
cavaliers, and burghers dressed in red and green, and mounted on horses
with trappings of the same colours, lined the road from St. Denis to
Paris, from the gates of which issued a brilliant crowd, shouting,
“Vive le roi! Vive la reine! Noël! Noël!”
The _cortège_ entered Paris by the Porte aux Peintres into the rue
St. Denis, which was draped from top to bottom with crimson and green
covered with gold stars. At every turn was some new spectacle. As
Isabeau entered Paris she passed under an artificial sky, with clouds,
stars, the three Persons of the Trinity, and a troop of children
dressed like angels, two of whom descended singing a verse in her
honour, and placed a crown of gold and jewels on her head; and as she
passed over one of the bridges which had been covered with silken
curtains, they were suddenly divided, and a man with another crown
flew down a cord from the tower of Notre Dame, and flew up again
with a lighted torch in each hand, which, as it was already getting
dark, could be seen by all Paris. Wine was flowing all day and night
from fountains and taps in the streets and _carrefours_; in open-air
theatres plays and “mysteries” were acted, the houses were hung
with rich stuffs and costly tapestries. The procession had stopped
at St. Lazare, where the Queen put on her crown and the princesses
and duchesses their coronets, the princes of the blood and nobles
dismounting and ranging themselves by the litters of the Queen and
ladies; then proceeding to Notre Dame they entered the church, made
a short prayer, and went on to the Palais de la Cité, where they
supped.[122]
Next day the King in his royal robes, scarlet mantle glittering with
jewels, and crown on his head, entered the chapel of the Palais. The
Queen, also covered with scarlet and jewels, and with her hair flowing
on her shoulders, knelt before the altar, saluted the King, mounted on
to a high dais covered with cloth of gold, and was anointed and crowned
by the Archbishop of Rouen.[123]
Then there was a splendid fête in the great hall of the Palais de la
Cité, the most ancient of all the palaces of the Kings of France. This
hall was considered one of the largest and finest in the world. It was
paved with black and white marble and panelled and vaulted with wood,
rows of columns went down it, decorated with gold and blue and adorned
with the statues of the Kings of France; those who were distinguished
and fortunate having their hands raised, while the hands of those who
were bad rulers, weak, or unlucky hung down. At one end, going right
down it, was an enormous table, so long, so wide, and so thick that it
was said that never were there such huge blocks of marble as those of
which it was composed. It stood there for hundreds of years, and was
used for great banquets. At it dined only Emperors, Kings, and other
Princes and Princesses of the blood royal, peers of France and their
wives; the rest of the nobles and courtiers sat at other tables. This
huge table was also used as a stage for the _clercs de la Basoche_ for
their plays and mummeries during two or three hundred years.[124]
It was very hot, and there was a great crowd at the joustes and
banquet, the Queen and several of the ladies nearly fainted. The King
ordered a barrier to be broken down to let in air, and the tables
withdrawn (“levées”) to let them go out “without wine or spices”
(dessert).
The King, who took no part in the entry, which was in honour of the
Queen alone, had nevertheless managed to amuse himself very well, and
had seen the whole spectacle in disguise. “Savoisy,” he said to his
chamberlain, “I want you to get on a good horse, and I will get up
behind you; we will disguise ourselves so that no one will know us, and
go and see my wife’s entry.”[125]
They mingled in the crowd, seeing and hearing much that diverted them,
and the King afterwards told the Queen and ladies all his adventures
with great delight.
Some of the ladies left and went to their own hôtels when the King
and Queen retired, but many remained all night, and the next morning
the Queen and court moved to the hôtel St. Paul, where the revels
went on for six days more, with a license that again called forth the
reproaches and indignation of the preachers.[126]
Splendid presents were given by the City of Paris and by different
people to the Queen and the Duchesse de Touraine, whose first
appearance among them had excited great curiosity and interest.
The Duc de Berry gave Isabeau a large house in the faubourg St.
Marcel, with courts, galleries, moats, gardens, meadows, and a rabbit
warren.[127]
The fatigue and excitement of all these gaieties seem to have told upon
her, for she could not be present at a banquet and dance given by the
King to the ladies of the court during the festivities at St. Paul, but
stayed in her room and supped there.
She did not accompany the King when early in October he set off on a
journey south. He had received great complaints from Aquitaine[128]
of the oppressions and extortions of the Duc de Berry, and he also
wanted to attend the coronation at Avignon of the young King of Sicily.
The Queen being _enceinte_ could not take a long and tiring journey,
besides which it is more than probable that Charles on this occasion
greatly preferred her absence. For his progress through Provence,
Guyenne, and Languedoc, though ostensibly for political objects, such
as the extinction of the schism at Avignon, the coronation of the King
of Sicily, and the reformation of the abuses in Aquitaine, had also its
social side. There, in the land of troubadours, poetry, and courts of
love, where the sun was burning and the nights were bright, where the
imagination was more vivid and the hot blood of the south ran quicker
through the veins, where manners and morals were easy and had a tinge
of orientalism derived from contact with the East; the progress of
the young King from one town to another was a saturnalia of dancing,
feasting, love-making, and violent exercise in games and tournaments,
which for the first time seem to have taken visible effect upon him.
Some symptoms he must have felt which troubled and alarmed him, for
while at Avignon he caused an effigy of himself to be made life-size
in wax and placed under a tabernacle close to the relics of the young
Cardinal Pierre de Luxembourg, of saintly reputation, to whose tomb
people were flocking to be cured of epilepsy and other maladies.[129]
There was no royal post at that time; it was not instituted till the
reign of Louis XI. Charles sent a courier to the Queen two or three
weeks after his departure, to ask for news of her; he was then in
Dauphiné, and from that time until his return in March she seems to
have had no more letters or communications from him.[130]
During his absence another daughter was born and named Jeanne, like
the first one. Isabeau had now two daughters still living. This second
Jeanne afterwards married the Duc de Bretagne.
M. Vallet de Viriville says of Isabeau that although frivolous,
capricious, and fantastic, she seems to have been liked by her ladies,
and was certainly just as fond of her children as other women usually
are. While they were little she had them always with her, caressed and
watched over them, wept and prayed when they were ill, and redoubled
her lamentations when any of them died. Her neglect of them a little
later on, however, seems to contradict this; but then Isabeau was a
person so inconsistent and selfish that neither her affection nor her
dislike could ever be reckoned upon; and her extravagance and folly was
the cause of the penury to which the royal children were at one time
reduced. Her quarrels with her sons in later years were long after they
had passed childhood; with those of her daughters who lived to grow up
she does not seem to have disagreed.
{1390}
The Queen and the Duchesse de Touraine had been left together at Beauté
by their husbands when they started for the south.
After an absence of several months, spent as has been described, those
young princes turned their steps northwards again. When they arrived
at Montpellier the King told his brother that he felt so impatient to
see the Queen and Duchesse de Touraine again that he could not wait
any longer, but proposed that they should race back to Paris; a bet of
5,000 francs to be paid to the winner. Louis agreed, and they set off,
riding day and night, changing horses very frequently and being carried
in litters when it was absolutely necessary to take a little rest. The
race was won by Louis, who got on to a boat at Troyes and went down the
Seine to Melun, thus getting rest all that part of the way. At Melun he
disembarked and rode on to Paris, where he arrived some hours before
the King, having done it in four days and a half.
Louis went straight to see the Queen, and then presented himself before
his brother and claimed the 5,000 francs.
This adventure does not seem to have done Louis any harm, but it was
declared by the doctors to have been most injurious to Charles, and to
have helped to over-excite and unsettle his brain.
The King returned from his southern tour weakened, exhausted, and very
angry with all he had found out about the oppressions and cruelties of
the Duc de Berry. He had held a Parliament at Toulouse, punished some
of the officials, dismissed others, and tried to redress some of the
worst grievances. But though Charles was generous and kind-hearted,
neither he nor his brother nor any of his uncles, except the Duc de
Bourbon, had any idea how to govern, and the latter was entirely
opposed to the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy; so much so, indeed, that a
melancholy romance was the result of their dissensions.
The youngest daughter of the Duke of Burgundy had been, in 1386,
betrothed to the Comte de Clermont, son of the Duc de Bourbon. But
they were too young at the time for the marriage to take place, and
meanwhile the quarrels of their families caused it to be broken off.
They appear, however, to have been deeply attached to each other,
for Bonne de Bourgogne, or, as she is named in her epitaph, Bonne
d’Artois, declared that she would have no other husband than the Comte
de Clermont, and, after refusing every other alliance suggested to her,
died at Arras, 1399. The Comte de Clermont also refused to marry any
one else as long as she lived.[131]
The Queen was again _enceinte_, and the court were at Saint
Germain-en-Laye for the summer. Money was wanted, as usual, for the
extravagant follies of the royal household, and in spite of the
compassion of the King for the suffering of the people, it was proposed
to levy new taxes.
It was a calm, cloudless day in July; the Council was sitting, the
King presiding, and the Queen had gone to mass in her private chapel,
when suddenly the sky became black with clouds, forked lightning
flashed through the darkness accompanied by awful claps of thunder,
and a violent wind tore the windows from their hinges and shattered
all the panes of glass in the Queen’s Chapel. Mass had to be finished
low and hurriedly lest the Host[132] be torn out of the hands of the
officiating priest, the palace seemed to shake, and everybody was
prostrate with terror. The Queen went trembling to the King, saying
that this was an expression of the anger of God for their oppression
of the people, and they had better give up the new taxes. The Council
was dismissed accordingly and the taxes abandoned. Many trees were
torn up in the forest, and four officers of the royal household killed
by the lightning.[133] Isabeau had always the greatest terror of a
thunderstorm; she had a vaulted cellar under the Palais de la Cité on
purpose to take refuge in on those occasions.[134]
The much longed for Dauphin was born on the 6th of February, 1391, at
the hôtel St. Paul. The King was asleep, for it was in the middle of
the night, but the tidings were soon brought to him and to all Paris,
which was at once plunged into a tumult of rejoicing. The bells of all
the churches were ringing, couriers were starting for all parts of the
kingdom, the streets were filled with people and torches, and set with
tables covered with wine and food at which stood ladies of the highest
rank, offering them freely to all who passed.
{1392}
The Dauphin was baptized next day in the church of St. Paul, his
god-parents being Blanche, Duchess-dowager of Orléans, the Duke of
Burgundy, and Comte de Daumartin.
In the following May was born, also at the hôtel St. Paul, the eldest
son of Louis and Valentine. He was also named Charles. The Duc de
Bourbon was his godfather. He afterwards married the Princess Isabelle,
eldest daughter of Charles VI.[135]
The Duchess-dowager of Orléans, Blanche de France, died in February,
1392, after a long and painful illness. She was greatly respected and
honoured, and her funeral at St. Denis was attended by the whole of
the royal family and court. She was daughter of Charles IV. and Jeanne
d’Evreux, and, as she on one occasion remarked to King Philippe de
Valois, if she had been a man she would have been king instead of him.
She was proud, high-spirited, and so charitable that she had given away
nearly all her fortune before she died.[136]
The King gave the duchy of Orléans to his brother instead of that of
Touraine.
A conference was held at Amiens between the Dukes of Lancaster and
York, uncles of Richard II., and the French King with the Dukes of
Burgundy and Berry. The four dukes entered Amiens riding side by side
so as to avoid questions of precedence. It was remarked that the
English dukes were dressed with great simplicity in cloth of greenish
brown, while the Duke of Burgundy had his clothes covered with pearls,
rubies, and sapphires. They could not agree on terms of lasting peace,
so they arranged a truce for a year longer, and then separated. But
Charles, who, during the whole fortnight had not troubled himself
at all about the negotiations, but passed the time in feasting and
amusements, had made himself very ill with an attack of fever and had
to be taken in a litter to Beauvais, where he stayed in the bishop’s
palace till he was well again.[137]
Amongst the constant companions of the King and the Duc d’Orléans was a
certain Pierre de Craon. He was a particular favourite of Louis, they
often dressed alike, and Craon was the confidant of all the duke’s
love affairs, which were innumerable. There was a girl in Paris whose
beauty he had for some time admired and to whom he had offered 1,000
crowns if she would consent to become his mistress. She appears to have
been hesitating about the matter, and meanwhile, Louis took Craon to
see her. Craon had the rashness to go and tell the whole story to the
Duchesse d’Orléans, with the result he might have expected. Valentine
was very angry and sent for the girl, who appeared before her trembling
with fear.
“Well,” said Valentine, “so you wish to take monseigneur away from me?”
“No, no, Madame, God forbid,” answered the girl, beginning to cry, “I
should not dare even to think of such a thing.”
“That is true,” said Valentine, “I know all about it. Monseigneur loves
you and you love him, things have even gone so far that he has offered
you 1,000 crowns, but you have refused and you have done well. For this
time I forgive you, and I forbid you, as you value your life, to have
for the future anything to do with monseigneur. Dismiss him.”[138]
The girl retired, thankful to have escaped so well, and the next time
the Duke called she fled from him, refusing to show him the least sign
of affection. Much astonished and disappointed he asked what was the
matter. She began to cry and reproached him with having betrayed her
either to the Duchess or to somebody else who had told her, and went on
to say, “you had better try to recollect to whom you have been making
confidences. I am dreadfully afraid of Madame la Duchesse, and I have
promised and sworn never to have any communication with you. I am not
going to excite her jealousy.”
“Ma belle dame,” replied Louis, “I swear to you that I would rather
lose a hundred thousand francs than betray you. Since you have
promised, keep your oath, but at any cost I will find out who has
revealed our secrets.”
Therefore Louis went that night to supper with his wife, to whom he
made himself as pleasant as he well knew how to do. By soft words,
love-making and persuasion he prevailed upon her to tell him that it
was Pierre de Craon who had revealed the affair to her.
Next morning he rode to the Louvre in a furious rage and met the King
going to Mass. Charles, who was very fond of him, seeing his disturbed
looks, stopped and asked what was the cause of them. Louis poured out
his indignation to his brother, adding that besides this, Craon was
always reproaching him with his love of necromancy. “To hear him,”
he said, “one would think I was a wizard. By the faith I owe you,
monseigneur, if it were not for my respect for you I would kill him.”
“Do not do that,” replied Charles. “I will send him word that I have
no further occasion for his services and he is to leave my hôtel;
you can turn him out of yours too.” Accordingly that day the Sires
de la Rivière and de Noviant from the King, and two gentlemen of the
household of the Duc d’Orléans, brought orders to Craon to retire.
He demanded an explanation, but neither the King nor the Duke would
see him. Unable to get any information, and vowing vengeance against
the unknown enemy, he retired to the court of his cousin, the Duc de
Bretagne, and, after consulting together, they came to the conclusion
that it must have been the Constable de Clisson who had done this, and
resolved to avenge themselves on him.
Pierre de Craon therefore returned secretly to Paris and concealed
himself in his hôtel, which was a splendid house, and which he had well
stored with food and necessaries, and in his anxiety that his presence
should not be known, he even took the precaution of locking up the wife
and daughter of his concierge for fear they should disclose it.
On the 13th June there was a fête at the hôtel St. Paul. There were
joustes in the afternoon and then a supper, followed by a ball which
went on until about an hour after midnight.
The Constable de Clisson was the last to depart. He took leave of the
King and Duc d’Orléans, and then, with eight _valets_ of whom two
carried torches, he proceeded towards the rue St. Catherine, at the
corner of which Craon was lying in wait for him with a band of forty
brigands. As he rode down the street, on a sudden the torches were
snatched from his men and thrown to the ground. Clisson thought it was
a trick of Louis d’Orléans and called out, “By my faith, monseigneur,
this is too bad, but I forgive you because you are young and think of
nothing but jokes.” But to his astonishment the answer was, “_A mort! à
mort Clisson! Si vous faut mourir_,” as Craon drew his sword and with
the gang of assassins attacked the Constable, who, after defending
himself desperately, was flung from his horse against the door of a
baker’s shop which gave way and he fell down two steps into the house.
The baker and his people rushed out to pick him up, and the assassins,
most of whom only now discovered that they had been hired to murder the
Constable of France, fled in terror. Craon rode for his life through
the Porte Saint Antoine, gained his own castle of Sablé, and from
thence got safe to Bretagne. Meanwhile, the news spread rapidly through
the city. The King who was going to bed, was just undressing in the
hôtel St. Paul, when he was told that his Constable had been murdered.
“Murdered! My Constable! By whom?” he exclaimed.
“It is not known, but it is close by, in the rue St. Catherine.”
“Torches! quick!” cried the King. “I shall go and see him.” And without
waiting for guards or suite, he threw a _houppelande_ round him, and
rushed out, arriving at the shop just as the Constable was beginning
to recover his senses. He opened his eyes and they fell upon the young
King leaning anxiously over him. “Ah, Constable, how do you feel?”
“_Cher sire, bien faiblement et petitement._”
“_Et qui vous a mis en ce parti?_”
“_Sire, Pierre de Craon et ses complices, trâitreusement et sans
défense._”[139]
Charles turned to the doctor who had been hastily called in and said,
“Look at my Constable, and tell me what there is to fear.”[140]
Delighted to hear that although Clisson was covered with wounds,
his life was in no danger, and swearing that never had a crime been
punished and avenged as this should be; Charles sent in pursuit of
Craon and his companions, of whom some were taken and executed, but
most of them escaped.
The King confiscated his dominions, took possession of his treasures,
and divided his lands between the Duc d’Orléans and some of his
friends. The wife and daughter of Craon fled, and the King ordered the
Duc de Bretagne to give up the traitor who had attacked his Constable.
The Duke pretended not to know where he was, so Charles assembled his
troops to go to war with him, ordering his uncles of Berry and Burgundy
to join him with their vassals. They both hated this project as the
Duke of Burgundy was a great friend of the Duc de Bretagne, and the Duc
de Berry, who was in Paris at the time, had been told of the conspiracy
the very day it was carried out, but as he could not bear the Constable
he said nothing about it to the King on pretence of not wishing to
disturb the festivities going on at the palace. However, they were
forced to obey the King, who would not listen to their assurances
that Craon was not there at all, but in Spain. He threw himself into
a violent passion whenever the matter was discussed, and seemed to be
growing so violent and so unreasonable that all who approached him
were filled with alarm.[141]
The weather was very hot, and Charles was in a perfectly unfit state
to bear the fatigue and excitement of a campaign. During the whole
summer it had been so dry that the large rivers, the chief roads for
merchandise, had been so low that boats could not go on them, wells
and springs were dried up, the parched earth cracked; there was great
distress, for no rain fell.
One broiling day he insisted, in spite of the advice of his uncles, on
leaving Le Mans with the troops. He was dressed in black velvet, and
almost suffocated with the heat.
As they were entering a wood a tall figure rushed out and caught his
horse by the bridle, crying out that he was betrayed (which by the by
is the typical exclamation of the modern Frenchman). This particular
man, however, appears to have been mad, and while he was raving and
warning the King not to go further he was seized by the guards.
Charles said nothing at first, but rode on for about an hour till the
troop came out of the wood on to a sandy plain where the dust and heat
were overpowering. One of the pages, who was so exhausted that he was
falling asleep, let his spear fall against some one else’s armour.
The clang it made startled the King, who suddenly gave a shout and
rode furiously forward striking at everybody. He struck down several
men, killing four, and rushed at the Duc d’Orléans, who fled for his
life and escaped. The Duke of Burgundy rode up exclaiming, “_Haro!
le grand meschef! monseigneur est tout dévoyé!_” They tried to catch
the King, but it was most difficult and dangerous. However, at last a
cavalier who was very fond of him got behind him and threw his arms
round him. He was laid on the ground, the paroxysm passed off and he
fell back insensible. They placed him in a litter, and the whole troop
turned back to Le Mans. The expedition was at an end, and the King was
mad.[142]